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MONSTER	By : Radius Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 10988 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Devil May Cry game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: WHAT? AN UPDATE? Can it be that I’ve actually updated???? O___O Indeed, I have. And I must so, wow, that was long overdue. XP Part of my lack of updating came from the fact my mother passed away last year, so I wasn’t in the mood to write anymore. I took a break from writing and concentrated on my art, which has helped me greatly. Busy with the artistic side of things, Seth basically took a life of his own and helped me appreciate the fun things in life. I’m producing work based on his character including…key chains. Don’t believe me? Check it out ^__^

http://img26.imageshack.us/img26/42/keychain1small.jpg

So yes, I’ve dived into my art side for awhile. I’m even attending the San Japan Convention at San Antonio this year, or at least, waiting for my confirmation since I sent my payment. In addition, I made an entire sci-fi series of Seth, which I’ll be showing in my Senior Show. A lot’s happened since I’ve been gone. Still, one of my wonderful friends gave me the extra push to come back to this story and post the final chapters. She made a fan music collection for me, inspired by my story. I'm very excited again. So now I'm going to trying to get back to the groove and complete this thing. It’s reaching the final section of the story. I’m glad since it’ll be the first story I’ve successfully posted online, completed. So without further ado, an update on Monster.

<< | The Truth about Cats and Dogs | >>

“Dante…?”

He didn’t know what to make of the word. Somewhere in his mind, he recognized its significance. He found it familiar. Yet, his mind was too muddled to comprehend or categorize the word properly. His thoughts were unable to give that word a particular meaning. He was like a baby who needed to connect sound with a specific context. Would he have to learn the alphabet again? Learn how to walk and talk? God, his head hurt so much. Please. Someone, anyone, take out the splinters embedded in his brain. They hurt so much.

“Dante…?”

Again, that word. He recognized it. Dante… that was his name, wasn’t it?

“Wake up. Please, baby.”

No, mom, five more minutes. There’s no school today.

“Come on, wake up. Please.”

Go bother Vergil. It’s his turn to take out the trash.

“Jesus, Dante! Wake up!”

That voice.

No. Not mother. She died. She died a long, long time ago. She died protecting him. Vergil was gone too. He went psycho. Now, both of them left a big void in his heart. It was a void that could never be filled, at least, not to his knowledge. But that voice just now. He recognized it. It was so tender and wonderful, soft and husky. It was an angel. It must’ve come down to bless him. No way. Did he die? Did he even believe in angels?

“Wake up, Dante!”

Dante…That’s right. That was his name. His mother was a fond reader of Dante’s Inferno.

“God damn it, wake up you son-of-a-bitch!”

Something hard slapped him across the face. Dante’s eyes snapped opened. It took a moment for him to come to. As he gradually slipped into the conscious world, the headache that stung the back of his head intensified. It was a stern reminder that something major had happened. That or he had one too many margaritas last night. But wait, he didn’t touch a single bottle yesterday. He was completely sober.

“Dante?”

He recognized the voice. And realized it was no angel.

Dante’s vision was still blurry as he struggled to regain full consciousness. Swallowing, he found his throat very dry. Whatever saliva he had, stopped midway down his throat. He was drowsy, wanting to sleep again, wanting to shut his lids and embrace the numb and warm arms of slumber. But he forced himself to stay awake, forced himself to open his eyes and let them untangle the blurry mess he saw now.

Details came slowly. At first, there were only blotches of color that appeared. And then those colors morphed into defined shapes. The shapes eventually grew clearer. Subtle contrasts of light and shadows amplified edges and flat surfaces.

There was a ceiling fan. It rotated, spinning in an awkward tempo, creaking each time it span. And there were cracks on the ceiling, thin and thick alike, long and short. Some gathered at a particular spot while others strayed in other directions. There was daylight sun too, flooding the air around him with a soft orange glow. The dust particulars that danced in the air reflected its light. And then there was a face… It stared at him, the delicate features contorting into a worried expression.

Sitting next to him, Seth’s lower lip quivered as he gazed down at him. The sun’s light highlighted the tiny hairs of his shaved head, almost creating a halo. The metal rings and dark makeup Seth wore appeared brutal. Yet, he looked beautiful and pure. He appeared like a virgin: innocent, pure, and forever lovely. Against the pale whiteness of his face Seth’s deep black eyes were apparent. Intense, they shot through him; penetrated his soul. Wide opened and alert, they were overwhelming.

Dante stared into them. He once loved those pearl black eyes.

Seth moved a little to make room for Dante as he slowly sat up. Dante’s body felt weak, as if it was exhausted from running a back-to-back marathon. The lightness in his head was still there but he chose to ignore it. Instead, he concentrated on his surroundings. He recognized the room. There was the familiar windowsill filled with Carebears, as well as the wall decorated with hundreds of peculiar pictures. His eyes were briefly drawn to the photo of Seth at the middle, the one that was cut in half.

He was at Seth’s apartment, lying on his bed. An eighties song played quietly in the background while the smell of bacon and eggs emitted from the kitchen.

“Thank God you’re all right…” Seth said softly, his hands pressed together.

Dante turned his attention back to him. Seth’s eyes twinkled brightly, reflecting off the light from the sun. The puffiness in his cheeks suggested he’d been crying. Seth lowered his head and exhaled, appearing relieved. When he looked up again, he wrapped his arms around Dante, holding him tightly.

Dante pushed him away.

Seth frowned. He had only one second to register the cold glare on Dante’s face before a fist smacked him across the cheek. He flew backwards. The power of Dante’s strength slammed Seth into a wall; he landed hard and broke a lamp on his way down.

“That’s for almost killing me last night, asshole,” Dante muttered and rose from the bed.

Struggling to get back on his feet, Seth’s balanced himself against the wall behind him. His face was flushed pink now. He put a hand on the welt Dante created on his cheek. Seth’s mouth opened to say something but eventually closed again.

Dante turned away. He got out of the bed and stood naked, silent and indifferent. On a chair, he discovered clothes Seth had laid out for him, along with his recovered guns from the park. Without saying a word, Dante put on his attire and tucked his pistols beneath his shirt.

The other man remained paralyzed, meanwhile. As if incapable to comprehend what just happened, he stood in a daze with pitch-black eyes wide open. The redness on Seth’s face was already gone, already healed. Dante suspected the welt on his cheek was healed as well. Seth still kept his hand at the area struck, however, his eyes staring at an empty space between Dante and the bed. He sucked on his lower lip.

Dante headed out the door.

“Wait,” Seth said at last.

He was fast, fast enough to make the air whirl violently in his wake. By the time Dante put his hand on the doorknob, Seth had already blocked the door with his entire frame, shielding it with his arms spread wide. Dante knew the door wouldn’t budge open even if he tried to move him. It certainly was a sight, though. He knew Seth was strong, maybe stronger than he was. He knew Seth had the ability to tear him apart. Despite all this, however, Seth’s eyes were wild with panic. To Dante’s amusement, Seth looked like a frightened dog about to get neutered. He mentally laughed at that thought.

“Don’t go…” Seth urged. “Let… let me explain. Please.”

“Explain? What’s to explain? I got everything. I know.”

“You… know?” Seth looked at him, slightly curious.

“You’re a werewolf,” Dante said and chuckled, finding it almost funny. He raised his hands, moving them like claws. Out of sarcasm, he howled. “You got jaws and hair and everything. Wow, I’m just fucking shaking in my boots.”

Seth bit his lower lip, not liking the tone in Dante’s voice.

“What?” Dante continued, sizing him up. “Doggie want a biscuit? Want me to take you out for a walk? Let you piss at a fire hydrate?”

“You bastard…” Seth’s chest rose up and down.

Dante laughed. “Hey, it’s aaaaall good. I’m game. I understand it. This explains your mood swings, right? You transform. You lose control on a full moon.” He glared at Seth when he added in a serious tone, “And you tear apart the man who cares about you.”

That last remark completely deflated whatever anger that bubbled inside Seth. His shoulders sagged and he lowered his gaze, his eyes watery.

“It’s not that simple…” he replied quietly. “I would never…”

“Hurt me? No, you can’t. Not really. You’re not the only one with a few doggie tricks up your sleeve, Seth. I’ve killed worse animals than you before. Just pray you never see the day I show you my tricks.”

“Dante…” Seth stared up at him.

Dante snorted and avoided eye contact. “Look, I need to go home. I need a good shower. I smell pretty bad. In fact, I smell like…wet doggy fur.” Dante ignored Seth’s hurtful expression. “Why don’t you step aside? Go chase a fucking cat or something.”

Seth’s body trembled as he sucked on his lower lip again. A tear fell from his left eye. He quickly wiped it off and in a blur, he disappeared.

A quick sniff of the air and Dante realized he was completely alone in the apartment now. His sarcastic demeanor disappeared. Swallowing hard, he stood in the room he used to love. His face was down and he tried to learn how to breathe again.

He felt like shit.

***

In his office, Enzo stood. The Italian man’s hat covered a part of his forehead like it usually did. Currently, Dante’s informant was grinning like a buffoon. It’d been awhile since they saw each other. Dante liked Enzo and had no serious quarrels with the man. His informant found him work and took him out for a drink whenever he needed one. And he was loyal. Yes, he was very loyal to him. But Enzo was also unbearable too. He knew Enzo saw him as his walking, talking piggy bank and tried to cash in anytime opportunity presented itself. It drove Dante crazy whenever his informant told a client he’d take the job, even without his consent. Often times, it landed the Italian man in trouble, especially when no amount of smooth talking could convince the devil hunter to do the gig.

Right now his informant was running out of funds. Another group of bodies had also been discovered this morning at Jefferson Memorial Park. It was no surprise Enzo was here now. His informant wanted to see if his piggy bank was ready to make a deposit. While he never tested Dante’s patience to the point of getting shot, today his piggy bank wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“I’m soooo glad I managed to catch you,” Enzo shouted over the music, “You’ve no idea how hard it is to get a hold of you. You’re hardly home and all I get is your voice machine. I must’ve left you over fifty messages.”

“That’s usually the case when I want to be left alone.”

Dante sat behind his sturdy desk, his legs on it and crossed at the ankles. Having just taken two back-to-back showers, his hair was damped and he wore only red denim pants. His bared feet twitched to the beat of heavy metal yelling from the jukebox in the corner. It was loud, too loud that Enzo had to shout every time he spoke. Dante didn’t care. He needed the music’s volume all the way up. Hopefully its loudness would be enough to permanently imprint itself into his mind, getting rid of all the eighties’ crap he’d been listening to for a month.

He was glad to be back at his office. He rarely saw it, previously coming by only to pick up a few things or just going straight to bed. It was good to be home, to be surrounded by a wide space of wooden floors and walls. The pool table at the right was still there, collecting dust. So was the red leather couch flooded with abandoned magazines and dirty clothes. The drum set and guitars stood quietly, ready to be played. Both the trophy heads and provocative posters of women seemed to smile at him, thankful for his hearty return. Dante gazed at a colored picture of his mother on his desk. He thought it was ten times better than a half-torn, black-and-white image of him.

His place was a mess but he swore, right after Enzo left, he’d make it messier. There wouldn’t be one thing left unturned, one thing put in its proper place. And he’d also decorate the walls with a lot of women, all naked and wonderful. And he planned on having a call girl come over and fill his mind with dirty thoughts and pleasures. None of this romance crap.

“Anyway, I was wondering how your latest gig was going,” yelled Enzo at the top of his lungs. The music had just stopped when Enzo spoke, the jukebox switching to a new record. His voice literally boomed throughout the room.

“Jesus,” Dante said, shaking his head, “Keep your voice down.”

“Uh… Sorry.”

Dante took a slice of pizza from the box in front of him. There were six more boxes of pizza, done all the way. The first three were completely empty. There was also a village of empty beer bottles. The one he drank was already halfway empty.

“So how are things?” asked his informant. The music was back on. His first word to his question was completely lost to the wailing of an opera singer and guitars.

“Huh? What’d you say?” Dante asked.

He heard him, of course, his hearing was too acute to hear even the rats that gnawed at his basement’s floor. Still, he liked screwing around with the chubby little Italian. Dante took a swig from his bottle of beer while Enzo stood next to the drum set and guitars to be heard clearer. He accidentally bumped a guitar and it fell. Dante’s eyes narrowed. He made a mental note to get rid of his acoustic guitars. He could use the money anyway.

“I said… how’re things going with the gig?” Enzo cupped his mouth with both hands.

Dante finally stood up, walking over to the jukebox with his beer. He had his fun. The sooner he answered Enzo’s questions, the sooner he’d leave. He had his goals for today and wanted to get started on them soon. Lowering the volume, he returned to the desk, choosing to sit on top of it.

“It’s getting there,” he muttered back.

“So you’re close to nailing this creep?”

Dante knew the word ‘creep’ shouldn’t have bothered him. And it bothered him that it bothered him. “How’s about we leave this alone for now?”

“Aw, come on. I haven’t seen you for ages. Are you having trouble finding your wild animal? Because, if you are, I have good news.”

Dante looked up, curious.

“My sources say the beast hangs out by a meat factory,” resumed the informant. He grinned, wanting to pat himself on the back. However, he frowned when he heard Dante chuckling.

“Jesus… the poor stupid pooch…” Dante struggled to say.

Enzo was quiet for awhile, not knowing how to react. The informant didn’t want to feel left out, though, nor act rude to his piggy bank that always gave him forty percent per gig. Enzo laughed too. Even if he didn’t get the joke, he played along anyway. When Dante’s guffaw escalated so did his and soon, they were two laughing and insane buffoons. Apparently, it was a very funny joke.

The laughing stopped though, when the grandfather clock struck twelve. Dante smashed his beer bottle against a wall.

Enzo blinked. Just like that, Dante wasn’t in a good mood anymore. The way he looked at the clock, he seemed royally pissed.

With a quick glance outside the window, sensing something there, Dante stood. Red-faced with bloodshot eyes, he opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a gun. Enzo nearly pissed in his pants until he realized it was a water gun. Dante shoved him aside with his shoulder and headed out.

It was afternoon and the illegitimate dog that usually crept up the porch was coming by for his regular meal. Dante squirted it.

“Get the fuck out of here, you stupid mutt. Go!” He squirted it again and the dog barked. “I said leave! I don’t want you coming by here anymore! Leave me the hell alone!”

Confused by the actions of a man who always petted and fed it, it resisted the abuse and kept trying to come to him.

“Go fuck someone else! Go fuck the man in room six-thirteen down Arlington Street! He’ll show you a real good time before ripping your fucking guts apart!”

The stray dog resisted until it finally took the hint. It whimpered and immediately ran down the street. Afraid. Unable to see an incoming car, it got struck. In a matter of seconds, the shaggy and very wet dog lay lifeless on the road’s pavement, drenched in its own blood and guts now.

“Jesus,” Enzo whispered from behind when he heard the sound of tires squealing.

Dante froze, unable to believe his eyes. He looked at his illegitimate dog on the road and imagined it getting up, shaking off the blood as if it was water and jogging away with its tail wagging behind. But it didn’t. It stayed very still. The person in the car drove around the bloody corpse. The people on the sidewalk who saw the scene unfold resumed their walking. Dante dropped the water gun and slid slowly to the floor. His eyes remained peeled at the bloody scene.

“Jesus,” repeated Enzo. He squatted down and put a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “Jesus. Dante… are you all right? You… you look…”

“Please leave…” he cut him off. His tone was very flat and his eyes kept staring at the dead animal on the street. “Please, god, just leave…”

Enzo hesitated. Then he stood and went on his way. He didn’t know what was going on in Dante’s head except his eyes, the ones that usually made Devils cry, were moister than usual.
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MONSTER