When Worlds Come Crashing Together {Devil May Cry Fanfic~} #2

Prologue

[Prologue]

The plains of black and red seemed to stretch into nowhere. The atmosphere of gloom, pain and anger seemed to hang like a veil, like the drawn curtains over eyes of every being here. Each being here were present for their own reasons, but never were these reasons anything good. Red, short grass grew on black fields, cemented floor making streaks within the painful painting.

The sky was painted the same color as the fields, and winged beings flew amongst the opaque black clouds, cawing and screeching in a tune that was nowhere near melodic. Some of these beings looked as if they had crawled out of children’s nightmares, while others seemed to not even be equipped with the proper aerodynamics for flight. Yet, one way or the other, they flew in the black-and-red sky.

None of these beings fought, yet none of them were truly friends or allies. They kept each other at bay, caring for themselves and their own small corner of this forsaken plain. They plotted their own plans and devices, waiting for a day where their king would come in again, and order them to do what they were made for. To kill, and to fight.

One of such being walked alone, through the fields. He held no grotesque appearance. In fact, his appearance was something akin to the Heavens above. His appearance stood out like a sore thumb above everything else. An angel, walking amongst the million devils and demons.

Eyes turned in his wake, staring at his back as he walked along, his pace leveled and even, his head kept only facing front. He walked with a confident strut, a walk that meant he knew exactly what he was here for. Yet, none of the demons, wallowing in their own sorrow and disgust, seemed to be able to raise a single claw, finger or appendage against him.

They knew exactly what he was, who he was. They only did not know why he appeared in this desolate corner of their world. They did not understand why he was here, wading through the land of the lowlifes.

He gave none of them a look. And none dared to stare at his face. They stared at his back, his equipments, and his physique. Yet, none dared to make a sound at his appearance. The screeches died and the flying demons stopped their flight.

He wore comfortable, fitting white robes that were stained red around his ankles. His sleeves were rolled up to the middle of his forearms, showing off half of the black tattoos written on his hands. His hood was up, covering his hair, and he carried a practical survival backpack. Striding upon his back was a claymore that was almost his height, with a hilt that was made of perfect white bone, carved perfectly. At his hips were chains, and at the end of those chains were menacing daggers.

In his hands, he held a katana and two amulets.

He walked to the middle of the field, where a stone circle raised slight above the black soil and red grass. He stood before the stone circle, unspeaking. He uttered no words, placing the two amulets on the stone circle, side by side.

He raised the katana, and brought it down, impaling the gem on both amulets.

An extremely loud crack sounded through the entire plain. A white flash blinded the black-red sky. After the demons regained their sight from the temporary blindness, all they could see was the black figure standing at the stone circle, holding up the glowing katana. The white robes were gone, but the figure of pitch darkness, in the shape of a man, held still.

The black figure brought the katana around, making two distinct slices in the air. Then, as if the dimension itself had been pulled apart by a single slice, two tears formed in mid-air. The black figured sheathed up the glowing katana, still holding it carefully in his hand.

He walked towards one of the slices in the air, staring into it.

The demons craned their neck to see what was happening.