Son Of Dante [Sequal to Dante's Demise] [HIATUS]

Son Of Dante [15]

Damien opened the small box, and a bight light shined in his eyes. He closed them and tried to cover his eyes to block the light out, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. Damien opened his eyes to see he was standing in a long hallway. The floor was tiled like a black and white checker board, the walls were a pattern of grey’s and blacks. There were glass doors down the hallway with a metre and a half in between them. Above the doors were silver plates with names inscribed on them. The closest one Damien could read was ‘Emperor Nero’.

Damien slowly walked down the hallway, reading the names above all the doors. Some were famous historical figures he recognised, some he’d never heard of. Damien couldn’t see inside the fogged glass, so he didn’t know what was in store for him behind them. 

The hallway seemed endless, and at one point Damien swore he was back where he started. A door to his left was different to the rest, it was incrusted with gold and other stones. Damien read the name, his eyes widened. ‘Igneil Muerte Lucifer’.

The temptation to open the door was strong, but Damien didn’t know what would happen to him if he opened it. What if he couldn’t get back?

“You smell like her, but you aren’t her. Who are you?” Damien heard a voice ask, it was coming from the door. Damien couldn’t find his voice, he knew for a fact Igneil was dead. And that he had just spoken to him. So, souls could be kept. “I know you are out there child, tell me your name. And why you smell like Iris.”

Damien gulped and walked a little closer to the door. “M-my name is D-Damien. I’m Iris’ son.”

“Iris has a son? Who is your father?”

“D-Dante Sp-Sparda.”

“Ah. No wonder you look different to Iris. Why are you here child? Surely, you aren’t to be the next Lucifer.”

“N-no. I’m here t-to f-find someone.”

A dark shadow appeared behind the foggy door, the eyes of the shadow glowed dark red, just like Damien’s eyes. “Turn back now. This is no place for a child.”

“I’m not a child. I’m a Hunter.”

“Well then, Hunter, why do you tremble?”

Damien’s voice had stabilised, but his hands shook weakly at his sides.

“Because. I’m talking to the dead.”

There was a weak chuckle on the other side of the door. “My body is dead, but my soul lives here. Just like all these men and women.”

“Women?” Damien asked, genuinely confused. “I have not seen a woman’s name in this hallway.”

“There is a woman on the other side of the hall to me. I’ve heard her sobs for her sons. Her name escapes me though.”

Damien turned and saw the name above the door on the opposite side of the hall, his eyes widened to the size of bowling balls. He turned back to Igneil’s door.

“What happens when I open a door in here?”

“You can enter the room. Our souls are bound to the rooms, we cannot leave. Nor can we be forced out. Nothing will happen to the soul.”

Damien quickly walked to the other side of the room and opened the door and walked into the room. It looked like it belonged to a Princess, the bed was so large and the curtains were a velvety pink. Damien saw a figure sat in the corner of the room, curled up into a ball. Damien’s feet were frozen to the ground, all he could do was stare. The women noticed she was being stared at and looked up at Damien, her large blue eyes were miserable. A small sliver of hope passed through her eyes, and her small hands went to her heart.

“Dante? My baby?”

Damien bit his bottom lip, and the hope left the poor woman’s eyes. She looked down at her lap and her hands dropped.

“No, you aren’t him. Who are you?”

“I’m his son. Damien.”

“Dante’s son? My grandson?”

“Yes, Eve.”

Damien remembered when he had first went to her grave. He could have laughed at how pathetic he felt right now. The woman’s eyes were glued to her lap. Damien didn’t know what to say, this experience had shocked him to his core.

“How is my little boy?” Eve muttered.

“He’s fine.”

“And Vergil? How is my little man?”

Damien knew he shouldn’t have, but he did. “He’s also fine.”

A tiny smile broke across her lips. “I’m glad.”

Damien felt sick, so he turned out of the room and slammed the door. He doubled over and coughed drying.

“This is disgusting. They’re dead. I’m talking to dead people.”

“See? You’re no hunter. You’re still a child.” Damien heard Igneil say.

“I bet you felt the same way when you were first given that artifact.” Damien growled.

“That was so long ago. I don’t remember a time I wasn’t in here, it’s saddening.”

Damien walked over to Igneil’s door. “Do you know where Vergil Sparda is?”

“Vergil...Sparda...” Igneil muttered. “That name is familiar...”

“Do you know where he is?” Damien repeated.

“He was brought here years ago. I remember, because he was so calm about it.”

“Where is he?”

“Keep going down the hall. You’ll find him.”

Damien turned on his heels and walked down the hall in a rushed shuffle. His eyes skimmed over the names of the doors. He came to a door that was different to the others, instead of glass the door was silver - the name plate was golden.

“Vergil...I found you...” Damien muttered, his feet seemed frozen to the ground. He’d finally done it, he’d found him.