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Dreams Will Be Made Of These	By : Britt_601 Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 3810 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or its characters. Blah, blah, blah-no money is made off of this either.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter 18: Nightmare Come True

Blood.

The scent flooded his senses so much he thought he bathed in it. The coppery odor enveloped him no matter which way he turned his head. Strange though, why did he sniff blood if none surrounded him?

Washing out the substances in Dante's hair remained the last thing on his mind, so did he taint himself with the half-human's vital fluid? True, little spots had touched him from the exchange, but he shouldn't be reeking of it.

Pale eyelids opened, moving his head to one side with the sun beaming high and bright through tan curtains. From the looks of it, he lied in a room; Dante probably too tired to make a turn-around trip and bought them a room to rest up.

The teen exhaled in annoyance looking back on yesterday. That was the worst job he ever took on due to the demons and their shitty agendas. The unwanted taunts spewed from Dante's mouth helped none.

More than half the things that went wrong rested on the veteran, seeing how he stalled and chatted with everything that moved. Nero understood something dark and sinister brewed and they needed to investigate, but the chieftain always had to go about his method of doing it, which squandered time of the utmost importance. Stopping there may have been a blessing in disguise. They exposed a plot brewing, and hopefully put an end to this issue before it spread through the city.

Nero shielded his hands over his face, looking around a bit more vividly to see its décor, unlike the other shit hole he dreamt about. Nightmares like that only happened when exhaustion ran its course. He closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself to confirm that this space harkened a real environment and not some demented dream.

"Is there a door in here?" he questioned aloud, opening his left eyelid, a cerulean iris roaming through the room.

His vision picked up another bed; the purple and red bedspread holding something on top of the cover. He could look at that later. Next object his sight laid upon was a long mahogany dresser, a TV resting on top and a black plastic bag. Maybe Dante left him some food? Yet one thing he verified was the brown entrance trailing to the outside, then again it might lead to the bathroom.

The youth switched irises to view the other side. On the furniture stood a white microwave and beside it, a small refrigerator. It turned out to be a normal dwelling, thankfully.

"Okay, now is there a window?" Both eyes opened, scanning the room to ensure nothing delved in the amiss. After finding all as it should be, including a closed window, Nero rolled the covers off of him, sitting up straight while his hands covered his face.

He glanced down to see his shirtless torso, his jeans missing the unique thigh holster which fitted like a second glove. Hmm, how... nice... of Dante to give him extra comfort to rest up. Relief washed over him, failing to find weird "bite marks" or red welts appearing on him out of nowhere. He lived no dream, only reality.

With that problem resolved, the coppery aroma remained an issue.

The teen tilted his head back, inhaling the air for clues to where the smell originated from. A tad difficult to do since the odor engulfed him from all sides.

Bare soles touched the frosted-feeling carpet. Nero stopped his movements, glancing towards his thin toes to see if he stepped in water.

Shaggy brown flooring greeted him, calming his curiosity as to why the floor was like a freezer. Warmth and comfort smothered over his naked feet, and when devoid of said sensations the frost took over.

Perhaps an extraordinary draft came in underneath the door. With his confidence soaring from his musings, he proceeded to the entryway on the left. Before he went to it though, it wouldn't hurt to view what area they stopped in. And find his missing weapons.

"Damn truck better be outside. My shit better be in this room or in that car outside somewhere."

Wherever they traveled, their hardwares stayed right behind them. Dante concealed Rebellion in this big, double bass case and Nero opted to wait at the office. He took issue with leaving his Red Queen just to go out anywhere in that dump of a city.

Devilish rogues polluted the metropolis with their presence alone. Yamato lingered in his reach if he needed it, but his own lady won over his battle heart whenever he called on her. If she required a partner to help her out, the priceless o-katana enjoined to lend her hand, same notion for Blue Rose. The youngster kept a tight hold on his stock, and he always knew of their location.

Except for now.

His valuables should be in the backseat, safely tucked away yet accessible if need be. The elder would not be that dumb to go off somewhere and leave with his armaments when he had his own to help him out.

Taloned blue fingers grasped around a brass knob, intent on notifying Dante of the smell if he was here. Opening the wooden square expressed a myriad of confused sentiments, Nero surveying a small but clean bathroom. He could have sworn he heard the thriving commotion of a world outside.

"So if the bathroom is here, then where's the front door?" His mind pondered when he looked over his right shoulder, and sure enough a brown doorway appeared... that wasn't there before when his right eye combed through the room. His consciousness raised alarming flags, alerting Nero to be on guard in case he slept in la-la land.

"I'm not dreaming," he tried to reassure himself. "This looks pretty normal so far."

He continued on to the bathroom mirror, looking at his chest in scrutiny; fascinated he didn't wake up with those sores and bites on him. All viewed healthy and sealed up to his eyes. His pecs had strengthened since living with the captain, as with his shoulders, arms, waist and legs.

Dante challenged him in various ways, some intentional and some not, and Nero fell for the sometimes-pointless banter. Yet he received the better deal out of it, so there wasn't much to complain about.

The line running between his sternum down to his upper stomach piqued his full interest because it shouldn't be there. Rebellion didn't stay inside of his torso as long as the Cutlass a few months ago, and after that incident happened, no mark settled on his skin.

Now that an imprint showed because of the magical broadsword, is that blemish going to stay there permanently, or did he have to get his hands on one of those vital gems to restore him? Compared to the red hunter, he bruised and welted more easily because of how much, or lack of, tainted blood flowed in him. His injuries did heal after, it just took time.

Next blotch under his investigation presented his appearance. That nap he seized rejuvenated his body, exactly what he needed to calm down from yesterday's affairs. Most of his time involved picking up Dante's slack. Like the situation dragged on to the point of exhaustion, well at least on his part. The demonic discoveries might keep adding to his fatigue unless he approached the issue in a different manner; preferably taking on solo missions.

Ocean blue irises directed their attention towards the rectangular mirror, willing to gauge how much he recovered from his "beauty queen" look... if only his eyes can concentrate into the polished metal.

No matter how hard he strained, they could not convene on his sight. Why? His eyesight wasn't blurred when he scanned the room nor when he checked himself out. As far as the youth's awareness, he didn't sleep on his face.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" Nero looked at his reflection again but the outcome remained the same. No fog stained the glass from a recent shower. Just how long did he black out for?

To test if his eyesight had gone blurry, the youngster turned his head, cerulean optics resting on a small shower situated to his right. From this angle, the cubicle held a caddy holding a green bar of soap, a pink razor, some red shampoo, and a gold package reading the words 'XL Magnum' written all over it. He saw those objects without a problem. When he glanced back to the glass however, he couldn't fixate on anything but the outline of his appearance.

"There's a condom in here." Nero said, returning to the shower to pick the package up. Refusing to acknowledge that Dante took a little 'detour' on their trip, he threw the square wrapper onto the floor. They were in a damn near emergency, and he only thought about blowing his load?

That asshole wouldn't lack the smarts to bring a tramp into their room and screw her while he dozed mere inches in the next bed. Oh, the bloody cheek of that bastard! Whatever skanky mess walked through here must have used the red bottle to wash herself off after the deed completed.

Honestly, he couldn't grasp how people paraded around with “free reign” in choosing who they had relations with. From the stuff he had seen, not much of an exchange went down before they trotted off and coupled somewhere.

Just how close are they to the office since the hybrid picked up a dancer working there? Is she still here somewhere on account of her crap remaining in the shower? Questioning the actions of the man got him nowhere, leading him to ask more questions to stay unanswered.

"Does that idiot know no bounds? Leave it him to fool around while we're on a mission." He stepped out the bathroom, inhaling to clear his thoughts. Secretly, sleeping the day in sounded delightful. Let Dante leave and kill whoever he wanted to with his anger. Being near the red dope started to affect the...

Where's the other door?

Eyeballs bulged from their sockets, a startling revelation sent shivers crawling down his form in thick waves. His sickness ran rampant through his head, yeah that's all. That (probably poisoned) heart burger must've played tricks on his restless mind. A lacking logic arose behind a door not showing where it should be.

Stiff feet moved over to his bed, intending to go back to sleep to reclaim his vigilant mind. He isn't dreaming; all carried on as normal. Dante got them a room and... that's it. The wind pricked his skin and the carpet was cold, though he didn't recall the bathroom floor's texture. Then again, he didn't need to remember because he investigated something important. Other than that, everything stayed real.

Giving himself a firm nod, the young man turned to plant himself in the comfy blanket when a loud crash resounded behind him. Muscles locked up at the noise, ears straining to hear movement. Did the shower caddy fall in the tub? Nero brushed it off until the same sound repeated itself, only louder.

His stomach tightened, body temperature growing hotter with the unknown force in the bathroom and his missing weapons. Revisiting his memories of the last dream resurfaced, telling him to wake up before the nightmare escalated any further. Originally he knew he wasn't dreaming, however his inner conscious forced him to think otherwise, as much as he didn't want to.

The youth shifted from the side of the bed, glancing toward the disappearing door to find the wooden rectangle there again. Eyes blinked in confusion, disbelieving his faulty eyesight. Moments before a wall took its place, and now it just appeared?

Pale feet moved in hesitant steps towards the door, senses on high alert to discern if anything else remained amiss in the air. His wracked and blown apart mind tried to attach itself together. In the process, a bunch of random images he did or didn't remember flooded to the surface, while his brain pieced itself with those pictures.

An echoing bang rang loudly throughout the room, originating on the other side of the magical door. If someone knocked, it meant he wasn't dreaming then, right?

Nero refocused his thoughts, taking jerky steps closer to the new door; wondering if he should call out to whomever or open it. His conscious urged him to check if the scarlet idiot knocked, but years of caution told him to stay alert.

"Who is it?" The youth stopped behind the entrance, looking at his scaly arm for any indications of life. Usually when the chief neared, the demonic limb pulsed a few times and then died down to a low hum. And why did he knock if he had his own key to the room, if it was him?

Murmured words touched his hearing, prompting the teen to draw nearer to the passage to better hear the voice. Perhaps the chieftain knocked to see if he had awakened before he barged in, or maybe he did forget his key and asked to be let in.

Nero moved closer, pressing his ear against the wood to determine who or what the fuck lurked on the outside.

More mumbled speech filtered through the door; muffled words rushing in a higher pitch, finally ending the sentence with the loathsome term 'kid.'

The irritating nickname sent a barrage of elated emotions fleeting throughout his body; relief that his being wasn't left alone in the middle of nowhere. Now that the hybrid returned from his endeavors, Nero could rightfully chew his ass out for taking the teen's possessions, along with telling the red dork to investigate the creature in the bathroom, if one inhabited the space.

"Where's your key at, old man?" He approached the door, encircling his devil bringer around the brass knob a single knuckle at a time.

"Looks like someone is still asleep," spoke the voice resounding clear as day, but slightly more bitter sounding.

"What're talking about, I'm wide awake..." His uttered words softened with each syllable until all became silent. His mouth fell agape, refusing to register what his vision picked up. One bare foot stepped behind the other, a heated sensation spiking through his core to the brim.

A brick wall lied in front of him, trapping him from the inside. Jilted breaths hovered in his lungs, muscles freezing up to prevent movement. The restroom door concealing the unknown force flew from its hinges, Nero whipping around with a forced gasp.

Good thing this maintained a dream or else he really would have been fucked. He had to wake himself up (he soon realized); skipping the impending battle with the stranger in the bathroom practiced the best option.

"Ow, dammit! What the hell?"

Maybe a little later.

Spiking jolts ebbed in his foot, looking down at his soles to see no objects around to bump into, so what gives? Did he step on an invisible nail or something?

Ocean blue peepers glanced towards the bathroom, body recoiling into a tight spring in preparation to defend himself against an onslaught. Glancing into the door-less space, everything could be seen in the tiny cubicle. There wasn't a window anyone can go out or come in at. Nothing suspicious lingered in the shower nor was there an enemy on the ceiling... if such an animate being resided there to begin with. If push comes to shove, he can always jump out the polished glass.

"I gotta get the hell outta here." The youth finished caressing his foot, finding it strange that the thrumming pain felt realistic. Nerve receptors sent tingling spikes to his brain in complaint of his foot falling under attack. He considered it odd however, to distinguish something like that while dreaming.

In essence, why are his dreams involving Dante in questionable manners? The dream before last involved the red warrior in intimate positions while the previous one embroiled his pacification by the hybrid's demon form. Clearly a message hid behind its meaning, and further analysis will happen before he formed a conclusion about these visions.

All though he gained more than a few bruises and bumps to the head, so maybe that had something to do with it.

By the time he finished his scrutiny of the situation, his ears tuned into wings flapping roughly, bumping against the bricked-in door. If an entity hit that wall, it sure wasn't something as light as the wind.

Wings flapped louder in the distance; the air swooshing and separating along with the fluttering feathers. This stone barricade kept him protected from whatever force loitered outside of it, and exposing him to the potential adversary this side of the blockade. He wondered if allowing the creature to come into the room bid to jump-start his wake-up process. Sitting all the way through a hallucination retained a feat he'd probably never accomplish. Who in their functioning mind would?

Taking deep, slow breaths the partial-hybrid inched over to the bricked wall, balling his devil bringer into a fist before reaching a focal point to shove his clenched hand through. The "wing" sound grew quieter the nearer he came to the bricks, prompting him to think a large bird scuttled away or maybe the wind tricked his hearing?

Still, he couldn't deny this freakish encounter, like a premonition pointing towards imprisonment, with or by something, and escaping proved futile. Is this what the wall symbolized? An inescapable foreshadowing? Will Dante latch onto him and disallow him to leave?

"Bullshit. He doesn't own me," Nero said out loud, knocking on the cemented block and finding the perfect spot to break through.

"Who doesn't own you?"

His body's lead messenger halted in sending messages throughout its vessel, freezing the mobile muscles to stay in neutral. Eyes stilled on the sight before them, looking at nothing and everything at the same time. His throat ran dry after the liquid to moisten the cavity stopped its flow. Sensitive ears physically tried to close themselves when it wasn't possible to do so. His heart rate increased after he heard the voice behind him. The window is closed, how did it get inside?

Nero turned his head to the side, eyeballs at the far right corner peeking at the thing making the voice to his back. Did the freak decide to come out of hiding and introduce itself at last?

Only he wished it hadn't.

An ashen gray, tentacle-like limb exposed itself from the bathroom to the ceiling wall, teeth-like ridges lining the edge of its arm. More limbs soon followed after, taking its time to slide out to mold into something reminiscent of an eight-legged star.

"Wait a minute," he recalled back to the field battle with the crazy sculpture and the naked she-devil. "Those are those fucking face-eaters.”

How did those get here? There wasn't a place for them to hide in the bathroom, at least not where he saw it. Those 'bumps' in the restroom must have come from that ugly mongrel and the beast went through puberty. The sheer mass took over more than half of the room along with changing from its blue color.

As if to verify Nero's observations, the tentacles slowly lifted itself up, off, and away from the roof, each stem closing in towards the middle to form that partial-face not even a mother could love. The re-colored Fault swiveled around to confront the youth, colossal obsidian pits gazed at him, unspoken promises of agony and torture to be exercised.

The soulless gaze ignited Nero into moving and breathing again from his motionless state, thinking now the perfect opportunity to wake up before he did so by screaming. These things are best killed by a bullet to the head and his double revolver... had not shown herself ever since this debacle started. No, he would not be deterred or defeated by some figment of his imagination.

As long as he had two fists to fight with, nothing was too big or little to challenge him.

However, if the monster intended on swallowing him, how might the brute do so if it hung on the roof? He needed to stand in the heart of the monster's... mouth before it attempted to swallow him whole. And if the fucker did try to eat him while hanging upside down, he could just duck under the damn thing.

"Heh, that's a nice bluff you got going on."

A small smirk showed up on the right side of his lips, confidence soaring because he readied to exploit the Fault's weakness. Nero raised his devil bringer, summoning the ghostly limb to snatch the fiend off the ceiling and plop it onto the floor.

The demonic branch shot forward, intending on doing just that when the blue specter stopped in midair; the appendage touching the area under the Fault's eyes. Tingles cascaded inside his forearm, leaving him in a mix of relief and panic.

Firstly, where had that voice come from? Those things held no interest in talking to him in that backyard, so what changed? Since it wasn't around its buddies, did the freak wish to converse with him?

"Fat chance in hell buddy!"

Nero wrangled to tug his arm, finding the harder he tried the longer it wouldn't budge. The Fault glared in triumph at the youth's dilemma, face narrowing as the edges of its legs peeled open. Two of the tentacles shot out, trapping the blue specter in between the limbs and curling the tip of a leg to mimic the shape of a hook.

On the field, he'd have pegged this creep as a complete, mental moron with the purpose to consume those with magical energy. He wondered if the demon emitted the sanguine scent from what it ate. Might explain why the smell marinated the room.

The prickling sensitivity increased in his devil bringer. Ugly face stood by him, but his right arm didn't have to tell him that. The extended limb still hung straight out in the air, clawed fingers unable to flex and bend at will.

Ashen gray limbs suddenly took a hold of the scaly blue branch, lightly tugging said body part to wage how hard it had to grip it. Nero had the same idea, pulling away with an equal amount of strength when the arm jerked him forward.

All though the Fault didn't have lips, he could almost see the repulsive thing mocking his attempt to flee. As slow of a pace the Fault pulled him, he sought for anything to latch onto. Perchance it may open and throw him into its core?

Eyes looked to the right, resting on the black plastic bag he didn't investigate from earlier. Seeing this also reminded him of the object sitting on the other bed, yet it proved futile to grab it. What did the bag contain? Despite how useless it seemed at the moment, he had to ponder. A med kit, or maybe a stupid note explaining the elder's whereabouts?

Spiking tendrils shot down just below his right thigh; the twitching motion initiating the final stages of him awakening. As twisted and sardonic his dreams became, he at least knew what it harbored, a dream. Someone doesn't have voices whispering to one's back or sealed off doors from the inside. No bottomless views of the world (he missed glancing out the window) below or no bad eyesight. And certainly no ogres appearing on the ceiling. As long as he convinced himself of that, there wasn't an urgency to worry... too much.

About halfway under the beast's form, the teen swung his left appendage around and dove inside the bag, fingers touching something squishy and throbbing at the same time. "What the hell is in here?" With a solid grip, Nero brought his hand back, temporarily forgetting the demon dragging him, focusing on the lump he held.

Every second blood oozed out of the valves, forming several crimson streams running down the length of his arm. The fist-sized muscle smothered in the red, coppery scent pumped at a steady beat, the pulse increasing along with the youth's anxiety.

His insides wrenched into a tight knot, forcing him to gasp for more air. More fluid spurted from the cardiac valve, syncing with his uneven breathing. Apparently the dope, in Nero's subconscious mind, swam in the mood to joke but this bordered on cruelty. Did the organ belong to a demon Dante had killed?.

The vascular orifice throbbed quietly in his grip, chills running through his chest over what he actually held. He didn't see the bag move when he first noticed it so why is it beating now? This was to blame for the bloody scent...

"… No, this isn't happening!" The youth's stress-filled voice cried out, body visibly shaking upon his vision resting on where that vital pump came from. Vocal cords struggled to produce the anguished scream fighting to let out.

Bloodied trickles ran down his torso, mangled and torn flesh formed a hole in his chest, in direct alignment where his vascular tool once sat. Inhales huffed out short and shallow, trying to intake as much air to calm his person yet the effort proved futile. Fingers spread in a drawn-out fashion, letting the fleshy commodity fall into the heart of his palm.

What if he died in his slumber right then? The thing symbolizing the boundary between life and death and his mitt the lifeline? Shame really, he always imagined himself going out with a bitchin' fight; not running away from trippy shit his thoughts conjured up.

Ignoring the Fault and its agenda wasn't a good combination. The face gave a harsh tug, lifting the youth and whipping him haphazardly into the air. Walls cracked and crumbled beneath him, Nero thinking of a way and why his devil bringer could not detach itself from its imaginary hold. The scaly arm grasped nothing; just stuck frozen in a heightened position under the monster's eye.

Another blow landed on the youngster, eliciting a grunt after he collided with the sturdy, brick wall. Pain roved absent where his back hit, but the damage originated where his vascular organ lay. He clutched onto the fist-sized object, afraid of what it permitted if he let go of it.

The jittery sensation on his right side enticed the teenager to thrash around long enough to escape out that window. Concurrently the Fault stilled its actions, tentacles spreading to lie straight against the ceiling. In its core, he saw a suction-like crevice opening up to a range of darkness.

"Fuck that, you'll never get me," the youth growled in dark vengeance, trying with all his willpower to wrench himself free, failing in this attempt like he did so many others.

Being hurled about affected his hearing; he swore he heard someone say, "I already do." Perhaps, rather absurdly, the ghoul talked?

Voicing his retort declined to receive the light of day when the Fault lifted Nero into the air, the black hole widening to accommodate its larger prey.

He wasn't one to bow down under his shivery skin when fear coursed through him. However, the uncertainty weighing in since he went into the bathroom until now made him question that emotion. Howbeit for the umpteenth time, this sustained a dream. Why is he pondering this when it'll be forgotten within the first five minutes of him waking up?

Regardless of an enemy showing up in his world, why can't he kill it? Did he need to unleash some inner strength to conquer this feat? If so, then where...

"Yamato." Nero whispered her name as if he'd been searching for the artifact his whole life. If he can't use his own abilities to defeat this adversary, then he would have to dig a little deeper to bring forth a power that should. If it swallowed him, he could at least go out with a bang. He can call on the powerful blade and she accepted the response whenever he requested, though sometimes she urged to respond to her own will, to spread her wings without permission.

"Okay, you got me." The youth closed his eyes, weighing the probability of the air spider throwing him into that black hole and him getting what he needed to get out. Instead, the scoundrel left him dangling, allowing him to take advantage of its hesitance.

Raw vitality poured into his being, taking in a deep breath, sensing the dark essence fill his soul. Yamato's energy projection began to awaken, summoning his demonic hand to form the grasping hold he grew accustomed to.

Blue light encased around him, moments from completing the final touches into his damned side when a throbbing pain emanated from his right cheek. Blackness consumed his vision, like he traveled through a void and there wasn't a sense of place or time; a different darkness than when he shut his eyelids. Did the Fault throw him into its core while he conjured his devil trigger?

What a bitch move.

Still, smart thinking on the goblin's part. If the o-katana appeared sooner, the thing would have been shredded into confetti.

Behind fair eyelids, red-orange light covered the expanse of his skin, senses becoming attuned because the plane of darkness dissipated. Except the stinging on the right side of his cheek didn't.

His left hand reached up to touch the sore spot, exhaling deeply in content after he had yet another fucked up dream... and he didn't have to do any fighting. Inhaling the aroma allowed him to distinguish his location.

His room held the minty perfume in this place of a pigsty, prompting him to keep all his belongings neat and clean; forcing him into cleaning the office since Dante blatantly refused to do so. Taking a whiff of the room also brought back the sanguine scent smothering his perceptions in la-la land.

Eyes bolted open, the rays from the spacious blinds piercing his pupils, demanding him to turn his head. His nose scrunched up with the increased coppery aroma, as if someone held a bucket of plasma under his nasal cavity.

"What the fuck is that smell from?" No matter which way he turned, he couldn't determine the source, starting from his demented snooze until the present. No worries, now wide awake, he could investigate and eliminate that odor. But his comfy mattress beckoned him to stay there and lull himself back to sleep, but duty calls.

"Duty my ass, probably spilled some blood somewhere." Nero yanked the soft covers off of his tired body when his gaze unfurled, glancing to the right to resolve the metallic-scented issue.

Sitting in a chair was the hybrid himself, expression splotched with dingy browns and reds. His irises stared straight ahead, hard and focused on the blank wall before him. The same colors on his face covered his threads, though one wouldn't be able to tell since his jacket was already a scarlet shade.

Nero traveled down the length of the red hunter's arm, a light gasp escaping his lips after seeing him clutch a heart in his hand; the vascular ticker pumping out this dark purple liquid from its valves. Questions ran rampant throughout his brain, forming accusatory words yet lacking the will to voice them.

The youth inched himself to the other side of his bed, optics alert and enlarged to read every movement and action Dante did. Images flashed from the fake reality he dreamt about not too long ago. Self-doubt ran its course; the pep talk he gave himself while asleep doing nothing to comfort him.

When his back touched the headboard he exhaled, not due to the cold barrier, but Dante's eyes transitioning from the wall to him. The half-devil looked tired and not all together there, like something terrible happened and he blanked out. Thumping pangs ebbed at his cheek, the youth raising his scaly branch to touch it. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a spot on his blue index finger.

Glancing down the length of it, he could see more stains trailing down his arm, as if he had been holding the heart, or even bleeding. More red caught his attention until he scanned the whole of his body, vision picking up on a large red circle that had formed in the middle of his chest, ending in the exact position of where his beating organ rested.

Nero let out a shock-wrenching scream that never left his vocal cords, thinking now wasn't such a bad time to go to sleep and stay that way.

A/N: I've been out of college and I still have dreams that my speech report is due or I have some test in accounting. What pisses me off is when I wake up out of my sleep and think that I am late to school. :C I wonder how many of ya'll can control your dreams and turn it around for the better? I know I can, except when it comes to school!

Now that Dante has his goodies with him, what will he do with him or better yet, how long will he be able to hold onto them? Poor Nero, always getting the ass-end of something he doesn't want, lol. It's about time that Dante starts to share his sentiments.
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Dreams Will Be Made Of These