Stains

[Notes and Disclaimers]

The day had begun well enough. Although their father was not in residence, the breaking of their fast in their mother's solar had been enjoyable, and the lady had been pleased to admire her sons' - twin boys, overflowing with energy and just short of their sixth winter - latest fascinations. The eldest displayed the toad he'd found the day before, while the younger tumbled over himself to show off the wooden sword the castle's armskeeper had unearthed for him. She had examined each of them in turn and proclaimed them wonderful, and the remainder of the morning had passed in easy domestic bliss as she embroidered a coat for her husband and the boys played at her feet like puppies.

The trouble came without warning.

It was as though a tempest had been unleashed in a teapot, peace shattering into mayhem. They came silently, suddenly, their ill-fitting joints clicking and clacking in a cruel parody of a puppeteer's innocent entertainment. Unprepared, the castle's people fell before them like stalks of wheat, mown down with heartless accuracy. No living creature was safe, as dogs and livestock were slaughtered side by side with their human keepers, until soon the courtyard was a sticky sea of red, an unearthly nightmare scene.

The lady fought to organize resistance, then fought simply to organize flight. Panicked survivors, shadows blinding their eyes, streamed into the castle's chapel, milling about the altar with hopeless prayers on their lips. Not even their hysterical sobs or cries of terror could mask the sounds of slaughter that had overrun the castle, the shrieks of the dying, the unnatural song of steel over stone.

At the first sign of trouble, the lady had entrusted her sons to their nurse. She had no way of knowing that the sturdy, cheerful woman had been one of the first victims, slain by a killing stroke that penetrated her eye socket to pierce her brain.

She had no way of knowing that the boys yet lived.

Shocked, they could only watch as their nurse's body had slid to the stones. The creature towering over them bore a passing resemblance to the marionettes they'd seen acting old stories at fairs, but no marionette they'd seen had ever possessed eyes of terrific red light, or had fingers edged in blades sharp enough to slice a breeze in twain.

With a squeak of panicked dismay, the elder grabbed the youngest and rabbited, bolting through the first door to give way.

The attackers had already been there, and the eldest squeezed his eyes shut as the younger whimpered in terror. A deep inhale was flavored with the bitter tang of spilt blood, but no sound disturbed the room or the remains of its previous occupants. Forcing his eyes open again, the elder tightened his grip on the younger and made his way across the room, refusing to stop even when his stumbling feet encountered grisly reminders of the ferocity of the attack.

Their castle was an old one, riddled with secret passages; not even two months earlier, their father had taken them on a laughing tour of most of them. The memory - and the suspicion that they would not be seeing their father again - closed the elder's throat with a fresh surge of fear, and it was only for the trembling form of his brother that he pressed on, numb fingers finding remembered catches and finally pushing open the hidden door. The tunnel beyond was cool and damp, its black silence nearly as terrible as the sounds of invasion had been. Nevertheless, the elder pushed the younger through and swung the door shut behind them, locking them into the oppressive darkness.

As the latch clicked, the younger began to whimper anew, each whimper growing until soon he was heaving with hoarse, ugly sobs. More scared by this than anything, the elder clutched him tightly, his throat still too tight with panic to offer reassuring words.

"Mama... mama..." Slowly, the cry built from the sobs, until the younger was shouting, clinging to his brother's tunic. "Mama... I want mama! Mama!"

"Mama," the elder repeated, a betraying whimper rising from his own throat. "Mama... papa... papa..!"

"Mama..." The words came between the sobs now, hiccupping and broken. "Mama's in the chapel, I want mama!"

Not needing a candle to see, the younger bolted, tripping and staggering, yet disappearing down the tunnel with surprising speed. The elder was not quick enough to stop him and, with a keen of despair rising from his own throat, tore after his twin.

By the time he caught him again, it was too late.

The younger had slammed through an exit, the exit nearest the chapel doors, and pounded against them now, his shouts for his mother loud and echoing. The elder burst into the hallway behind him, frantically adding his hands and voice to his brother's efforts, yet the silence from the other side of the door remained absolute. Behind them, beneath the echoes of their hysteria, clicks and clacks grew into a cacophony that overwhelmed their small voices and smothered them into silence.

Certainty soothed hysteria, and with unnatural calm, the elder turned, glazed eyes taking in the rank upon rank of the unearthly marionettes as they filled the hallway. With the same calm, he stepped to shield his twin's small body with his own and spread his arms wide. Then, he smiled.

He never felt the blade that killed him, never heard his brother's scream. He had died to protect. That was all that mattered.

. . .

Nelo Angelo came to himself with a rush, finding himself on his knees beside smears of centuries-old blood, so faded that only knowledge of its presence made it visible. With quickly-dismissed annoyance, he rose; Mallet Island had wreaked havoc on his senses since he had set foot on its rocky shores, but he could not allow such minor things to interfere. His master had set a mission for him and he would complete it.

Soon, that woman would arrive, and he with her.

Soon, the fun would truly begin.

- fin -

Notes and Disclaimers

Devil May Cry is © Capcom Co., Ltd.