Disclaimer: Devil May Cry is the property of Capcom. Though I wish I owned Dante.

Note: ********* denotes shift in time (past to present & vice verca)


Devil's Code

Chapter I: Names
By Cloud Ishida

Tap, tap, tap--

The room was silent except for the slender, pale fingers dribbling on the mahogany antique desk . The lull hum sung by the neon lights of Devil Never Cry accompanied the drumming fingertips. The sign's lights crept through the open windows and illuminated the collection of demon heads decorating the walls with a light shade of pink. Trish stared hungrily at the phone on her desk waiting for a job to whisk her away from what seemed like eternal boredom. But for twelve days and twelve nights, not a single ring left the phone. No jobs without a password, nor did a single wrong number claim the phone. She leaned back on her cushioned chair, its hinges squeaking by any slightest moment.

Papers were stacked by date and subject in her desk trays; her pens and other writing materials gathered in an old grey cup. The clock teasingly ticked tirelessly, constantly reminding Trish of her wasting time in that office waiting for a job. From her own polished, meticulously organized desk, her eyes traveled around the office to the her partner's littered with take-out boxes, beer bottles and a magazine or three of women staring seductively up at the peeling ceiling. The whole office was in a state of chaos as scrap papers, week old pizzas and things that were better off not spoken of glazed the wooden floor. Trish had been patient with Dante for months on his rather, unsanitary lifestyle, but he continued his habits of living like...well, like a pig. She lifted her white hand to her temple, slowly massaging the oncoming headache. "Dante."

Wearing just his black, turtleneck top and dark crimson pants, Dante laid heavily in his chair, leaning it back to the extreme and all the while not noticing Trish's call. His legs hung lazily on his desk amidst the bottles rolling around with his every twitch of movement. His body was limp with relaxation, but his hands were at work on his favourite companions with precision. Ivory rested on his chest as its polished surface sparkled to whatever light that caught its metal frame. Dante held Ebony in one hand while the other polished and cleaned every edge, corner, and hole of the sleek, black firearm.

"Dante!" Trish's patience was wearing thin.

"Yo, what?" Dante replied half yawning, half-mumbling.

Trish took a deep breath, knowing how the conversation will end as it always did nowadays, "Dante, you've been polishing you're guns for three hours, the office is a pigsty and we're low on cash. I'm going crazy with having no jobs and the fact we haven't gone out for the last two weeks isn't helping either." She sighed in hopes of getting more than a grunt as an answer from him this time.

Dante kept his eyes focused on Ebony's handle, "Look, business is always slow this time of year, and I have money saved up so no worries over that. And there's no place TO go. You said all the clubs around here are sleazy." He breathed on the handle, letting his breath moisturize it for another polish. "And what do you mean it's a pigsty? At least I can find anything unlike the way you cleaned our room last month... Took me three hours to just find my belt. "

Thinking back to the club days, her eyes narrowed at memory of having drunken boys groping her every two minutes, but smiled at the thought of her, rather rough retaliation. Ha, those boys would never touch a girl again. And the belt. Trish remembered watching Dante scurrying left to right in search for his standard, crimson wardrobe and enjoyed every moment of it. "All I did was put it and the rest of your clothes in the closet. That IS what it's there for. And that's not what I meant by never going out. We've been cooped up in here weeks and.....Dante, are you even listening to me?" She glared at him, but he didn't even look up at her irritated tone of voice. "And you've been doting over your guns for hours everyday while you could get rid of devil knows what living under all that garbage..." she furled her brows at the thought.

"I always clean Ebony and Ivory every night, you know that..." Dante lifted an eye towards Trish only to see her cross-armed and drilling her stare into him. He couldn't help but smirk from the look on her face. He knew when she was angry, and right now she looked beyond pissed. "Alriiight alright, I'll clean everything up tomorrow." Trish's glare didn't falter. "I promise, okay? You gotta lighten up once in a while, Trish, or you'll get premature wrinkles on that lovely face of yours." Dante glanced at his apathetic partner, shifting his head back over the head rest of his chair to eye Trish with his smile, "And we'll go out for dinner tonight, my treat." He winked at her and turned back to Ebony.

Trish blinked. Not quite satisfied with his answer but it was a start. The fact that the office was becoming a radioactive-hazard zone wasn't the true problem nagging the back of her mind. Ever since he received a letter almost two weeks ago, and neglected to tell her about its contents, Dante seemed...light-hearted? Almost playful... She didn't mind the sudden change, but what brought the change bothered her. "Deal, and no fast food." Dante just raised a hand and saluted in mid-air in response.

Her eyes trailed to the clock on her desk. 9:57pm. Fatigued from waiting for calls and nagging, Trish pushed away from her desk and headed for the stairs leading to the upper bedroom. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." Trish waited for a response from the other, but knew she could never win his attention over those twin guns of his. Sighing again, she walked up the flight of stairs to the cracked, wooden door hanging loosely from its hinges. The image of Dante polishing his guns entered her mind, leaving a slight smirk on her blood red lips. You'll have to explain to me your obsession someday, Dante.

And she has asked, god knows she tried to pry it out of him. But Dante just shrugged, turn his back to her and respond, "It's a guy thing."

Dismissing the thought, she twisted the knob as the door opened with a resounding creak; the result of years of neglected maintenance. Upon entering their room, frustration started to build up within her yet again. The bedroom floor was littered with pants, socks, shirts, and accessories hanging from any place that could be hung. Trish felt the headache building up a fortress in her temple. As if by instinct, she started to pick each article of clothing up, one by one. She made her way to the worn down bed, trying not to think when the last time a piece of clothing was washed. Yes, clothes littered on and under the covers too. Trish felt defeated in her efforts but continued with her....

Lifting the black gloves off a picture frame, she saw the photo housed inside the glass. A blonde woman with hair as long as her own. The slender figure in the photo stared at her with crystalline blue eyes. Her clothes read of luxury, with the posture of a noblewoman. Everything about her radiated elegance. Without even realizing it, Trish found herself staring at the woman, seeing her own faint reflection off the glass. The physical resemblance was uncanny, and even though she did feel as if she mothered Dante at times, Trish knew she didn't have the charisma that the woman in the photo had.

The woman, the mother Dante loved, and driven him to be a Devil Hunter. The woman named Eva.

Without a word, she placed the frame down on the night table beside the bed. Then she looked at the heap of laundry in her arms, and with a sigh, dropped everything to the floor next to her feet. Even if she polished the floors by hand until her own reflection could be seen it would be soiled by tomorrow. Instead, she decided to catch up on some reading and headed for the bookcase.

Row after row, books ranging from ancient demonology to horror novels to magazines of voluptuous women Dante liked to, as he put it, "observe the finer qualities that make the feminine body so amorously unique" filled the shelves. Running her fingers down the row of books, a particular title caught her eye. She fingered down the spine, reading it. La Divina Commedia, di Dante Alighieri. She heard of this infamous literary art in the Underworld before, where even there it was revered as a masterful piece of writing. Despite what many humans thought devils appreciated fine arts. And she couldn't help but smirk at the name of the author, finding it quite fitting.

She pulled out the thick book, and suddenly a sparkle caught her eye. There was something... behind the books, and the lack of adequate lighting in the room made it hard for her to interpret what it was. She slid her hand into the opening, sliding the books on the side away to remove whatever it was from the back. Her fingers felt a cold, metallic surface, etched or carved in some way. Pulling it out, she revealed a small book with a red ribbon protruding between the pages like a bookmark. Signs of age dusted the metal cover, and the sparkle that caught Trish's eye blinked again. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a relief of a devil knight, it's eyes composed of ruby slivers that were the source of the glimmer.

The relief image was strikingly familiar; the weapon depicted a dead give away. The knight staring up at the book's holder held the sword, Sparda. There was no mistake; it was a picture of the Legendary Dark Knight. Surprised by her discovery, Trish absent-mindedly sat on the bed, bringing both books with her.

But her mind forgot about the Italian literature and dropped it beside her. She inspected her new find, and noticed that what looks like a lock for the book was missing. Brown stains decorated the pages' edges, stains that smelled faintly like blood. Curiosity getting the best of her, she opened it slowly to prevent any damage to the tiny book. Inside, rows of devil runes lined the page. She stared at the writings, all written by hand. She could read each rune, each letter, perfectly.

7th Moon (Red), 72 457Yr, ADA

Lord Mundus summoned me again, concerning his need, more like a demand for a bigger army. He was unsatisfied with the training of the new recruits and his obsession with merging the World of Dark to Light is unnerving. Why does he even want to take such an ambitious task? The humans never knowingly harmed the Underworld... and with each passing day, as I see My Lord's army growing faster and stronger, I wonder if the humans will even have a fair chance to defend themselves...

Trish raised an eyebrow. She couldn't believe what was lying in her hands. This... THIS must be Sparda's diary! A diary, where the source of the writings come from the heart. Thousands of years of experience, intimacies, power, all in this tiny book with its pages yellowing from age. Sparda's dairy. Dante had never mentioned such a book existed, or at least didn't bother to tell her. Trish flipped page by page, skimming through to confirm what was in her hands. It was all there: a soldier, to general, the day he decided to defect from Mundus to humanity, his victory in the legendary battle, the day he met his wife.

The day he became a father.

It was all here... Trish couldn't stop reading. Each page held a wealth of knowledge, both in dominating power and personal wisdom of life. Page after page, each more moving, more perplexing, she flipped through the book, and halfway though, there was a sudden stop of devil runes. Instead, english letters took centre stage on the pages. The handwriting wasn't sophisticated or elegant as the runes. It was as if a child scribbled all over the book. Trish flipped back again, to trace back to when the change started.

She found it. Runes mixed with stylish handwriting on one page, a child's scribble of writing and a drawing on the other side. Trish read the child's side first, and quickly assumed whose writing it was. The one paragraph was all she needed to read,

daddy gave me his mistery book! Its soooooo cooooool!!! Virgil got fors edje, but I daddy's book! he cals it a 'deiry'...dairy....diary... And he ses hes gonna teech me to reed and rite beter, but i think im doing prety ok... he sez hel teech me his nativ langwedg too!

Trish couldn't resist to chuckle lightly at such horrible spelling. The picture underneath didn't help her suppress it. Stick figures and circles to make up some sort of human decorated the page. Each figure had an arrow pointing to it, the names of Sparda's family members. Beside it, runes were written, commenting on the artwork. She chuckled even more from that. "Oh Dante... You must've been a cute kid..."

Catching her composure, she started reading the runes on the other page.

4th Moon (Gold), 74 472Yr, ADA

This will be the last entry I will make in this book. Tomorrow, my sons will be 5 years old... It's hard to believe 5 years have already passed. Before I know it, Virgil and Dante will become young adults. From what Eva has told me about human boys and puberty, I do hope their teen years will be kind to me. Although this is my last entry, a new one will begin by my son's hand. I've decided to give Virgil my Force Edge, since he is actively enchanted by swords and expressed how he would like to be a swordsman someday, following me.. He has the fire to become a fine knight... if the human world would let him. And to Dante, I give my diary. He is very shy and quiet of the two, and some of my warmest memories are of him clinging on to his mother's dress for comfort from Virgil's teasing. I know he'll make good use of this. And I better help him read the devil language...and of course, teach him to spell.

Dante...shy? Trish found that very hard to believe. A loudmouth, cussing, drinking, womanizing pig like Dante...shy? Her criticizing thoughts sharply turned to sorrow. Virgil did become a "fine knight", but the price was too high. If Sparda knew that Dante had to kill his older twin brother... what would he say?

Flipping pages again, she read Dante's log on what seems to be about...? Strange, it's about Sparda's departur--

She snapped the diary shut and set it down beside her. This was Sparda's diary. No, it was Dante's diary. Now she was treading through his private thoughts. She doesn't have any right to read about such things... "...am I?..." She stared down at the book, its green eyes staring right back. If curiosity killed the cat, she'll be its next victim if she read further. She bit her lip, deep in her dilemma. Dante hardly, if ever, talked about his past. And maybe there was a reason for it. But if she was to be his partner in which any job accepted usually meant life or death situations, to trust him and his judgement, she has to know how he thinks. How he feels. How he reacts. She was trying hard to convince herself of these, and finally with a deep sigh, she opened the book once again.

Trish, feeling a pang of guilt for continuing, opened to a random page written by Dante. And the first three words was all she needed to understand what this entry was about.

I killed her.

She looked at the date of the entry. It was written 20 years ago and a year after the last entry by Sparda.

itried to save mommy, virgil~. ..mommy I didn't mean too i tried to protectbut, but i was too weak i tried itried and i andi

From the strokes and structure of the writing, Trish sensed his mind was in a state of hysteria. How could anyone blame him? How could he blame himself for his family's fate? He was only 6 years old.

She continued to read eyes glued to the book making sure no detail was left out. It was the entry that forever changed his life, and guided him to his fate.

That event 20 years ago...

***********************

"Are you sure this is the place?" A woman clad in black leather glanced at a man wearing pure white. She revealed a thin framed black sunglasses from the inside pocket of her short, long-sleeved jacket and slipped it over her eyes. The sleeve on her left hand was rolled up and revealed just her wrist between her black glove and a black sleeve underneath. The exposed wrist flaunted the snake tattoo slithering around it, eventually biting on to its own tail. A vine of black roses decorated around the snake, wrapping it in thorns. She looked up at the eerily pleasant moon in the night sky. Reaching for one of her two holsters hanging from her waist, she drew out a black magnum gun, gripping it gently. "....The house smells of fresh blood..."

The man she eyed wore a white trench coat, a stiff-neck buttoned shirt underneath and white buisness trousers. Even his hair was silver-white under the pale moonlight and combed back. On his back rested a giant, silver broadsword, and his hand resting on its intricate handle. He was, what some would say, unnaturally tall, with no hump back in sight that many people "blessed" with tall heights suffer from. "Sources I've checked earlier today point to here, love." He raised his head to the night sky, sniffing the air about him. "And it seems we're too late."

"Let's just clean up what's left." Her voice carried no emotion, as if years of devil hunting have made her immune to basic human fear. Without much as a hesitation, she opened the unlocked door. The scent of blood and demon escaped through the doorway, her lips curling slightly with disgust.

They both treaded silently around the torn house. The lights still worked, but what they revealed was best left in the dark. Windows, mirrors, all glasses were shattered, once white walls were now painted in blood. A small couch rested in the middle of the living room with no signs of damage, except stains of red. A vase was shattered beside the side table. Amongst the shattered glass, red and white roses laid; the white petals looked like freshly fallen snow, while the red further decorated the room with crimson. She walked up to the fireplace where the flames still flickered energetically as if nothing happened at all. Picture frames filled with family pictures lined the mantle, each always containing two, white-haired children. She looked passed them one by one, until a photo of a regal man, also with white hair caught her attention. She held up the photo to the man clutching the handle of his sword, "Is it just me or does he look exactly like you?"

He answered with a grunt, and nodded his head to the bloody floor, "It looks like it's trailing to that room."

The woman in black laid the photo to the side and with her partner followed the trail to a doorway. The knob was glazed in more blood, the white doors decorated with splattered crimson. She glanced sideways to him behind her sunglasses, and he responded with a nod. Holding her gun to her side, she slowly turned the knob and opened just enough to let a sliver of light pass through. The room on the other side was pitch black save the moonlight penetrating the windows. But there was something in there... Something... Someone... sounded like--

"...crying?" She softly mumbled to her partner.

He leaned closer to the door and he too heard the soft cries of sobs and hiccups. "...survivors?" He raised an eyebrow, his way of expressing surprise.

"Maybe..." Slowly, she widened the opening letting the living room light into what looked like the den. The soft cries were louder without the door acting as a barrier. Still readying her gun for any action, she stepped inside while searching for a light switch.

"I got it." He announced, and flicked the switch, illuminating the den. The lights beamed down at the source of the cries as if they were stage lights. And the lights brought no calm tonight.

In the middle of the room laid a headless corpse, drowning in its own blood. The head was nowhere in site. The purple dress that stuck to the body with blood as its glue told the two the victim was a woman. Gashes and puncture wounds penetrated throughout her body, easily carved on by claws or blades. And beside the slaughtered corpse, was an unexpected find.

The source of the cries, a child, laid beside the corpse, it's hand clinging on to the woman's scarf. Both were unaffected by the gruesome site, but the sight of a child crying in a pool of blood was unexpected. A child surviving a demon attack? How? What were the chances?

The woman holstered her gun, and approached the corpse and the boy. She squatted down near the child, a boy, following his half-opened gaze to the severed neck and back to the boy. The neck continued to spew blood even now, some of it splattering on the boy's fully soaked shirt. The man walked up slowly to his partner, shaking his head in disgust at the sight of a child wallowing in blood. What kind of demon would do such a thing?

The boy cried, and whispered softly to no one. He lay on his cheek and the blood reached up to the corner of his mouth. Each time the boy opened his mouth, a bit of blood passed his lips to stain even his it red. Beside him was a white sword, partially covered in blood. The woman brushed the wet hair away from the boy's eyes, and whispered softly, like a mother's voice, "It's over... No one's going to hurt you anymore..." She lifted him up to her lap, slowly, gently. The boy's blank expression didn't waver, his lips still uttering mumbles and weeps. She flipped him on his back exposing the other hand that was tucked underneath him. He held on to a book with relief carvings on its metal cover, and a jewel around his neck. But, the boy's sparse breathing hinted at lung damage. She lifted the book to reveal gashes on his chest. Despite her apathy before, she gasped at the severity of the wound...but...something was different.

Before her eyes, she watched the wound, slowly, but surly, shrinking in diameter. She watched in amazement, the man lifting his eyebrow again.

"....what is going on.... is he...healing?..." she uttered softly.

The man simply nodded, equally astonished, "We better get him out of here, love. It's not a place for children anymore." He nodded the corpse, already starting to smell foul.

"Right...I'll carry him." She cautiously lifted the boy into her arms and was surprising lighter than she expected. The metal book still clasped in his hand, the boy's eyes started to shut in heavy slumber, releasing the grip on the corpse's scarf. "That's right kid, sleep." She touched his cheek with her own in an automatic response of affection. His cheek was cold to the touch, covered in blood. Some crimson stained her own cheek, her clothes dripping in it. But at this moment, that seemed insignificant.

The man bent down and picked up the silver sword, staring at its workmanship, and the blood dribbling down to the tip. "Should we take him to a hospital?"

She started to walk towards the door, holding the boy firmly but tenderly, "I don't hospitals are trained enough to deal with a kid like this." The man knew what she meant. The trauma, the pain, the agony the boy must have gone through, medicine and surgery can't cure them.

------------------------------------------------

M...omm..y?......V...ir...gil? Red eyes dominated the darkness, staring at him, judging him. The scene of the murder played out before his eyes, unable to respond to what he saw.

A hand reached out to him from the darkness, delicate fingers... "Mommy?...mommy??" he whispered in his dreams.

"Shhh, calm down..." The same women in black, still held the boy in her arms. The man next to her drove through the empty streets to the place they both called home.

"M....mom....y?..." His green eyes wildly spun around to the new surroundings, oddly calm against her arms. The boy's eyes were completely blank, void of any emotion like his voice.

She felt her jacket being gripped, and held him close to her, "Shhhh, the bad guys aren't here anymore..." He felt his back being stroked, just like how his mother...used....to-- She eyed him behind her black glasses, still flustered at how his chest had healed completely, without even leaving a scar.

The boy sobbed and buried his face into her chest, mumbling something softly. He gripped the woman's jacket harder, curling up into a ball on her lap.

"Love, I don't think it's wise at the moment to tell him what happened..." The white, angelic man glanced at the woman beside him, "He needs soothing, even if it's just for one night..."

She looked down on the boy in her arms, slowly nodding in agreement. The way the child was so calm, so... apathetic, wasn't what she expected after what she saw. "Kid?" She gently cupped his chin in her hand and lifted it slightly, waiting for the boy to comply, "Don't think about what happened. Tonight, it's just an illusion... a dream..." She brush his hair away to look at his pale green eyes.

"....but....Mommy......is............" His eyes were wide and empty, staring blankly into her eyes, penetrating the dark glass on her face. His mind was empty, devoid of emotion and thought. No fear, no hate, no sadness, and no sorrow. "Just a dream..." His breathing calmed, his mind was blank. The trauma too much to handle for one small child, the mind working its own magic to protect itself from an onslaught of horror. The part of him that healed his wound, the other side of him, carefully weaved its spell. The brain acting as if nothing ever happened... The foundation of dreams.

"Kid.....?" she looked down on him, concern ringing in her voice.

The boy looked up at her, then to the man driving. The man's hair....the eyes.... the face.... ".....D..add..y?" he whispered.

The man lifted both his eyebrows, and she was at a loss of words for a moment, but recovered with a small smile, "N, no, kid. He's my friend...... Can you tell me your name?" She asked with all the sincerity in the world.

The boy looked up at her, seeing bloodstains soaked in her clothes and his. He didn't know exactly why he was covered with blood...but his mind told him "not to worry, everything is fine." Everything's...fine.... Why did that sound so...fake?... "...........Dante."

"Dante? That's a handsome name." She smiled as warmly as she could, "Do you have a last name?"

Dante absent-mindedly looked out the window, "....Dante Sparda."

Sparda?! Her eyes grew wide momentarily and turned to the man next to her flinching by the name. Sparda... she thought, THE Sparda? Could he possibly be the son of.... That would explain the healing... But, the probability of meeting a child of... She never expected such a name uttered by a small boy. "Well....Dante....kid, we're going to take you to our place... just till we get you clean up and rested... Does that sound ok?"

Dante just nodded. His mind was blank, trying to absorb the events that shattered before hand. He looked up at the woman holding him again, "...are you....a friend of Mommy's?"

She blinked in surprise by the question. "No... I don't think I had the pleasure of meeting her."

"Oh." he replied. "What's your name?" He continued to stare around his surroundings with his empty eyes.

She could see he was trying to work out in his mind, the tragedy he witnessed, but the mind has a mysterious way of blocking unwanted scenes. She removed her sunglasses, revealing emerald green eyes, gentle and silent, "My name's Ebony, and my friend here, his name's Ivory. It's...nice to meet you, Dante Sparda."

******************

"Oh my..." Trish set the devil book on her lap, staring at the two names with questions multiplying in her head. The way Dante always took care of those guns... as if he was--

"Hey Trish!"

"Wha--?!" Trish nearly jumped off the bed, startled by a sudden call from Dante downstairs.

"Hey, it's past 11 o'clock, are we eating or not?" Dante hollered from downstairs.

To her surprise, she felt her heart beating unusually fast for a reserved devil like herself. "C, coming!" Despite her accelerated heartbeat, her voice was steady to respond. She closed the diary and placed it back to where she found it, slipping in the Divine Comedy text in the large gap in the bookcase.

Turning the room's lights off, Trish headed down the stairs, trying to suppress her findings for the night. She flipped her hair back, fixing her black wrist garment to the right position. When she reached the main office, Dante was already slipping on his dark red jacket with his pendent brightly hanging on his black top. "It's not closing time yet." Her hand reached for her black long coat from the coat hanger beside the door, flipping her hair back to expose it to the air.

"If we don't get calls for two weeks, what makes you think they'll be one in the next 45minutes?" Dante brushed his silver hair away from his eyes and stepped out in to the cool night air. Trish followed behind, locking the door behind her and both headed for the all-night diner two blocks away. He flipped the collar of his coat up trying to protect his neck from the cold. His partner lagged behind, her eyes staring at the ground as she walked. He slowed down, and peered at his partner, "You're not grumpy that I woke you from your beauty sleep, are you?"

"Huh? Who says I was sleeping? I was just reading ok?" She shot an irritated look at him.

Dante caught it and shrugged, "Geez, ask a simple question..."

Trish noticed the harsh tone in her voice, her thoughts still dwelling to the diary. She caught up beside Dante and after a brief moment of silence, a steady conversation began.

-----------------------------

On a rooftop looking over Devil Never Cry, glowing red eyes followed the two hunters to a small, lit building. The owner of the eyes was clad in black, bone-encrusted armour and horns protruding from the side of its head, curling into then away from its face. A giant lance dangled from the hand adorned with claws, and its brusque voice released air vapour into the night.

"It's time I visit your offspring again, Sparda..."


...Ok that was just waaaay too long. This is why I dislike writing beginnings. I hope the rest of my chapters aren't going to be like this @_@ Too much detail, so little time. Confusing? Too long? Sucked? Intelligent reviews of all kinds is appreciated.