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Chapter Text

Evelyn was exhausted. She was totally and utterly shattered. She was well aware she had met her limits years ago, and yet here she was, the hot Grecian sun beating down on yet another battlefield, as she slowly picked her way through the corpses, unfortunately more human than demonic.

Evelyn had thought she had known what summers were, those long hot days of her childhood at home. She had been wrong, so so wrong. Here in Greece it was only early summer, and the heat far outstripped anything she had experienced at home. It had been the same in Rome. After just over 5 years of adjusting to fighting through Albion, Gaul and then across through the Ardennes, the bitter battles of the Black Forest and crossing the biting snow of the Alps, to be hit with what she always knew as the height of summer in early spring in the Piedmont had completely thrown Evelyn.

Ahearn, who was by far the most travelled of Evelyn’s friends, had assured her that it was normal, and had even advised her on the fashions of his people that were so much nicer than the thick woollen dresses Evelyn normally wore. And prettier, she thought, glancing down at the loose white linen dress she was currently wearing. Thank goodness the Head Enchanter had pioneered a spell to get blood out of clothes.

Ahearn had also said places even further south it got even hotter even earlier. That had certainly been true when they had beaten Mundus into the sea in the early Autumn of that year. Sparda still carried a scar from that particular battle, Evelyn reflected, the exhaustion and the heat making her mind wander. It hadn’t been the plan for him to face off with the statue-body of the Dark Emperor then, but it had been that or have the most powerful demon in the world wreak havoc in the encampment of non-combatants. He was still called a hero after that, and some people had started tacking ‘Legendary’ onto his Dark Knight title.

Suddenly behind her, Evelyn heard someone calling her name. She turned, her hair catching a little from the bun she now traditionally wore, her heart beating just a little faster as she recognised the rich tones of her husband’s voice.
“Evelyn! Oh I’m so glad you’re safe!” He was dashing madly towards her and then she was doing the same and they landed safe in each other’s arms. He gripped onto her like she was the last raft in a stormy ocean, his limbs shaking slightly as he evened his breaths against her. She held him for all the world was worth, burying her nose in his rich, soft hair. She thought she hear a couple of sobs escape him, but before she could say anything he had pulled away and was pressing his lips against hers with all the passion of a lover in a fairy tale. They parted all too soon, Evelyn gazing into his eyes as they held each other.
“You too Borak.” She said, breathing his familiar scent deep into her as she felt him warm and true beneath her arms. “When that swarm of Arachne separated us. I was so worried.”
“I was worried for you too.” He whispered into her, still intwined with each other as if they hoped never to be parted again. “But I’m sure the Head Enchanter and Head Priestess have nothing to fear.” He laughed, pulling away from her to show her that gorgeous smile she never tired of.
“Oh stop it you. I don’t know where you get all of this energy after battles.”
“That’s my secret, my love. I’m always ready to annoy you.”
“Oh, I should’ve known.”
“Come on, let’s get back to the camp. I’m sure our dear General Cathal will have some kind of a debrief for us.”
“Yes dear.”
"What is it?”
“We lost this one. We may have pushed the army back again, but we can’t sustain these losses. All these people.” Evelyn sighed. “This is the third one in a row we’ve lost. Something’s got to change or mankind’s army isn’t going to be an army anymore.”
“I know, sweetheart. We just have to keep going.”
“Some of us don’t have eternal stamina, Borak.”
“It’s a good job I do, then. Because I’ll never stop!”

Evelyn glanced across at her husband as he walked, her heart so full of love she could hardly stand it. He had changed a lot from the boy she had met on the battlefield. She had changed too, she supposed. He had grown into a man though, and such a handsome one at that. His hair was longer now, sweeping against his shoulders, and showing off those cheekbones that could cut demons in half. He had grown a formidable beard too, something Evelyn always thought gave his warm brown face a cryptic, alluring look. He had taken to wearing clothes that he remembered from his home, often wearing a sirwal, topped with a calf-length robe of a muted colour. He claimed it helped him focus but Evelyn knew well enough that he had no trouble focusing when it was needed. She was pretty certain he just liked showing off and wearing something different.

“You’re staring at me.” Borak said after a while, the pair still making their way through the remains of the battle to the human encampment. They had fought this battle in the wide open plains that Ahearn had guided them around, apparently they were very close here to the ruins of his home city. The plains were barren but had a certain beauty, little tufts of trees stood like pom-poms on the grass that was such a dull green it looked like the entire ground had been washed just once too many and lost its colour.
“I’m sorry. Just staring into nothing.” Evelyn replied. She felt guilty at her mind wandering like this when they were literally making their way past dead comrades, but after 8 years of this, it almost seemed common place.
“I am NOT NOTHING!” Borak cried, a smile betraying his outrage in an instant. However, before he could continue a voice cut him off.
“I’d recognise that whining anywhere. Enchanter Borak! Good to see you. And Priestess Evelyn too. Wonderful.”
“Head Magus Huo. It’s good to see you too.” Borak greeted, Evelyn inclining her head respectfully towards the other woman.

She was dressed similarly to Evelyn in a Greek chiton, although she had added extra stitching to hers to ensure nothing she didn’t intend to show was shown. Her long black hair was also looped backwards into an intricate bun, that Evelyn knew was specifically designed to hide the grey streaks, although it did also allow her intelligent, thin, heavy-lidded eyes to see everything. And see everything she did, Head Magus Huo Shengtong did not allow anything to escape her. You wouldn’t guess looking at her wrinkles she tried desperately to hide, or the slight stoop in her shoulders resulting from several too many fireballs, but Shengtong was always alert, even after a battle as exhausting as this one.
“Oh, like I’m going to die.” Shengtong replied, her tone dry but bitter. “I’ve got more than enough acid summoning left in me to stop that from happening. Come on you two lovebirds, the General is calling for all of us to meet in their tent for a debrief.”
“Of course, Magus Huo. We did not intend to delay.” Evelyn replied. She had learnt through trial and much error that her husband could be…tactless. Not through any maliciousness, of course, but he was not always best placed to be the sympathetic one of the pair.

It didn’t take long for the three magicians to make it to the human encampment, already the few tents were filled with the wounded lining up – or being rushed to – Enchanters who were spaced throughout the camp to allow for healing whenever it was needed. They recognised the three Head Magicians immediately, parting for them with as much respect as General Cathal or Chieftain Arlynn commanded. The affect was rather ruined by Borak dashing off at regular intervals to give his talents to healing nearby people, but Evelyn could never hold that against him.

When they reached the cream fabric of the General’s tent, before they could even touch the flap of fabric that acted as an entrance, it was drawn back. A tall, white-haired man looked down at Evelyn with a slight smile as he lifted the door, bowing slightly as if welcoming her in. He was handsome, if a little pale, with clear blue eyes. He was also wearing the most hideous bright purple tunic Evelyn had ever seen. She blinked, once, before she recognised the man.
“Sparda.” She said, a smile breaking out across her face. “I didn’t think you’d be in disguise so soon.” “You know how much attention I draw otherwise from the Other Side.” He said with a grim smile, eyes lighting up slightly as she and the other two magicians entered the slight gloom of the tent. No doubt his eyes had only just actually seen them. “And anyway, it would be a waste of the Enchanter’s work not to use this spell they specially devised for me.”
“My dear Brigadier,” Borak interrupted, leaning in to give the demon a quick hug, “wearing purple is a waste of my subordinate’s work.” There were hums of agreement from across the tent, and Evelyn couldn’t help but go with them.
“Gentlemen, if you will.” Cathal’s voice rang out, stopping the light banter in it’s tracks. The room sobered instantly. It felt wrong somehow, laughing with each other when so many of their friends lay dead. The only problem was, already they had lost so many, it was all starting to blur together.
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Sparda glanced around the tent, the slight dulling of the thick material allowing his eyes a little leeway, at the others gathered as Cathal continued to pour over the rough map a scouting corps had produced of the local area. Closest to the door of the tent was Evelyn, her face, that of a beautiful young woman, downturned and serious. She was tired, that much was obvious, the bright blazing of her youthful scent filled with exhaustion like grain in wood. Sparda was unsure if it had started when she had been voted as Head Priestess, or it was raising a young child in the biggest war mankind would ever wage that had worn her down. Or the loss of life in the most recent battle. Regardless, it hurt him to see her so tired, every day, when she was at her most vibrant.

She had managed to handle being one of the three leaders of magicians so well, however. Out of the three of them - Evelyn Head of the Priests and Priestesses, magicians of defence; Huo Head of the Magi, magicians of offense; and Borak Head of the Enchanters and Enchantresses, magicians of enchantments on things and people (a large part of which was healing) - Evelyn was the youngest, although only by a couple of months when compared to her husband. But she had handled it with as much care as the others, maybe even more so. While Huo was respected as a leader and Borak was beloved, Evelyn was both. She was ever capable and juggled between brainstorming new spells, the admin of leadership and co-operation with the others as if she had been born for the role. Sparda had to admit, the workload Evelyn did was something even he'd be hesitant to pick up.

Of course, next to her was her husband, who was taking the down moment to stare into space a little, his fingers tapping slightly against his leg. It was hard to read him, he had a masterful facade that could come up at a moment's notice, but to Sparda it looked like he was upset at something.

Next to him was Soldier Ahearn, who was busily looking at his reflection in a polished circle of copper that acted as a mirror. It had become familiar routine with them that after every battle Ahearn would rush to a mirror to ‘asses the damages’, as he called it. The pair of them had soon noticed that each time he activated his ‘Devil Trigger’, as he called it, part of his demonic appearance bled through when he shifted back. While Ahearn claimed not to mind the affects, he clearly did, and he had confided in Sparda that he worried if he was physically changing to more reflect his demonic blood, perhaps he was mentally changing as well.

That’s why the pair of them had worked actively on controlling both of their demonic tempers. That being said, the only difference Sparda had noticed since the change was in Ahearn’s choice of partners, finding himself becoming something of a heartthrob since his hair became permanently dyed a vivid red, and it was an unusual week that Ahearn didn’t appear in public with a different girlfriend or boyfriend on his arm. Perhaps that was something of the demon in him, it did rather match demon’s own mating patterns as opposed to humans’ lifetime partnership, although there didn’t seem to have been any ‘unintended consequences’ so far, so Sparda wasn’t going to bring it up.

Following the table around was Cathal, and then Sparda himself. Cathal had aged further in the time Sparda had known them, their near-50 years clearly etched into every part of their face. The moment he had met them, he had thought they were made of steel, and that hadn’t changed at all. Every gesture and every look Cathal gave out spoke of determination and a resolve that had already carried humanity so far in this war. Their hair may have thinned and faded into a grey, but there was a barrier within them that was as unpassable as any magical ward.

Then, on Sparda’s left, was Chieftain Arlynn. It was mostly a formality that he was still here at the table, if Sparda was being honest. The army and the people it protected were still officially the citizens of the Stronghold of the Lake, and therefore in theory Arlynn had the ultimate say. However, it was readily apparent that the army and its people were the army of mankind, since as they’d driven out the Demon Army from most of Europe, all they’d found in its wake was the carcasses of different societies.

They’d welcomed groups of survivors they’d occasionally come across, bitter leaders with five or six weary followers or groups of desperate, angry bandits. Beyond that though, it almost seemed like Arlynn was the last official leader left, and so he stayed in their meetings as a representative for anyone not under Cathal’s direct control. Which was, admittedly, basically just children too young to start training. Still, Arlynn had been trained from birth to do the administration that was needed to feed and clothe the entirety of humanity constantly on the move, and with his ability to beg, borrow and schmooze with other people who had taken up leadership positions, he was still important, if mainly in a ‘we need people to do this’ sort of way.

And finally along the table to Sparda’s right, over close to the door like Evelyn, was Head Magus Shengtong Huo. Sparda had taken something of a shine to Huo, despite her cold exterior and insistence on keeping things proper. She was harsh but undoubtedly fair, and there was something of a comfort in the way that she would treat everything from a disobedient child to a battle plan with the same cold, ever-ready indifference.

“Alright then, everyone.” Cathal’s voice startled Sparda out of his thoughts, looking across to where Cathal had finally lifted their head from the array of maps. “I think we can all agree we have had a problem in the last few battles.” There was a cold, uncomfortable acceptance around the room at that. The only thing worse than a battle was a lost battle, because no matter the ground they were gaining back from Mundus, with the losses the army was undergoing was sustainable. There was no point in driving Mundus from the Earth if there were no humans left to inhabit it. “Something’s going to have to change.”
“I don’t understand what we’re doing wrong though, sir!” Soldier Ahearn was standing, the polished brass circle in his hand flung to the floor. “We’re fighting just as hard as we’ve always been. Gods know we’ve been giving it our all. Why are so many people dying?!?”
“SOLDIER! SIT DOWN!” General Cathal shouted. Say what you want, they could still shout like nobody’s business. Ahearn sat down, and irritated but admonished look on his face. “I know the past month has been highly stressful for all of us, but PLEASE let’s keep this civil. If you’re at the end of your rope then so is EVERYONE else.”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.” Ahearn muttered.
“However, the Soldier does have a point.” The General continued. “We haven’t changed our tactics, and even if some of us are lagging after eight years of war we haven’t changed enough in the past two months it’s not the cause of these terrible losses. We need to know what’s going on. Another two or three battles like this and it’ll be all over.”

Chapter Text

“General,” Borak began, “I think I know what happened this battle.” Evelyn glanced across at her husband, the sunlight drifting through the tent catching the side of his face like a warm halo. Cathal made a gesture towards him to continue, every pair of eyes in the room upon him. Evelyn reached across the table to place her hand on top of his, letting the warmth of her hand spread into his. She saw him smile just a little more, and that was all Evelyn needed. “It was while Soldier Ahearn was facing down Berial.”
“I’m assuming that well went soldier.” Cathal interrupted, looking across as where Ahearn was picking at his newly blackened teeth, mirror rescued from where it had been unceremoniously imbedded in the ground.
“Yes sir! It was a hard fight, but he was beaten down by the end of it he was within an inch of his life.”
“I can confirm that, sir.” Sparda chipped in. “I saw Berial leaving the fight. Soldier Ahearn really had done a number on him. His subordinate, Balrog, also looked to be on the verge of insurrection, so I’d say Berial’s now going to be much more worried about holding on to the throne of Fire Hell than Mundus.”
“Excellent. Who did you take out this battle Sparda? It’s important we keep on top of who still is in the fight against us.”

“King Cerberus, sir. I also beat him to near dead, causing him and his army to retreat. Ah – however – ”
“What happened?” Cathal interrupted Sparda’s hesitation.
“In honour of my not slaying him in defeat – which was in fact the plan to cause him to retreat but he obviously didn’t know that – he, um, he gave me his son as a servant.” There was a sort of shocked silence around the table.
“This has never happened before.” Huo said, looking across at Sparda with an unrepentant gaze.
“Ah, no, it hasn’t. Cerberuses are an honour bound tribe, however, and I suppose he believed that was what was necessary in his defeat. I don’t know, all I know is I have an ice-spewing, three-headed, talking, demonic puppy.”
“What have you done with this…puppy?” Cathal asked, a look of despairing perplexion on their face.
“I told him to sit about three miles that way.”

“We can deal with that after the meeting.” Cathal decided after a pause. “Enchanter Borak, please continue.”
“Of course, sir.” Smooth as ever, Borak continued. “As I was saying, whilst Soldier Ahearn was in the midst of fighting Berial, I was placed roughly in the centre of the army. I think I was about here. ” He pointed to the map, “Suddenly, we were surrounded by demons, most of them lesser demons of Mundus’ personal army. There had been none of them there before, we were right in the heart of human territory, but in an instant we were surrounded, caught completely off guard. I was very lucky I survived, to be honest.” The discomfort that descended on the tent after that was palpable. Evelyn squeezed her husband’s hand, although if it was to give him comfort or to comfort herself she wasn’t sure. He squeezed back, no smile on his face. Everyone present was looking down, away from the others. How could that have happened? Very few demons could teleport and according to Sparda, none of them were within Mundus’ personal army. In fact, they had been in the armies of the generals they had first targeted. There was no way this could have happened.

“Do you have any idea where they came from?” It was Chieftain Arlynn, surprisingly. He looked pale and clammy, as if he were ill.
“No sir.” Borak replied, eyes still boring into the table in front.
“I have an inkling where they may have come from.” Sparda said suddenly. “Although I had been told many a time it was not possible…” Sparda hesitated for a moment, his eyes as downcast as everyone else in the room. “All greater demons can open portals from the Human Realm to Hell and from Hell to the Human Realm. It’s fairly easy to do, the only problem is controlling it. It helps if you have physically been where you are aiming for but even then they’re very unhelpful. Imprecise would be a better word. Even when opening portals to somewhere incredibly familiar to you it’s hit-and-miss where they actually open. For example, if I were to open one to my own Castle in Hell, somewhere I have lived the majority of 800 years, the portal could open as far away as 30 days’ flight without any
difference with how I opened it.” Evelyn must have looked confused, because the minute Sparda’s eyes alighted on her he hesitated, before clarifying, “I could open a portal from Hell to Albion, but any place smaller than that and it would be uncertain how close the portal would actually open to wherever you wanted to end up.”

“I see. And you’re suggesting that Mundus may have discovered a way to reliably open accurate portals.”
“Yes, I do. It would be an easy way to move vast parts of his army very quickly. I just didn’t think it was possible and even tried a couple of times myself to make it possible. Then again, they do say that war is the mother of invention.” A deadly silence descended on the assembled people as it sunk in just exactly what that meant. Evelyn felt sick, her stomach roiling like the sea in a tempest.
“Is it possible that this has been why the past few battles have ended as they have Sparda?” Cathal looked more grim than Evelyn had ever seen them in her life. Their eyes looked as black as the night sky as their eyebrows came together, no twinkling stars to lighten the General’s face.
“Yes sir, it is.”
“We need a way to stop this from happening again. We can’t engage the demon army again as things are. It would be suicide.” Cathal paused, their eyes scanning quickly over the arranged maps. Evelyn could see their teeth just slightly poking from their mouth and worrying at their lips as thoughts bounced around their head at a rate that would leave anyone else dumbfounded. “Magicians.” The General stated, making a brief, intense eye contact with first Evelyn alone. Clearly it was a protective spell more than anything Cathal was looking for. “Is there any sort of spell that you can think of that might stop this?” Evelyn thought for a moment, going over as many variations and adjustments to her spells that she could think of.
“I’m sorry sir. I don’t know enough about how exactly these portals work to be able to understand how I – er – we could use magic to prevent them. The Army already has as many warding spells surrounding it as I can reasonably cast on them when we go into battle. I’m not even sure if the shielding around our camp is able to stop these portals.” Evelyn glanced down at the floor, the sick feeling in her stomach worsening. If it really was happening like this then, perhaps they had lost. All this fighting and death and they were still limp targets just waiting for Mundus to open a portal directly to them and murder them all.

Suddenly, a series of gasps erupted around the room. Evelyn whipped her head up as quickly as she could, panic settling in behind her eyes, to be greeted to the sight of Sparda balancing what looked suspiciously like a portal in his open palm. It was small, perhaps as large as the mirror Ahearn had been intent on earlier, with a dull, purplish outline that shivered like reflections in a pond on a windy day. Through it, however, Evelyn could catch a glimpse of what she knew must be Hell, a grim, red sky and blackened looking ground looked more like a wasteland than anything she had seen before.
“Well, I can certainly open a hell portal.” Sparda stated, closing his hand into a fist. Simultaneously, the portal closed, reality healing the tear in its very nature. In an instant, it was gone. “Although I am already allowed through the warding, which might have something to do with it.” Silence descended again quickly, everyone assembled intent on not making eye contact.

“I’m sure we’re agreed this is now our first priority.” Cathal said, the authority in their voice wavering slightly. Slowly, Evelyn raised her gaze to meet the stern, determined stare of the General. “Brigadier Sparda, I want you and the three Head Magicians to spend as long as you need to find a way to stop these portals. We will only loose the war if we ignore this problem. Chieftain Arlynn, I need you to start working on the logistics of keeping this camp in one place for an indefinite length of time. I don’t care how you do it but we need people to be fed while we stay here. Soldier Ahearn, you are to work with me organising regular patrols not only along our perimeter but also throughout the camp. If there is going to be an attack from within our wards then we need to know about it immediately. Everyone but Soldier Ahearn, you are dismissed for the evening.” Evelyn began to turn, her hand snaking out to catch her husband’s, but Sparda’s voice interrupted her movements.
“If I may, sir. I believe Cerberus may be of use if you wish to guard this camp long term. Much like the dogs of the Human Realm, his tribe are famed as guards, and even a puppy would be able to sense demons and protect the camp if I were busy with the Magicians.” There was a pause as Cathal thought for a moment.
“Very well. Brigadier, Head Priestess. You are also to work together to adjust the wards to allow Cerberus entry to the camp in order to guard it.”
“Yes sir.” Evelyn replied, almost out of instinct.
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It didn’t take long for the three Head Magicians to decide that they were much too exhausted after the battle to start brainstorming complex spells. Evelyn was swaying slightly under Borak’s hand, and although he was well aware Huo would never admit to it, he could see in the way she crinkled her eyes that she was in no fit state to be working either. Husband and wife had stumbled home to their tent together, hand in hand. There was something about the way his wife’s hand fitted into his own that never failed to fill Borak with a warm rush of butterflies. Of course, he was tired and hungry and, deep in his soul, truly sick of the endless violence that was his adult life. But when he saw Evelyn, the way she moved, the way she smiled – even the soft wrinkles across her forehead as she frowned or the droop of her head when exhaustion hit her – that made him ever thankful for his life and more determined to keep fighting this, no matter what.

Borak ducked first into their tent, holding the flap up behind him for Evelyn to follow him in. She was tired. So, so tired. He only hoped it could be over soon so he could live out the rest of his life with her. Within the tent itself, alongside a whole assortment of half-finished spells, spare clothes, a stack of crockery and some other random things, sat Evelyn’s brothers, and between them was laughing his pearl of the world. Anatu, his little daughter, was currently sitting on one of the twins’ knee, her mouth open wide as she giggled. She had a shock of hair that was as black as his, but was somewhere between his straight and Evelyn’s curly. It flicked outwards around and below her ears like a little halo for a little angel. She had two gorgeous blue eyes that looked upon the world with enough innocence to make him envious, and that smile, filled with neat, white, three-year-old teeth, melted his heart every time he saw it.

“Sis! You’re back!” The twin not currently being used as a chair said, his eyes lighting up as Borak and Evelyn entered the tent. Beside him, Evelyn smiled at her family, a shine coming onto her face that Borak wished would never leave.
“Mama!” Anatu cried the moment she set eyes on Evelyn, leaping up off her uncle’s knee to dash towards her mother.
“Hello little one!” Evelyn said, bending down out of Borak’s embrace to scoop the toddler into her arms, a smile as large as the sky breaking out across her face.
“Mama, Papa you’re back!” Anatu was delighted, her little voice ringing throughout the small tent.
“Were you very good for your Uncles, Anatu?” Evelyn asked, glancing across at Sam and Robert who were also looking fondly at the grinning child.
“Yes! I stayed with Tara an’ the other kids an’ then Uncle Sam an’ Uncle Robert picked me up an’ took me home.”
“Sounds like you had a busy day too.” Borak said, leaning over so he was at eye level with where his daughter was cradled in his wife’s arms.
“Did you an’ Mama do the magic stuff again?” Anatu’s eyes were filled with that look of wonder that always managed to melt Borak right down to his core.
“That we did! We were very busy all day.”
“So it’s everyone’s bedtime now?” Anatu looked so curious and hopeful in that moment that it was no surprise that Evelyn burst out laughing right there and then.
“That’s right, little one. Everyone’s going to bed. Come on, do you want to get ready?”
“Ok, Mama.” Evelyn walked off into the corner of the tent where they kept their bedding and nightclothes.

“Everything really go ok today?” Borak asked, turning towards the two 15 year olds.
“Yeah, she was great today.” One of the twins replied, maybe it was Robert. “Tara does a wonder making sure the kids don’t hear anything while the battle’s raging.”
“And you looked after yourselves during the fighting?”
“Yep!” Replied the other twin. “You won’t find two faster message boys on the battlefield!!”
“I know full well, gentlemen. You two are wonders out there, and you shouldn’t be in such a rush to join the infantry. You’re doing more as you are.”
“We know that logically,” replied the second twin, who had to be Sam. “But at the same time, it feels wrong not to have a sword in my hand when others younger than me do.”
“No-one said war was easy, gentlemen.” Borak replied, shaking each of the twins’ hands as they left the tent.

Behind him, Evelyn and Anatu were carefully putting out the last of the bedding.
“Papa!” Anatu crowed. “It’s time for bed!”
“I know, monkey. Just let me get into some bed clothes.” Borak changed quickly, listening intently as Anatu described, in great detail, to her exhausted mother all the exciting things that had happened at Tara’s with the other children. “Come on then, monkey. We all need to sleep.” Borak said as he snuggled under the covers beside his wife. By the sound of it, she had already fallen asleep a while ago, and the toddler had been speaking to her mother’s snores.
“Ok Papa!” Anatu snuggled in between them, making a nest of her parent’s warm bodies, as sleep finally overtook the small family.

Chapter Text

Ahearn knows he has changed a lot, although possibly right now he can feel it more than ever. Currently, he and a puppy the size of a small pony were walking side by side through the brush that surrounded the current camp. It was weird being back in the countryside of his childhood. It had barely changed and yet the wide open plains with sun-warm heather and slightly stunted trees felt so different. As a child who hadn’t seen the horrors of life it had seemed like an endless opportunity but now each nook and cranny seemed ever more suspicious.

“I don’t see why my Lord Sparda has assigned me this asinine duty with you.” Cerberus growled, literally, beside him. A little ice formed and dripped from Cerberus’ right hand head, shattering and beginning to melt when it hit the ground. “I have been trained since birth in battle tactics and war, I am far above your human – ” the central head stopped to join the other two in snarling for a moment, before the left hand one continued speaking “ – guard dog.”
“And how many spells have you ever cast before? Brigadier Sparda is specifically forming a highly complex spell with the Head Magicians. The best any of us soldiers can do is follow his orders.” Ahearn countered. It wasn’t the first time they had gone through this conversation in the past two weeks they had patrolled together. He might’ve been wrong but he thought this was the longest he had been in one place in the past 8 years. It was almost culture shock.
“But I am too mighty for this position. I was born into this war. I need to see it to its end!” Cerberus snarled back.

“Cerberus, I am older than you. I was around before this war was, and I intend to be around after it to. You want to talk about mighty, look at that – ” Ahearn jabbed his fist towards his right shoulder where Lucifer’s insectoid face stared out at the world with dead eyes “that is my father. I killed him. I have been fighting longer than you and I have achieved more in this war than you have.” Ahearn paused for a minute, backing off out of Cerberus’ body space to allow the enormous dog to breathe. “Besides, I’ve seen you back at the camp. Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy being fussed over by the others. It’s not healthy to try and deny your own feelings, believe me I tried.”

That got Cerberus to finally stop growling, his three heads instead each showing shock, indignation, and scorn.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The indignant one tried for a moment, before recognising the look on Ahearn’s face. Acceptance quickly bled through all three canine faces, starting from the right-hand side one which continued, “Yes, you’re right. I do enjoy your humans’ attention. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to exclude me from my Lord’s discussions.”
“Enjoying getting petted doesn’t allow them to exclude you from discussions you could have insight into. NOT KNOWING ANY MAGIC DOES. Admit it, you’d be useless as I would be because neither of us can cast any spells.”
“I do not get petted. I get rightful adoration.”
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a cat demon.” Ahearn muttered. Cerberus turned on him, yet another snarl on his lips.
“Excuse me – ” He began, but before he could continue Ahearn reached out and began scratching the head closest to him. Cerberus tried to growl but was quickly interrupted by joyous panting. Ahearn quickly deployed his other hand to the middle head, scratching around his ears and moving into under his chin just the way he had learnt Cerberus liked. The demon practically melted, his back end coming down with a plop as he happily lapped up the scratches. One tongue began to loll, the third unscratched head closing its eyes in contentment. “Oh that feels nice. Hmmmmhm. Oh yeah, that’s nice.” The unscratched head barked softly. Abruptly Ahearn stopped, earning him a miffed, “Oi!”
“I’m sorry, what were you saying about being petted?” Ahearn said with a slight laugh.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmph. Fine. Point taken.”
“Come on, let’s head over to the other side of the camp. I think we’ve patrolled enough around here.” Ahearn said, the smile leaving him quickly. Sure, he was enjoying bantering with the enormous demon dog (if that wasn’t proof of change Ahearn wasn’t sure what was), but there was still work to be done, and he and Cerberus’ demon detecting senses were needed to protect the camp.
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Ahearn and Cerberus arrived back at the camp around midday, hot but mostly content. Ahearn smiled as the huge demon immediately migrated over to where three children were playing, the delighted giggles of the children more than enough to prove the demon’s real place of heart as he peppered the three children with snow. Ahearn would’ve liked to have claimed it made no sense how the demon was willing to argue to the ends of the earth and back over his honour and duty; and yet was completely open with the children of the camp. But Ahearn recognised more than a little of himself in the stiff – and very fragile – façade Cerberus put out and the hybrid was genuinely happy Cerberus had been able to get out of his own conditioning, for the most part, the minute he had been exposed to the love people were so generous with.

Suddenly, a clamour and large amount of yelling caught Ahearn’s attention, his enhanced hearing picking it up before those around him. Cerberus was yet to have noticed, but Ahearn was off in an instant, even in human form his speed formidable as he raced towards the commotion. People’s attention was being caught the closer he got, clapping and cheering erupting. Ah. What? Not an immediate threat then. Ahearn allowed himself back down to a brisk walk, causing several people a shock as he slowed. More cheering, he was getting close to the centre now.

A small circle of people, gathered around some figures. Very familiar figures. It was the Brigadier and the three Head Magicians! Brigadier Sparda was leading the four of them, a smile on his human form as his hideous purple outfit caught the sun, behind him Evelyn and Borak held hands, beaming out into the crowd, bringing up the rear was Huo, and despite her usually dour persona she was actually smiling, her whole face lighting up in a way Ahearn hadn’t seen before.
“Aha! Soldier Ahearn! Perfect timing!” Brigadier Sparda called out of the crowd, several of them turning to look at him. “We’ve done it! We’ve devised a spell that’s perfect!! Well, I say we, it was mostly Evelyn and Huo.”
“Hey!” Borak cried. “I’m the one that thought up the use of a physical anchor!”
“Alright, it was pretty much those three! Come with us, we’re pitching it to the General!” Ahearn made his way through the crowd and easily fell into step with his superior. In human form, there wasn’t that much of a height difference between them.
“Oh! Congratulations sir! That’s great! Do you want me to go and find Chieftain Arlynn as well?”
“No I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Pulling this spell off isn’t going to need bureaucracy.”
“If it’s battle plans then, if I may sir, could Cerberus be involved?”
“Soldier! You surprise me! Could you explain why?”
“Well, sir, he has told me several times he was trained by his father in the art of war, and his intel on the Demon Army, although much more limited than your own, will be more up to date.”
“Good points, soldier. Very well, he’s invited.” Before Ahearn could dash off to find said dog again, Brigadier Sparda continued. “I didn’t realise you’d developed such an attachment to him.”
“I haven’t sir!” Ahearn began, before he stopped himself. Lying to yourself like that never helps anyone, he reprimanded himself. “He just – he reminds me a lot of a self-righteous teenager. It’s endearing, sir.” Brigadier Sparda laughed at that, his sharp blue eyes closing as he grinned.
“Go on then, soldier. Meet us at the General’s tent.”
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Needless to say Cerberus was overjoyed at being included in the discussions for such an important decision, his tail wagging as he and Ahearn dashed through the camp and around people back to General Cathal’s tent. Ahearn didn’t mention it was him that encouraged Brigadier Sparda to invite Cerberus, seeing the dog so clearly happy was all the reward Ahearn needed. As soon as they arrived Ahearn ducked into the tent, taking his place beside Sparda at the table. Cerberus tried his best to fit into the room, but eventually elected to have three heads within the tent, with his back to legs still outside.

“Welcome, everyone.” General Cathal said, maintaining eye contact with each of them in turn. “The meeting begins now. Brigadier, Head Magicians, please explain to us the basics of the spell you have created, and how you intend to bring it to fruition.”
“The idea behind the spell is actually very simple.” Head Priestess Evelyn began. “Although the logistics and fine details were highly complex, which was why it took us three weeks to perfect it. The last thing we wanted to do was design this spell wrong, the consequences could be – ” a pale disgust and horror passed over Evelyn’s face briefly “ – horrifying. Essentially, what we have designed is a spell that will create a permanent barrier between Hell and the Human Realm. No demon will be able to open a Hell Portal ever again. And if we time it right, Mundus and his army will be sealed far away from us.”

“Impossible!” Cerberus barked, a chill passing through everyone assembled. “There is no spell strong enough to hold the Emperor.”
“Cerberus!” General Cathal shouted, their anger far more intimidating than the demon’s. “We do not use our powers in this tent. And all discussions are to be CIVILISED.”
“Yes, sir. My apologies, sir.”
“Accepted. Head Priestess, please continue.”

“Of course, General.” Evelyn said, snapping a little ice from her chiton. “Our spell involves using Brigadier Sparda’s soul as the barrier. He already has extensive knowledge in soul manipulation, having done so to create a Devil Arm from his own soul, as well as weaving his soul throughout his Castle in Hell.”
“Explain to me again Demonic Castles.” General Cathal interrupted, their eyes on Brigadier Sparda.
“It’s the seat of power for any Demon Lord, usually constructed in the region of Hell they are native to. When a Demon Lord has newly risen to their position, they will create one by constructing a building within Hell and weaving their soul through it. It is like an extension of them, and will spawn foot soldier demons that are loyal to them and them alone. It’s what all Demon Lords use to wage their wars.”
“I see. Carry on.” General Cathal said with a wave of their hand.

“Since Sparda’s castle is bound to Hell, since it was made of Hellish material, but also to the Human World through Sparda and his travels through every continent in the world.” The Brigadier nodded at this. “His knowledge of the world will also guide his soul throughout the world, ensuring when it is transmuted into barrier it will be strong in all places. Therefore, we suggest that Sparda leaves immediately to return to his Castle and ready it for the ritual. Then he will summon it through a Hell Gate into the Human World. We’re thinking the least populated part of the world which Sparda believes is a place called the Great Plains.”
“The locals called themselves Očhéthi Šakówiŋ which I believe translates to Seven Council Fires. I don’t know. There aren’t enough of them left to ask anymore.” Sparda looked distinctly guilty, that horrible, nauseated guilt. So that’s why it was the least populated part of the world. Ahearn felt sick as well, sometimes it was difficult to ignore the fact his superior and close friend had engaged in genocide for 30 years.
“From there he will complete the ritual, trapping Mundus in Hell forever.” Evelyn continued, doing little to displace the sudden discomfort that had descended upon the tent. “With his army without a leader, we can destroy it.”
“If I know those honourless generals at all, they will begin in fighting the minute this barrier descends.” Cerberus said. “It will make it easier to divide them to their own armies and defeat them one by one.”

“Excellent.” General Cathal said, once again making eye contact with each of the assembled people. “Well done, Magicians, Brigadier. If you’re able to follow through with this plan then you will have ended this war. The end is within sight. Brigadier Sparda, I want you to set out immediately to your Castle. Start preparing it for the ritual. Be swift, but don’t compromise the spell, whatever you do. We may only get one shot at this. Head Magicians, take a break. You deserve. You’ve done miraculously well. Soldier Ahearn, go and fetch Chieftain Arlynn. Together with Cerberus we will create a diversion plan to ensure the Demon Army does not become suspicious of us. Everyone dismissed.”

Chapter Text

Truth be told, Sparda wasn’t exactly looking forward to going back to Hell. It seemed ridiculous, bearing in mind the past 30 years, had, for the most part, been spent counting down the days until mankind had been wiped from existence and he could return to his grand, gothic castle and its barren, foreboding halls. However, now that he knew something different existed out there, and was more than fond of the warmth of the campfire or someone’s smile, he was dreading the empty, inky halls of the place he had once called home. However, he was more than familiar with the concept of duty.

He spent perhaps half an hour walking the camp saying goodbye to everyone he could think of who also knew he was leaving at all. Perhaps he was just delaying the inevitable, but even with all his power Hell was never a definite and if the vastly unlikely happened and he did run into someone who could threaten him – perhaps more likely than he thought now that he had been branded highest traitor – he didn’t want to leave without at least some sort of farewell. It hurt to think of abandoning people like that. Ahearn was softer than Sparda expected, enveloping his human disguise in a big, all-encompassing hug. When he pulled away his face was the usual impenetrable mask but Ahearn couldn’t as easily disguise the scent of tears on him. Cerberus was equally as formal, but that was to be expected as Sparda had spent less time with the puppy as he would have liked. If anything, was surprised to hear the hellhound comforting Ahearn as he left. Cathal was brusque as always, simply berating Sparda for not having left already, although there was a fondness in their voice that was difficult to discern and even more difficult to ignore.

Sparda bumped into Sam and Robert as they were ferrying messages between Captain Sloane and Seamstress Elantia. Although he wasn’t officially allowed to tell them that he was going, Sparda was more than convinced Sam at the very least had the emotional maturity to pick up on subtext, and the warm hug they exchanged was more than just ‘keep up the good work’.

Finally, Sparda caught up with Evelyn, Borak and Anatu together outside their little tent. Anatu was mid-ramble, happily spouting some pleasant nonsense to her parents who were hanging off her every word as attentively as they did any military report. There was something about the seriousness the pair gave off when compared to the utterly delighted smell of the toddler than sent Sparda’s heart skyrocketing and almost dissuaded him from interrupting them at all. Almost.

“Ah! Sparda!” Evelyn said with a slight jump, turning to look at him. “I almost didn’t see you, but only you would wear that much purple.”
“Hello Evelyn, Borak, Anatu.”
“UNCLE!” Anatu yelled delightedly, dashing across to him as fast as her little legs could go before latching onto one of his legs.
“Hello Anatu.” Sparda replied, sweeping the rambunctious bundle of limbs into his arms in one swift motion. “And what have you been doing today.”
“I’m telling Mama and Papa all about the fairies.”
“Yes, this little one has been very educational to us.” Borak smiled, moving to stand beside Sparda. “I must say I’m surprised to see you still around, Brigadier. I thought you would have left us already.” “Where’re you going, Uncle?” Anatu asked, slapping her hand lightly against Sparda’s cheek.
“Ah, I’m not going anywhere.” Sparda lied. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the 3-year-old. Ok, he didn’t trust her not to immediately talk about it to all of her friends. Rumours were going to fly about where he was regardless, and he certainly wasn’t going to confirm them through a small child. “I’m just not going to be seen as much by people soon and I don’t want you or your Mama and Papa to worry.” Anatu looked up into Sparda’s eyes, the scent of utter and complete seriousness flowing so strongly from her it was hard for his heart not to immediately melt.
“Hmmmmmm. Ok.” She said, before immediately starting to wiggle her chubby legs. “Let me down now.” The minute her feet were on the ground, the toddler was off into her family’s tent, her mind now clearly set on her next mission.

The minute she was out of sight Evelyn had enveloped Sparda in a huge hug.
“Stay safe.” She whispered into his ear as she clung to him. Her warmth was gone all too soon. “I know you’ll be fine. It’s your home, you’ve lived there longer than probably my entire family has been around. But I can’t help but worry. Thank you for coming so see us and please don’t be an idiot.”
“The same from me.” Continued Borak, who moved to clap his hand onto Sparda’s shoulder. “I haven’t known you long enough yet, so you better come back.”
“I’ll try.” Sparda laughed, before quickly sobering. “Evelyn, you look after yourself too. I know it’s silly for me to say but you don’t do anything stupid either. Who knows what you’re like without my guiding hand.”
"Oh please.” Evelyn snorted. “I you were ever the sensible one among us.” She hesitated, her breath catching slightly. “See you soon, Sparda.”
“You too.”

It didn’t take Sparda long to traverse to the edge of the camp, letting his human disguise go as he did. It was always slightly disorientating to gain that extra height in his legs, but at this point he was more than used to it. Devil Sword Sparda was summoned into his hand on reflex, and with a quick leap he was airborne, his wings a thunderous drone as he lifted up and out of the slight valley where humanity was hiding.

Sparda quickly spread his presence around for spies, thankfully finding none, before he landed in the nearby mountains, the cypress and olive trees quickly yielding beneath him. A deep breath was all the preparation he allowed himself, otherwise he’d end up stalling forever, before a quick flick of his wrist brought Devil Sword Sparda singing through the air, slicing open a portal. The air rippled, drawing back to reveal a blackened landscape.

Ah, not his home region of Hell then, but a neighbouring one. He belonged to Darkness Hell, hence his specialised eyesight, but this was Barren Hell. Already the heat was leaking from the portal, gusts hotter than anything Sparda had felt since leaving Hell, brushing against the only skin of his entire body, his face, like adroit fingers of discomfort. Well, he certainly shouldn’t leave this portal open any longer then, there was more than a risk of forest fire.

Nothing else for it, time to return to the hell of Hell, and leave the comfort and kindness he had changed his entire life for. Sparda kept hesitating, his foot lifted but not placed through the portal. He had to go now. Right now. Just step through the portal. Before too much heat escaped. Any second now. Sparda sighed again, before stepping through the portal and leaving the Human Realm behind.

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The minute he was through the portal it sealed itself behind him, the verdant forest swallowed as the air healed itself, leaving the desolation of Barren Hell behind it. Barren Hell was almost the exact opposite of the land he had left behind, and for a moment Sparda entertained the idea that the cosmos was playing some sort of disgusting joke on him. The ground was a dull grey and permanently ash covered. In fact, it wasn’t at all unlikely that it was just ash all the way down, just further and further compacted.

Here and there black spikes emerged from the ground, like skeletal fingers clawing up at the carmine sky. You wouldn’t know from looking at them, but each and every one of them was the remains of a tree, gnarled and blackened into pure charcoal. He knew from experience touching one of these would cause it to crumble, that was why there were so few left, and the ground was nothing but an endless expanse of ash. Supposedly, when Hell was new, this had been a forest of burnt trees but the years and battles had crushed it down to nothing. It was certainly true that when Sparda had conquered this part of Hell 600 years ago there had been more tree stumps. Perhaps one day this place would become truly barren, with nothing but cinders remaining.

Occasionally there appeared to be a whole soot-covered tree, emaciated limbs still standing in defiance to its brethren, but Sparda knew from experience that these were demons, probably adapted from the days when this had been a burnt forest. Stand within range of their branch-like limbs and they would spring to life like tentacles, enmeshing their enemy until they were crushed to death. While not a particularly threatening enemy, Sparda wanted to stay under the radar for as long as possible, and beginning a fight was a sure-fire way to attract the scavengers.

Glancing up at the sky, Sparda was disappointed to not notice any clouds. Instead, a huge expanse of muted red stretched, one unbroken shade from flat horizon to flat horizon. If there was one thing this area of Hell offered it was uniformity, the only difference ever being if one of the violent, dry lightning storms was passing over. They always began on the eastern side of the Hell, originating in its neighbour Lightning Hell, and died against the metaphysical wall between Barren Hell and Sparda’s home Darkness Hell. They were a sight to behold, all the fury of an ancient god whipping the ash up into a frenzied tumult that bit deep into the skin and sent lightning cascading in every direction.

Still, without them Sparda had no idea which direction was Darkness Hell, and with it his castle. With nothing else for it Sparda leapt into the air once again, the thunder of his wings quickly kicking up an enormous dust cloud against the otherwise endless plains of soot. That was sure to cause him some kind of trouble later, but for now Sparda picked a direction guided by nothing more than instinct and began to fly, identical ground rushing beneath him in a blur of grey.
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Telling the time was nigh all impossible in a Hell where there was no sun, just and endless oppressive twilight, but Sparda would guess he’d been flying for about two hours when the some kind of trouble caught up with him. If Sparda was being entirely honest, he had sort of stopped paying attention to his surroundings after several hours of identical scenery, because it took him entirely by surprise when, all of a sudden, a magenta coloured orb of light suddenly struck him along his side.

It was entirely unexpected, and sent Sparda’s flight spiralling out of control and towards the dust below him. He maneuvered his wings desperately, bringing himself up and out of a nose dive but still not stopping himself crashing into the ground, obliterating one of the few remaining tree stumps. He turned, Devil Sword Sparda brandished in his hand to face his attacker. It was a Demon Lord, one Sparda knew all too well.

Two stick-thin legs that more than reminded Sparda of the atrophied trees led up to a body that was a perfect sphere, from which four arms emerged. Each came out opposite each other in a manner that should not have been possible with a skeleton, and was almost as long as his legs, equally thin and jointed in three places. His head was squashed into his round torso like a fruit half-rotten into the ground, from which emerged a beak-like nose sporting a pair of round blue spectacles, which didn’t seem to actually cover eyes, over an impossibly wide mouth of nothing but fangs. He was entirely hairless and had roughly draped a tunic that had definitely been stolen from a dead human over his inhuman body.

“Machiavelli.” Sparda growled, keeping his battle-ready position. “How dare you attack me. I defeated you centuries ago.”
“Oh but S-S-Sparda.” Machiavelli stuttered. “I h-h-have grown s-s-so m-m-much more p-p-powerful since thennn. N-n-not without your h-h-help, I will add. After all, it was-s-s you that gave me P-P-Pandora.”
“I will claim no part in your disgusting experiments on Devil Arms.” Sparda hated what Machiavelli did to demons fallen in battle. It was one thing to pledge your soul in use to another following defeat, it was quite another to have that stolen and perverted beyond recognition in the disloyal hands of Machiavelli. If it were not for Mundus’ personal interest in Machiavelli’s work, Sparda would have ended the bastard when he had conquered Barren Hell.
“Y-y-you d-d-don’t need to.” Machiavelli grinned, not so subtly changing the projectile-throwing Devil Arm on his arm for a box-like one which glowed with an intricate white pattern. “I w-w-want your s-s-soul S-S-Sparda, s-s-so you only n-n-need to DIE!” The Devil Arm in his hand began to glow white, and Sparda readied himself for whatever Machiavelli was about to throw at him. The weapon reformed, a huge three-pronged shape which his enemy hefted onto his shoulder. It didn’t look like anything Sparda had ever seen before, and he was surprised when it partially exploded, throwing three projectiles towards him which whistled through the air.

Sparda took flight, leaping out of the way as the three projectiles that slammed into the ground, exploding and sending an enormous cloud of ash into the air. Machiavelli clearly hadn’t expected this, as it gave Sparda cover to approach him. Firing that weapon again at this range would be suicide. Leaping from the dust cloud, Sparda extended his sword out into a scythe, catching Machiavelli from the side.

However, Machiavelli caught it with the Devil Arm that had transformed back into the box with a handle, stopping Sparda’s blade before it could do little more that nick one of his many-jointed arms. Machiavelli leapt into the air, activating the Devil Arm again. This time the weapon shifted into a different form, three golden hoops forming around him with a seat at the centre and several outward facing cylinders along the edge. With a jolt of fear Sparda recognised them as similar to the three-pronged form earlier, and readied himself to dodge. All the cylinders fired in unison, spitting out a storm of the projectiles. Sparda had little choice but to flee, desperately batting away as many of them as he could as they came towards him. It wasn’t enough, however, as a couple still impacted upon him, shattering his armour, and sending him spinning to the floor.

It only took Sparda second to stand, but by the time he had Machiavelli was speeding away from him, still in the seat of that damned weapon. It was obvious where Machiavelli was heading, the Demon Lord’s castle rose in the distance, a single monolith of black rock that stood out from the uniformity of the wasteland. Sparda took up pursuit and was rapidly gaining on his enemy even with the Devil Arm, but he was not quick enough to catch Machiavelli before he disappeared into his castle.

Of course, it was suicide to fight Machiavelli within land bound to his soul when Machiavelli had already claimed he had been planning to kill Sparda for years. However, that Devil Arm was something. Thinking back, it was almost certainly Pandora, and although Sparda could probably defeat Machiavelli with it now, if he allowed it to get into the hands of, say, Mundus, the damage that could be done would be horrific. He certainly wasn’t going to leave that as a possibility when only Cerberus and Ahearn were guarding mankind. He also couldn’t allow information of his departure into Hell to leave that quickly. Decided, Sparda strode straight into Machiavelli’s castle.

Chapter Text

TRIGGER WARNING: Canon-typical gore and demonic body horror

Stepping into Machiavelli’s Castle was like stepping into a clock. Cogs were everywhere. It was a huge, rectangular room that crested high above Sparda’s head, like a chasm that flew upwards into a dead, flat ceiling. Between that space and Sparda, however, where more cogs than Sparda could count. Bronze, gold, silver, chrome, each flashed with a different shade of metal in a kaleidoscope of dizzying colours. Each was moving, some spinning around at a speed that would shatter Devil Sword Sparda on contact, others grinding around such that they were barely moving. Three huge golden cogs dominated the room, with hundreds of cogs of differing sizes coming off of them in a vast and complicated chain of machinery that clanked and whirred in a deafening cacophony. Belts ran from one end of the room to the other, and huge chains ran up and down the towering room like a huge, metal cobweb. Everything was in motion all of the time, and it took Sparda a moment to readjust to the constant movement that surrounded him.

Sparda suddenly caught sight of Machiavelli in the distance, the Devil Arm he had been using back in the portal box form. Machiavelli was running on his two legs and lower set of arms, his upper set of arms holding the box high above his head. The bastard was surprisingly quick, dodging across the ashen floor, under and around the moving machinery as if he were a part of it. Which, bearing in mind his very soul was bound to the Castle, wasn’t all the surprising. Sparda growled to himself, before crouching and dashing after Machiavelli. He was never going to beat him at agility in his own Castle, so instead as a huge cog or swinging chain started to come towards him, Sparda batted it away with Devil Sword Sparda or, in a couple of cases, put his best shoulder forward and smashed through the offending machinery, sending shards of metal flying in every direction like sparks.

Before long, Sparda had chased Machiavelli across the tall, thin room, and despite Machiavelli’s home advantage Sparda was gaining on him. Machiavelli hesitated, just for a split second, in front of two doors on the ground and a third halfway up the polished, black marble wall, nestled between a series of three cogs. Machiavelli leapt, still on four limbs, to the third door in a fluid movement, his ungainly shape barely making its way through. With a quick buzz of his wings Sparda followed, landing in a rectangular corridor made of the same pitch-black marble, just as big as the door and stretching away into the distance. Machiavelli had seemingly disappeared, but Sparda could recognise an illusion easily enough. He quickly dashed after Machiavelli, finding an illusion wall mere metres down the corridor. The floor dropped away below the Demon Lord, but with another deafening buzz his wings carried him safely to the ashen ground, sending up plumes of soot.

Machiavelli stood, cradling Pandora in both sets of arms, behind two rows of demons, shorted than Sparda but also topped with two short, knob-like horns and just as armoured. Each also carried a large, curved sword and a huge shield. Except, their presences were all wrong, these weren’t demons that had been bourn into Hell or spawned by Machiavelli’s Castle. At least, not in the usual sense. These felt almost as mechanical as Machiavelli’s Castle; the life that ran through their presence ticked instead of pumped.

“D-d-do you l-l-like them?” Machiavelli gloated. Clearly convinced he was safe behind whatever abominations he had created. “Th-th-they’re modelled after y-y-you. I c-c-call them Angel-l-los after the human’s d-d-delightful c-c-concept of angel-l-ls. J-j-just imagine wh-wh-what I c-c-can do w-w-with y-y-your D-D-Devil Arm, S-S-Sparda.” The Dark Knight didn’t even award Machiavelli a reply, fury boiling through him at what Machiavelli had done. How dare he. HOW DARE HE. HOW DARE HE PEVERT DEMONKIND LIKE THIS. HOW DARE HE EVEN THINK OF DOING IT TO SPARDA HIMSELF.

For a long time, Sparda had been avoiding using his Battle Rage. It was a technique so vicious and deadly he could never guarantee what collateral he took with him, and it was undignified for someone of his station, both under Cathal and Mundus, to give into his bloodlust so completely. But just this one. He let it happen. He felt his writhing, scorching fury flooding towards him and he embraced it totally. He wanted one thing, and that was for every one of Machiavelli’s disgusting creations to be raised from every plane of existence. Blood roared in his hears, blood was in his mouth and blood was on his sword, only further fuelling his wrath. The parody demons fell in droves, their blood gushing and soaking into the cinder floor, turning the grey dust a deep red. Vaguely, Sparda was aware of Machiavelli frantically constructing more of the copies which were half-formed; their limbs jerked at awkward angles and flailed, pitiful for Sparda to cut down with ease.

Within what felt like moments, although could have been hours for all he knew, Sparda came to, standing over Machiavelli, Devil Sword Sparda at his throat. Pandora was a distance away on the blood-soaked floor, there were carcasses everywhere, many still twitching.
“S-s-see? You’re m-m-magnificent S-S-Sparda.” Machiavelli crooned, no fear showing in his obsessive lenses. “Th-th-think of what I c-c-could m-m-make of you!”
“How do you not understand?” Sparda growled in reply, a spittle of blood flying from his fangs a flecking across his enemy’s face. “What you are doing is wrong. This is a DEBAUCHERY and I WILL NOT allow it to happen.” However, before Sparda could the killing blow of the barbarian, the whole room suddenly began to groan and creak. Both demons started, Machiavelli’s eyes darting about the room, but Sparda made sure his sword tip didn’t flinch from his throat. Suddenly, towards the centre of the room the floor started to collapse. Hell was a flat disc, Sparda knew as a fact, but he had never considered before he might glimpse what was beneath it. It was said to be a primordial void, what lay between realms, filled with unspeakable horrors. The floor in this region of Hell had been made entirely of compacted dust, so as the blood from all of those demons had soaked in it had softened, and now it was collapsing, red soot disappearing into a void. If Sparda had to approximate the void to a colour he would’ve said black, but it really wasn’t comparable. He wasn’t even sure if this was a colour, it was aggressive, actively eating at Sparda’s eyes in a way he couldn’t bare.

His wings were thrumming, lifting him up and out of the reach of the void, but as Machiavelli fell, he reached out and his hand clasped around Pandora’s handle. That was dangerous, having that bastard lost down there with a weapon that powerful. Sparda dove, one armoured hand also grasping the handle, his wings thrumming harder to compensate for Machiavelli’s weight.
“I knew you’d s-s-save me, S-S-Sparda.” Machiavelli crowed, arrogant to the last. Before Sparda got a chance to reply, something moved in the depths behind Machiavelli. Sparda’s stomach roiled at the sight, and his mind fizzled and popped trying to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. Down there, in the void, something was alive. And it was moving towards them. If he ever had to describe it, he would always say it was somewhere between a pigeon and a human arm, but truthfully it looked nothing like either, because what it looked like was incomprehensible. It was nothing that he had ever seen before or since because it was something he never should have seen. And it was getting closer.

Sparda panicked. With a quick, decisive swish he cut Machiavelli’s hand from Pandora, sending the demon plummeting into the depths and towards the thing, before turning and flying hard and fast from the castle. He tried not to think about the thing because the sheer otherworldliness of it tortured him and it felt like he ever were to understand it he would go mad.

Once he was out of the castle he turned, his heart still racing, covered in sweat and shaking all over with a deep set fear. The castle remained an untouched, perfect black monolith unrepentant against the red sky, although with a groan and a rumble like shifting sand it shifted like the hands on a clock, one side sinking into the ash before the whole column listed to the left. Sparda knew when to keep well enough alone. While he daren’t think about that….thing he also didn’t want to risk further destabilising the castle by re-entering. Besides, if the best Machiavelli had to offer were those horrific perversions of himself Sparda wasn’t interested in pillaging this castle. Before he left, however, he spotted the earlier weapon Machiavelli had used. He wasn’t going to leave a demon’s soul, even one as corrupted as this, alone in these wastelands for anyone to use, so he went over and scooped it up, storing Pandora away. He didn’t recognise the soul in question, Machiavelli had crafted them into a projectile firing weapon that clasped itself over his forearm. Sparda apologised to the trapped soul before storing it away as well.

Sparda glanced around once more before he left, checking he hadn’t missed anything. Satisfied, he again checked if he could sense the metaphysical wall between regions of Hell. Aha! There! Right at the edge of his senses he could feel a huge emptiness of anything, which could only be a metaphysical wall of Hell. Here’s to hoping it’s the right side. Once again Sparda’s wings began the thunderous drone as he lifted into the air, and started out towards the metaphysical wall.

However, if he had ventured back inside Machiavelli’s castle, as Mundus would do almost by accident centuries later, he would have seen some very interesting things. Machiavelli had been truly obsessed with Sparda, and there, among his construction lines and clunking, clanging machinery, was a suit of armour, slightly shorter than Sparda, that would bring calamity and trauma to Sparda’s children.

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It took a long time to reach the metaphysical wall, the emptiness of any feeling gradually growing in Sparda’s awareness before he stood before it. Familiar in its vastness, it was a huge, distorted entity that ran, straight from the floor all the way up as high as Sparda could fly. It looked like a huge smoked mirror, reflections dimly there if at all, the wall almost matte in its grime. The surface wobbled and shifted constantly, like an upright sea, with different areas discovering and then promptly forgetting a mirror’s purpose. Hell was, in concept, a relatively simple place geographically. A huge disc, it was divided into Regions like a clock face. Like a wheel, there was a central hub from which spokes emerged, each of these spokes being a metaphysical wall. Between two walls was a wedge shape which constituted a Region.

Sparda didn’t hesitated before he walked straight through the wall, Devil Sword Sparda out and ready in his hand. The wall rippled as he entered it, like walking into water, a biting cold flooding him as he passed through the wall before he emerged on the other side in a different Region of Hell.

The first thing that hit him was the darkness. Yes, this was it. This was his home. Darkness Hell. There was little to no light here, the sky as merciless as any ceiling, and certainly as lightless. Sparda drew instant comfort from it, however. This was what he was evolved for, here his subtle eyes could pick out details kilometres away in the distance. Stretching away from him was a desolate but familiar landscape. Obsidian, almost everything was obsidian here, creating a desolate creating a landscape of endless, dramatic spikes and valleys. Some were as huge as buttes, spikes of obsidian that scoured the sky with their vicious sharpness, while others were barely taller than Sparda’s foot. But there was nothing but spikes and small gaps between spikes here, a city of deadly spires. While Barren Hell had been stiflingly hot, this oppressive and dry. So so dry. It was an evil heat, that scorched and tore at Sparda’s throat the minute he breathed in the new Region. A baking heat, was it any wonder that here Sparda had been baked hard as mud in a drought. A small nick he hadn’t even realised he’d gotten stopped bleeding the minute he entered, the blood boiling on contact with the air. The native demons here were sometimes hard to spot, many deciding to forgo eyes altogether in the near-pitch black of Darkness Hell.

But this was Sparda’s home, and this was the Region of Hell he had conquered and ruled for 600 years. He instantly knew where he was and, more importantly, how close his own Castle was. He wings once again were thundering, driving him into the air so he could weave between the pinnacles of acutely sharp obsidian. However, he was only a few moments into his flight when he felt a familiar presence on the ground below him.
“My Lord!” It hissed at him, many mouthed. “You have returned to us!” Sparda wasn’t planning to stop to talk to his subject until he felt a wet slap on his right leg and turned to see a termite as large as his thigh there, as black as everything else in Darkness Hell, its mandibles working furiously at Sparda’s armour. A Summoned Sword quickly finished the demonic insect off, but there were many more where it came from, flinging themselves from the ground to where Sparda was cutting through them in mid-air. Forced to land, Sparda turned to confront his foe.

Legion, a hive-mind demon of a termite colony.
"My Lord.” Several of the termites hissed at him, even while others flooded towards Sparda. “I have heard news since you left. You are called TRAITOR.” All the insects screamed at once, the buzzing of their voices hideous in volume and tone. “You did not make us a Captain and now I shall have REVENGE!” The termites flooded at Sparda with a new ferocity but, much as he was ashamed to admit it, Sparda barely had any trouble slicing through the thousands of bodies with Devil Sword Sparda, and finishing off the few remaining ones with Summoned Swords.
“700 years ago, when I conquered this Region I defeated you in a hard battle.” Sparda growled. He did not particularly want to kill one of his own subjects. “I have grown much in power since then and you have not, Legion. I am a Demon Lord, Legion. You are not. This is pointless, you have been loyal for 700 years.”
“I care not for your words, LORD.” Legion replied, thousands of termites still streaming towards Sparda. “I will be a Demon Lord once you are dead. Perhaps I shall even take your Castle as a nest."
“That’s not how it works.” Sparda grunted, the sheer numbers of huge termite bodies starting to overwhelm him as his exhaustion of non-stop flying and the fight with Machiavelli taking its toll.
“I don’t care.” Legion gloated. And then, suddenly, the flood of termites stopped, the crawling sea of legs extinguished by a last few Summoned Swords. “Wha - ?!? IMPOSSIBLE!” The last remaining termite cried, its single voice pathetic and alone. “I – we…lost! No! No! I am Legion! We are many!”      “No, you’re one.” Sparda replied, stabbing the tip of Devil Sword Sparda through the last termite. “And now, you’re none.”

Chapter Text

Ahearn had enjoyed a thoroughly pleasant evening last night, and waking this morning was almost as good. He was curled around John, his latest partner, as the dull yellowish light of pre-dawn flooded through the thin fabric of the tent. John was still asleep by the looks of it, and probably would be for a while yet. The pair of them had been up late last night, and Ahearn wished he could join John and drift off to sleep, only he had noticed since his demonic half had awakened he didn’t need to sleep as much or as often, and so instead frequently found himself awake in the mornings waiting for his partner.

He wasn’t due for duty for another few hours so unless something drastic happened this was going to be his morning. Ahearn snuggled back under the blankets, preparing himself for an early morning alone with his thoughts.

In fact, something drastic did happen, although Ahearn would be the first to admit it was not at all in the way that he had envisaged it. Around the time the sun was coming up John began to stir, and in a few moments he was greeted with John’s warm brown eyes gazing into his.
“Good morning.” He said with a slight smile, which Ahearn returned in earnest, before placing a hot, passionate kiss on John’s luscious lips.
“Good morning.” Ahearn replied when they had finally separated. “Did you sleep well?”

"I did thanks. Did you?”
“Just great. Sleeping next to you is so warm and comfy!” A slight look of distress fled across John’s face at that, and Ahearn instantly felt that pang of guilt. This always seemed to happen, he’d say something or do something wrong and his relationships would just fall apart in front of him. And for once, with John, Ahearn had felt he’d finally cracked it. They’d been together for three weeks, longer than he’d lasted with anyone else, and Ahearn was so desperately longing to finally find someone to live with for life like everyone expected of him.

“What? What is it? What did I say?”
“It’s nothing.” John said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I just hoped that maybe it’d be a little more than that. I love you. You know?” At this John took his thumb and ran it down Ahearn’s jawline and onto the bottom of his lips in a way that sent shivers down Ahearn’s spine. John’s thumb was rough and calloused and grazed against his morning stubble. “I guess I’d hoped I meant as much to you as you do to me. But I should’ve known better.”

“Known better? What do you mean?”
“Everyone knows how many partners you get through Ahearn. It was only a matter of time before you got bored with me and your eyes went off wandering. I guess I’m just happy we got the time we got.”
“But I do like you, John. You have such a wonderful chest, and your hair is great and” Ahearn leaned in to whisper directly into John’s ear “you’re great in bed.”

“That’s all very flattering Ahearn, but it’s not exactly what I mean. I should’ve known that with you everyone’s nothing more than some excitement in bed.” Ahearn felt his anger beginning to bubble at this point. Not at John, but at himself. This always seemed to happen. He could just never get it right. He should be looking for someone to share his life with, he knew at this point he had to meet someone that had that unbeatable spark. Godsdamnit, he knew enough to say that he should be falling in love at some point soon.
“But you are more than that, John. I love hanging out with you. I’ve been spending time with you outside of my duties so often. We have a laugh, don’t we.”
“But I’ve seen you with others, Ahearn. It’s no different.” There were tears in John’s eyes now. Why did this always happen? What was wrong with Ahearn that he just couldn’t make his partners happy. “I’ve had this crush on you for ages and you’re no different with me than with any of your other significant others. All the ones you discarded.”

“I haven’t discarded them!” Ahearn shot back. The frustration was reaching tipping point now and Ahearn new enough about himself that it was going to come out in violence or tears. “I just haven’t found the right person yet. Everyone keeps saying I just need to find the right person to settle down with and be normal with and I keep looking but it’s not happened yet.” Ah shit. It’s going to be tears if he wasn’t careful. Get it together! Adults do not cry, no matter the situation.
“So I’m sorry, I suppose. I’m sorry you still aren’t the right person and I’ve been looking for the right person and left a whole bunch of broken hearts in my wake. That’s not what I intended to do. That’s not what I WANTED to do. All I want is a partner I love like I’m supposed to.” John was staring at him, he could feel it, but Ahearn wasn’t making eye contact. He wasn’t allowing that space for any tears to escape through.

“Other people have no right to say what you do with your love, or how it happens. Is that really what’s been going on? Everyone thinks you’re just some sort of insatiable playboy, you know.”
“Well I guess that’s my life because there’s clearly something wrong with me.” Why was he being like this with John? That wasn’t fair. It was Ahearn who had upset John in the first place, and now he was avoiding his gaze and being snippy with him? Gods how far could he sink.

“Ahearn, some people never get married. And that’s ok, you know? Some people never find that special someone and some people don’t want to or need to. Or some people can’t because that’s just how they are. Ahearn, the past eight years have been a hell of constantly moving and constantly fighting, but I know you’ve seen how accepting people have been. Cathal is a ‘they’, Joanna wasn’t always called Joanna, and neither was Andy. I can think of, oh, 10 people off the top of my head who are dating people they never would have before. You’re human. That’s normal. Come on, look at me Ahearn.” And that calloused hand was prickling against his stubble again and he was looking at John. Gods those brown eyes were so expressive, one filled with unshed tears the other with a clear track down his face. “Who gets to say what’s normal for you except yourself?”

And there it was. All that anger and just heat that had been threatening to burst out of Ahearn was spilling down his face now. And burning across his face. He shouldn’t be crying he wasn’t supposed to be he was so embarrassed. “Ah, come here. It’s alright.” John’s arms were slightly hairy as they enveloped Ahearn’s bare back, skin on skin was nothing but comfort.
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With Legion dead it was a short flight to Sparda’s Castle. Like a homing beacon, it didn’t take him long for his presence to find that land that was bound to his soul, and Sparda was inextricably drawn there, like a puppet on a string. Landing in front of it on the hot, obsidian ground, Sparda was split between pride and horror to see that it hadn’t changed an inch since he had left to conquer the Human Realm.

It was a huge, many turreted fortress that stood, just as black as the sky and the steeples of obsidian around it. It was built like black granite, a huge, arched gatehouse with imposing barbican spread out into a curtain wall complete with battlements, spiked crenelations, and machicolations, all of which surrounded a huge, imposing keep. Four turreted towers surrounded one, central tower that stood like a spire. It was almost twice as tall as its surrounding towers, a huge spike like a stiletto knife against the sky. Just like the lands Sparda ruled, everything about his castle was spiked and inky black, turrets and spires placed wherever they could be throughout the threatening exterior. Home sweet home.

While a part of Sparda longed to go inside, to again walk on those polished stone floors under cascading vaulted ceilings, ultimately he decided against it. Those corridors and halls were built by a very different Sparda than the one who stood before it now. It was very much confronting his past and, quite frankly, Sparda was more than ready to leave that version of him behind, and show the world that Sparda no longer existed.

It took Sparda a moment to focus. His presence was raised, warning off any other would-be attackers, and was also naturally drawn to the piece of his soul within the castle. Following his presence down, Sparda soon found himself reunited with his soul, his consciousness slowly spreading to fill the castle as it had done when it had been constructed. He was aware of every stone in every wall and every weapon in every room and every demon spawner just begging to be brought to life. Just like he was aware of his fingers or toes.

Now, this was the difficult part. Like flexing an arm that has filled with pins and needles, slowly the castle responded to Sparda’s screaming need for it to change. With a start it began, all of the demon spawners slowly began to move from where they were throughout the castle into the main tower in the middle. At the same time, the tower internally shifted, rooms changing and furniture sinking into the floor. At last, the tower had a series of layers throughout it, most rooms created specially to create a complex but not untraversable way up and down the tower. Some rooms, like what remained of his personal library, Sparda had simply repurposed out of a sense of nostalgia and wanting to keep this as short as possible.

Moving the castle like this was exhausting, and the worst was still to come. Happy with the interior of the tower, Sparda braced himself, once more familiarising himself with ever aspect of the gigantic central tower, before heaving! With an ear-splitting grind of stone upon stone, the tower began to shift, sliding across the floor with the grace of a brick, it sank through the keep, forming itself for the first time into a standalone tower. Sparda rested for a moment, panting and dripping sweat that immediately sizzled and evaporated in the scorching heat, before dragging the tower once again. The horrifying grinding began again as the tower scraped forwards, again passing straight through the curtain wall and out into the world. No longer was it a tower of Sparda’s castle, although his soul still thrummed through it just as powerfully. Now it was a huge gothic tower all in its own right.

Sparda would have left it like that, dark and gothic, but, even as he sagged in place, utterly shattered by moving the tower, he felt unable to leave it as it was. Even while the insides were completely different to how it was before, on the outside the tower still looked as if it belonged in the harshness of Darkness Hell, and Sparda felt a sudden resolve to change that. The tower was round, but it stood uniform all the way until the spiked turret emerged from the top.

Tugging again at his soul bound through the bricks and mortar, Sparda shifted the tower’s appearance, tearing down the barbs that peppered the roof and instead smoothing it to a flat top. Then, the near-smooth, impenetrable wall was changed, the tower becoming almost conical in shape as the bottom widened at the top shrunk. Finally, he shifted the stones of the walls, pulling some of them away from where they rested to create a series of stairs-like structures all the way from the bottom of the tower to near the top. A mockery of the flying buttresses of his gothic castle. Sparda ensured every arch he made was smooth and rounded. And with one gargantuan effort, the colour shifted, the wicked blackness bleaching out into a greyish beige.

It was done. This was the tower that would host the ritual he must do to cast his soul as a barrier between these worlds. This was it. It needed a name, Sparda realised at once. Gazing upon the stair-like structures and the huge arches, Sparda was reminded of the tower he had destroyed in Babylon. It had been ancient to the peoples there, much like their beloved Ziggurat, so Sparda had made sure to demolish it and then wipe the remains from existence to take any hope from the remaining people. Looking upon this tower now, Sparda knew what this tower was to be named. Temen-ni-gru, after the Etemenniguru, the mighty ziggurat he had destroyed. With this tower, hope would begin to live again.

Chapter Text

Evelyn woke with a small hum of contentment. She rolled over and snuggled into the warm hollow of Borak’s shoulder, trying to regain that wonderful sleepy feeling, but it was already too late. The soft contentment of drowsiness was rapidly flying away to be replaced with a tingle of anticipation. Hmmmm? Anticipation. That was interesting, certainly.

Oh! Of course!

It was the twins’ birthday today!! The pair were turning 16!

With a jolt, Evelyn was fully awake, her eyes opening to the sun-dappled face of her still sleeping husband. Ah what a lovely sight, such an attractive person should really be illegal. She brushed the strands of his hair, and the ends of her hair, out of his face before blowing gently onto his eye lids. They fluttered slightly but no response. With a wicked grin on her face, Evelyn tried again, simultaneously tickling the inside of his ear. More twitches and eye lid movement, until a smile rose across his face.

“Well, hello annoying thing.” He laughed, eyes remaining resolutely shut.
“Good morning.”
"And why, pray tell, are you waking me up this fine morning?”
"I think there might be a small family party you’re involved with today?” Evelyn watched the realisation fly across her husband’s face, eyes staying firmly closed and smile breaking wider.
"No no, I think you’ll find in the morning those twins are your family and your family alone. I can go back to sleep until a decent hour.”
"You can try, but you’re not getting away that easily.” Evelyn deflected, smiling still. “Because I can stay here annoying you for as long as I want until you’re up to help me.”
“Alright, alright! Fine you temperamental woman.” Borak said after a short pause. He turned at once, grabbing her in a huge hug. The hair on his arms tickled against her bare back as he held her tight, his lips finding hers suddenly. “I love you. But do you really have to wake up so early?” He murmured into her.
“I love you too. And yes, I do.”
“Hmmmm, fine. It seems my charms have finally failed me.” He griped.

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It took until about mid-morning to get everything for the party to be set up. Normally, birthdays would pass with very little acknowledgement, but today the twins were finally growing into men, and Evelyn was certain it was going to be a good experience for them. Her growth into adulthood had been in the midst of a particularly violent part of the war, but now with the relative lull after Sparda’s departure and the subsequent move to avoiding Mundus rather than attacking him, Evelyn was certain this was going to be a positive experience for everyone involved. With any luck the grand ceremony of the pair becoming official members of the Guard later today would also be a sorely needed boost to morale.

Currently, Evelyn, Boark, Ahearn, Anatu and Cerberus were together inside the war planning tent, ready and waiting. The tent had been decorated with offcuts of colourful fabrics to create sort of bunting and instead of maps on the central table, an array of alcohol and a few presents were arranged. Cerberus had Anatu sat squarely on his front paws and was blowing air at her from different directions with his heads to keep her entertained. The twins suddenly burst into the room, flinging the tent flaps aside.

“Urgent message from General Cathal!” Sam yelled as the pair ran in, before stopping short at the sight of their small family arranged before them.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” They all cried, smiles on every single face.
“Oh wow!” Sam cried, a huge grin breaking out on his face Robert looking around in a state of almost awe.
“This is a lot of work, guys.” He said, and Evelyn was fairly sure she saw him wipe a tear from his eye. “You sure this is ok?”
"Of course, it is! You only turn 16 once! You two are both grown men now, so enjoy the perks!” Evelyn replied with a smile, gesturing towards the table. With an impish grin, both of the young men fell upon the presents. Seems like you can grow up in numbers but actions take a little longer, Evelyn laughed. Evelyn and Borak had worked together to make the pair a magically enhanced breastplate each, and the iron shimmered with an enchanted glow in the filtered morning sun. From Ahearn, they received a dagger each, a matching pair with beautiful embossing on the leather sheath.

“You two are a team.” He said as the young men picked up the weapons. “Just like the daggers are a team. Don’t forget it and you’ll do well.” Anatu had even worked hard herself to make a pair of stick dollies for the twins, which she proclaimed would bring them good luck. They of coursed thanked her for the gift, and Evelyn could tell they were genuinely impressed the toddler had managed to keep an actual secret from them.

The family spent a while just spending time with each other, the wine making conversation come easy. At one point, Robert seemed to be asking Ahearn for relationship advice, a huge blush across his face, while Sam laughed with Anatu and Cerberus; and later Sam reminisced with Evelyn while Borak laughed with Robert. It was peaceful, so peaceful, Evelyn reflected. Her whole family together in one place, a place filled with love. She needed nothing more, and once this war was over it’d be like this forever.

“I know that face.” Borak laughed, looping his arm around her waist as, at the end of the party, two slightly tipsy twins walked out to the ascension to the guard ceremony, Ahearn following them with Anatu on his shoulders.
“Do you? And what does this face mean, oh wise husband?” Evelyn laughed, allowing herself to be led.
“You’re getting all sentimental.” He replied, and kissed the top of her head.
“Well, I think I’m allowed to. Things still aren’t great but…..I think the end might be in sight. And when I think that I don’t feel so tired anymore.”

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Sparda gazed up at his tower, Temen-ni-gru. He could feel his soul rippling through it, every part of it as intimately connected to him as his arm or his sword. This was going to work, Sparda could feel it. This was going to be the lynchpin to finally separate Hell and the Human Realm. However, he still had a niggling feeling, a sense of doubt towards it. This was a crucial tower, every part of it was crucial to humanity’s continued survival. After all, even a Demon Lord couldn’t live forever, and some day this tower would be around without him to protect it. It couldn’t be easy to infiltrate, or someone could easily get in and tear apart the barrier, putting humanity once again at risk of extinction, and this time without his help. No, Sparda needed to put some kind of permanent protection inside the tower, something to ensure that it would never be torn down again. Or at least, only by those who were like him.

Sparda hesitated for a moment over this thought. The longer he was away from the camp, the more danger he put them in. But on the other hand, if he messed up this ritual and this tower, it could impact humans for hundreds if no thousands of years. No, there was nothing for it. If he was doing this ritual with this tower he was going to do it properly. Oh, this was going to be exhausting, Sparda laughed to himself. As if he hadn’t done enough metaphysically taxing work today. Or, recently, he supposed. Time didn’t really work like that in Hell.

Taking another moment to centre himself, before reaching out into his presence, again familiarising himself with its heartbeat and the way it curled softly around himself, his Castle and the new tower. Then, with a sharp tug, he pulled it all towards himself, pooling it for a moment, before forcing it outwards again. Out and out it travelled, flying across all of Darkness Hell and beyond. Sparda grunted a little as his presence forced its way through the metaphysical wall, the feeling of passing through in such a intangible way racing back through Sparda’s presence to slap him firmly in the face. And still it spread, further across the regions of Hell, spreading thin like gossamer fabric as Sparda stretched it further than it was ever meant to go and then further still. He was panting at this point, his vision beginning to crackle with stars and his ears ringing. Much longer like this and Sparda was sure he would pass out, which would not be good for anyone.

He gritted his teeth and kept going. This was going to be worth it, this needed to be done. He just needed to keep stretching further keep reaching. He’d find them all soon. Ah! There was one! And another! Sparda kept going, kept stretching thinner and thinner, until he could barely focus on anything except the specific presences his now brushed up again. One, two, three, four, five, six. Yep, that was all of them. Sparda’s captains and one extra, already well known to his presence.

Right, now, this was the really hard part. Carefully, Sparda began to draw his presence around the six shining points of their presences. Parts of his presence ripped wetly at he gathered it so far away, sending racks of pain throughout him. Keep holding on, keep holding. With another grunt, Sparda yanked on them with as much force as he could muster, before releasing them suddenly, his presence springing back to him like elastic. It smacked into him in moments, his already exhausted body reeling.

Slowly, Sparda allowed himself to breathe as he waited for his Captains to arrive. They couldn’t ignore his summons, but it would also take them a moment or two to arrive here, and the Demon Lord sorely needed that time to steady himself. Slowly, his vision came back to him, his ears stopped ringing and the light-headedness abated, instead leaving him a sweating, slightly trembling mess. Not taking something to eat with him was a mistake, Sparda realised. He was nearly there though, he was just going to have to hold on a little longer. He breathed again, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment as he gathered himself, before snapping open at the sound of a very familiar flapping of bat wings behind him. The first of his captains had arrived.

“Nevan.” Sparda said, a slight smile coming to his lips as he turned to face her as she finished coalescing from a storm of bats.
“Well, hello Sparda.” She purred, slinking towards him. “It’s been such a long time.”
“Nevan, if you’re going to be in my presence, at least cover your lower half. There are some things I really don’t need to see.” Sparda replied quickly. Really, if she hadn’t been so advantageous politically Sparda would never have used a captain who originated in Malphas’ corner of Hell.              
“You sure you don’t……like what you see?” She laughed, reaching a thin clawed hand towards him. Sparda caught it before she touch him, however, letting a low growl out in warning.
“No matter how many times you try that routine on me, Nevan, it isn’t going to work. You fight for me and nothing else.”
“Hmmmm, I still think you could have a little more fun, Sparda.” She hummed.

But before she continue any further a loud crash interrupted them.
“SPARDA!” A loud, gravelly voice yelled. “I could not BELIEVE when your presence touched mine. You are a traitor and must be PUNSIHED for it.”
“Beowulf. Such a pleasure.” Sparda replied, the weight of Devil Sword Sparda continuous in his hand.
“You shall never be forgiven!” Beowulf returned. “You are a TRAITOR.”
“Ugh, men and their dick measuring contests.” Nevan griped, standing back a little as Beowulf continued to advance, towering over the pair.
“Beowulf, do not forget that I have bested you in battle and on the sparring field many a time, and you have never once bested me.” Sparda replied dangerously. “Do not try my patience when I have summoned you here.”
“You have not SUMMONED ME. I came here to defeat you!” The lion demon crowed, before launching a fist towards Sparda. Despite Sparda’s exhaustion, the instincts of battle never truly leave you, and in an instant Sparda dodged it, Beowulf’s hand smashing into the obsidian floor instead and shattering part of it. He had fought Beowulf more than enough to know he wouldn’t stop quickly, and Sparda needed this over and done with as soon as possible. He was exhausted and his brain fizzled as he desperately thought of an idea. Nothing, and no time to stall, Sparda made his choice. In one movement he shifted his sword to scythe mode, swinging it around towards Beowulf. With a spurt of blood and a roar from the demon, the sword sliced through one of his eyes.
“DON’T DISRESPECT ME. DON’T DISOBEY ME.” Sparda roared before Beowulf could react. “You are MY captain, and you will act as such. AM I UNDERSTOOD?” Sparda landed on the ground again, fatigue filling him. Beowulf growled at him again, before replying,
“Perfectly, my lord.”

Before long, Sparda’s other captains had arrived, Agni and Rudra stood together, and had been talking to one another since they arrived. They were loyal, but my goodness could they natter. Nevan had rolled her eyes at there arrival, distancing herself further. Beowulf had sulked, holding his still oozing eye. Next to arrive was Deathvoid, who stood close to Nevan, but was as silent as always. Like a monolith, that one, but he could certainly get the job done. Finally, the last Geryon appeared.
“Now this is a surprise,” Nevan remarked, “they were all supposed to be dead.”
“I stole one from Mundus’ stable. He searched for years but never found it was me. It was a hidden card should I ever challenge him for the throne of Hell,” Sparda replied quickly, ignoring Agni and Rudra as their chattering quickly turned to the Geryon’s appearance. “Now that we are all here,” Sparda started, but was interrupted when he saw Deathvoid was pointing to a space over Sparda’s shoulder.

Turning, he was greeted with an entirely unexpected sight. “Cerberus? What are you doing here?”
“I felt the call.” Cerberus replied. “I was honour bound to come.”
“You did not need to. I do not wish for the fate of these to be yours, Cerberus. I have seen your friendship with Ahearn, you two work well together. If you are to serve me to fulfil your honour then you would do best to do it with him.”
“Sparda, I know what you are doing here, and my honour will not allow me to stay out of it. I want to protect humanity. I have seen them for what they are, and I know this is where I can do that best.”
“Very well, it is your decision.” Sparda hesitated, before adding. “You’re a brave man, Cerberus.”
“What is he talking about?” Beowulf interrupted, standing once again, his eye forgotten. “And since when was the Cerberus tribe under your control?”
“Be quiet, Beowulf. You serve me, not the other way around.” Sparda returned.
“He has a point though, my lord.” Began Agni.
“My brother’s quiet right, sir.” Continued Rudra.
“You see, I was wondering.”
“We were all wondering.”
“Alright, thank you.” Sparda interrupted the pair before they could waste anymore time. “I have brought you here because I have need of you. You are my captains, you are bound to obey my every order, no matter if you personally believe that is traitorous to demon kind. As such, today you are all going to be bound to that tower. You will sleep when it sleeps and awaken when it awakens, and stop, to the best of you abilities, anyone who tries to climb it.” Sparda could feel the resentment immediately, but a quick tug on all their presences from his was enough to remind them of who exactly he was.

Quickly, Sparda set up the ritual with the demons and the tower, preparing each of them to be joined to the tower. Yet again he was taxing himself metaphysically, he thought sardonically. The captains were arrayed around the tower, Sparda standing on the very top, when it began. Slowly, he reached into his soul within the tower, before drawing it out in thin, intangible tendrils. Everyone present could feel them, and the tension continued to rise, wind beginning to pick up on the desolate plains of Darkness Hell. Carefully, Sparda took the threads and began to weave them through each of his captains, binding them to the tower and the tower to them. Beowulf was the only one who complained, and no way near enough to disrupt the ritual. Sparda tensed, ready to complete it. With a grunt, he began to draw on all seven parts of the web at once, drawing the captains in. The wind was roaring now, an artificial storming building as mystical light streamed outwards. The captains began to distort slightly as they became connected to the tower, instantly teleporting into rooms that the tower created for them. However, before Sparda could seal them, several demons appeared on the edge of his consciousness. Natives to Darkness Hell, although not ones directly created by him. The Demon Lord began to speed up, desperate to seal his tower before it was destabilised. Quicker! Quicker!

Too late.

As the storm of light dissipated and Sparda released the tower, a sense of defeat within him. The captains were all bound perfectly within the tower, a safeguard for it for the ages, but caught in the web was also three gigapedes and a leviathan. Damn it! Sparda allowed himself to sit with a slump against the cool floor of the tower. Who knew what that would do to unbalance the tower, let alone the ritual that the tower was so vital to. At a loss, Sparda allowed his mind to wander for a moment. There had to be some way to balance the evil that had just wormed its way into the crucial object.

Suddenly, an idea struck Sparda. He pulled out Artemis from where he had been holding her, hoping to find some way to undo what Machiavelli had done to her. She was neutral, so wouldn’t totally undo the damage the unwanted guests had done to Temen-ni-gru’s energies, but she also certainly wouldn’t hurt. Quickly, he again drew on the web of his soul within the tower, winding it around the Devil Arm. There was another flash and Artemis distorted within his hand before also being drawn straight through the floor. He could feel the tower hum with some kind of approval as Artemis settled into the web like a key in a lock. Finally, finally the tower was complete. He could return to the Human Realm and this war would end. Sparda prepared to open a portal to the agreed area of the Great Plains before an idea occurred to him. Quickly, he darted back into the armoury of his Castle, withdrawing from it a long-time loyal Devil Arm, Alastor. The Devil Arm crooned to be in his hand once again, oozing joy Sparda had not abandoned him. Alastor had been Sparda’s go-to Devil Arm before he had split his soul into Devil Sword Sparda and, with all of the pressure the upcoming ritual was going to put on his soul, Sparda supposed having a familiar back up wasn’t going to hurt.

Chapter Text

Temen-ni-gru was ready. Sparda was ready. He only hope the world would be ready for what was about to change. It was finally time to separate the worlds for good and end the ceaseless bloodshed.

With one quick downwards slash, Sparda opened a Hell Portal, the gust of cool air from the Human Realm instantly billowing into the oppressive heat of Darkness Hell. Light streamed through as well, robbing Sparda of his sight once again. He didn’t have time to reflect on leaving Hell for the last time, however, and instead stepped from his home for the last time and closed the portal behind him. A quick sniff confirmed he had ended up roughly where he wanted to, the Great Plains of the continent away to the east of Albion were such a huge address it was easy enough to open a portal somewhere along them.

Around him, land that was as close to flat as the Human Realm got stretched, covered in an assortment of different grass species that whispered like static in the slight wind. Away to the west there was a herd of bison slowly making their way through the thick grasses but, crucially, there wasn’t even the slightest scent of human. That was why Sparda had chosen this place, but there was still something he was looking for. Ignoring the deep-set exhaustion that was growing like mould in his bones, Sparda gathered his presence once more before sending it out across the wilds. It shook like a frail hand, aching as it stretched again so soon.

Ah! But there it was. Sparda was close. Thank goodness, his portal had taken him only around 10 minutes flight from where he needed to be.

His wings ached deeply as well, the muscles around their base screaming as he lifted them, but with a thunderous roar, Sparda was airborne. The ground dashed by beneath him, and before too long he could feel the dark draw of what remained. He could remember how it had looked 40 years ago, erupting straight from Hell into the Human Realm. The Qliphoth was mighty even then, towering straight up into the evening Sparda and the other generals had stumbled into after Mundus.

To his knowledge, that had been the only time Mundus had come to the Human Realm in his true form. Once the fruit was consumed, however, the towering roots had begun to collapse, leaving behind a huge Hell Portal where the branches of the tree still grew downwards into Mundus’ native region. And a huge scar on the human land above which throbbed even now with a deep, forbidden power.

Sparda landed beside the huge Hell Portal, thankfully empty except for a few loose empusas which he quickly ended. Right, this part was going to be the most difficult probably of this entire thing. Well, actually, the ending of the ritual would probably be the worst of the lot, but Sparda didn’t want to think about that. There wasn’t a guarantee that Sparda would even survive all that happening to his soul.

Regardless, he had to press on, and Sparda stood on the edge of the enormous Hell Portal, reached out as far as he could to Temen-ni-gru’s distant familiar pulse, before tugging as hard as he could. Somewhere, far away in Darkness Hell, the tower jerked slightly. Sparda grit his teeth and pulled again, his body flinching at the stress it brought down upon him. The tower almost teleported with how far it flew, like a snapping elastic band it raced towards its master’s call. Once more. Once more and it’d be here. Sparda hauled on the bond once more, straining with everything he could throw into it, and the tower responded. Suddenly, a huge rumbling sound filled the air, and up through the portal the tower began to appear, showering Sparda with pieces of the tree as it rose from Hell to stand in the Human Realm.

A piece of demonic architecture in the Human Realm, a direct piece of Hell right here standing amongst the now sparse remains of the Qliphoth. If Sparda were one for metaphors he’d make one, but the practicality of this was the most important thing.

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Sparda hadn’t been inside the tower before this, but now he was standing within the Lair of Judgement, everything perfectly arranged for the ritual. His blood was covering the floor, giving the whole room a slight red tinge, still slightly dripping from where he’d cut his arm. But nothing was happening. Sparda checked over the array that he had carefully engraved into the centre of the Lair, it was definitely glowing and placed an uncomfortable pressure on the Demon Lord. But it wasn’t fully activating. It had yet to pull on Sparda’s power and wasn’t even touching his soul.

The spell just sat there, refusing to activate. Once it would activate Sparda was sure it would work, but then again he had been certain it would activate as well.
“Why isn’t this working?” He muttered to himself, going over the design of the ritual that he, Evelyn, Borak and Huo had painstakingly put together. It was all there, a perfect balance and connection of Hell and the Human Realm, everything that was included in the ritual had an equal and opposite part that ultimately hung off of Sparda as a lynch pin. That couldn’t be the problem? Could it? Sparda should be able to act as the lynch pin for the spell since he was a unity of the two realms, born within Hell but motivated entirely by humanity.

But, Sparda reflected, he still couldn’t change what he was. He was still a demon, he did still originate in Hell. For goodness’ sake, the tower that was his very soul was the largest component for Hell within the spell. There was no way that he could ultimately act as the unity between Hell and the Human World, it made the spell unbalanced at its core and ultimately stopped it from activating. And thank goodness it did. Who knew what the affects on reality itself would have been for having such a powerful spell activate imbalanced? Nothing good, that was for certain.

Gods, how could he have been so stupid. It was blindingly obvious now that Sparda realised it, but none of them had noticed it when the designing the spell. DAMNIT!! Everyone needed this done as soon as possible, if this was completed the war would be over forever.

Ok. Ok. Sparda took a moment to calm down. Panicking and getting angry at himself wasn’t going to solve this situation, ultimately. He needed to think through the spell and come up with a way to modify it. The obvious way to get it to work would be to have two lynch pins, a matching set for the spell to balance it. A human who had experienced a lot of close contact with demonic energies. But that would mean Sparda would have to fly all the way back to Hellas to find someone who was willing to possibly die alongside him. And it would take time. Sparda had to think of a different solution, something that he could do here and now.

Suddenly, from way down below him at the base of the tower, Sparda was aware of something moving. Something was trying to make its way into the tower. Shit. Shit shit shit. At least the spell hadn’t activated yet, so it wasn’t like he was leaving something delicate unattended, but he’d still prefer not to. Ah, damnit! Nothing for it. With a burst of energy Sparda darted from the room, making his way out to the top of the tower to look down at what was happening.

Oh shit.

It was the Demonic Army. Wait, not in its entirety. Sparda recognised Nobodies in that concentration. That was Mundus’ personal army. That was still a sizable number of demons though. Scratch that, that was an awful lot of demons currently coming at Sparda. An awful lot of powerful demons coming at Sparda.

Fuck.

Mundus must have caught wind of what Sparda was doing and split his army. Oh boy. There must have been 500 foot soldiers coming at Sparda, with Mundus’ generals corralling them. Overhead, the huge twin dragons Echidna and Ifrit roamed, even now Echidna sowing her seeds through the fertile ground ready to spawn more Chimeras to join the already barraging Temen-ni-gru. Ifrit, a huge fire dragon similar to the ones of the peoples of China, arched over the troops, plumes of hellfire soaring from him like steam from a boiling kettle. Phantom was among the foot soldiers, the bottom of his limbs scorching the ground as the great oversized spider strode through the lesser demons, barking orders at them.

What really scared Sparda, however, was way at the back of the army, watching it all unfold like a god. Three glowing orbs hung above everything, red lightning spouting and arcing from it, corruption incarnate. Mundus was here. Not his battle form, sure, but still. This was as opposite to good news as it was possible to get.

Fuck.

They were already attacking the tower, which would not end well for them bearing in mind the guards he had put in there. Thankfully, Sparda could tell through his connection to his Captains they hadn’t been locked into slumber with the tower just yet, and it didn’t take much to alert them to what was happening. Even as Sparda began to make his way down the tower, he could feel them congregating in Cerberus’ chamber, ready to give the invading foot soldiers Hell on Earth. That did mean all three generals were Sparda’s responsibility, however. There was nothing for it, though. He could not allow Mundus to beat him this late in the game. This eternal rivalry was so nearly over, it was down to Sparda to stop it once and for all.

With a great leap and a deafening thunder of his wings, Sparda was airborne above the foot soldiers, Devil Sword Sparda in his hand. He pushed all the utter, deep-set exhaustion he felt as far away as he could, ignored the screaming of his muscles and the ache of his joints. This had to be done and it had to be done now. Before Sparda could decide which of the flying behemoths he was going to fight first, a huge jet of fire came at him, nearly scorching him. Sparda dove down the to ground, far more agile than the twisting, contorting Ifrit.

Guess this was who he was fighting. Ifrit was huge compared to Sparda, dwarfing the few clouds that surrounded them in the sky. Along his body dinosaur-like arms sprouted in sets of two, each ending in wicked claws that glinted in the sunlight like vicious smiles. Ending Ifrit’s winding body was a huge head, spiked and opening to reveal a maw of cutlasses that could swallow Sparda in one gulp. Ifrit was covered in dull, black scales which shifted with his serpentine movements like chainmail, great gouts of flame erupting from the gaps between the scales like it was trapped within.

The great head as coming straight to Sparda now, having turned in the sky like a ship at sea, a great gaping chasm of pain opening before the Demon Lord. Sparda dove again, tempting Ifrit closer to the ground. If Ifrit hit the ground he’d never recover, but Sparda knew the fellow Demon Lord was cleverer than that. Ifrit knew it as well, shifting as he flew so Sparda was peppered with bursts of fire that forced him to bob and weave throughout the sky like a caught fish.

Sparda growled, he wasn’t in control of this fight, and it was only the beginning. Still dodging the barrage of fire, Sparda flew his way around Ifrit’s great bulk to the line of spikes that ran along his spine. Swinging Devil Sword Sparda out into scythe form, he brought it down on Ifrit’s armoured hide, the Devil Arm slicing through the thick, sooty scales and causing flares of fire to spurt outwards and down on to the soldiers below.

Ifrit roared, turning faster than Sparda expected of his and coming towards Sparda again, all teeth and claws aimed right at him. Sparda dodged again, but he had underestimated the great fire drake, catching several of the Demon Lord’s claws along his side. They weren’t sharp enough to pierce Sparda’s armour, however, glancing off in a shower of sparks. Ifrit was surprised but was too late to move away from the uninjured Sparda, receiving another great gash to his side before he could escape Devil Sword Sparda’s reach.

Ifrit didn’t turn his head back towards Sparda this time, instead flying a distance away, his long body sliding after him like a snake through water. Suddenly, at the last moment, Ifrit twitched the end of his tale, swinging it around to clobber Sparda along the side. Sparda had seen this coming, however, and brought around Devil Sword Sparda, slicing the end of the tail off before it could hit him. The weighted end plummeted to the ground below, liquid fire cascading out of the huge wound.

Ifrit snarled and roared again, banking back towards Sparda, fire dripping from his lips. Sparda readied, wings reverberating ever louder. A colossal torrent of fire spewed from Ifrit’s mouth, several times the size of Sparda, straight towards him, and even from where he hovered Sparda could feel the immense heat billowing outwards. However, it also gave Sparda a cover. If he could just get into Ifrit’s blind spot, then he could do serious damage before Ifrit even realised what was wrong. Sparda hovered even as the stream of fire barrelled towards him, before suddenly diving below just before it scorched him to death.

He shot along the underside of the fire, the blazing orange deluge hiding him from Ifrit’s eyes. Ifrit was purring, or growling – it was difficult to tell, clearly thinking he was winning against the Legendary Dark Knight. But Sparda was now below his chin, the thick muscle at the base of his jaw unprotected by the dragon’s scales. Shifting Devil Sword Sparda again to axe mode, Sparda swung, arcing his sword up and through the base of the Demon Lord’s neck.

Fire launched out, splashing off Sparda in an agonising drench and burning his armour. Ifrit was worse off, however, the Demon Lord groaning and growling above him before starting to list in the sky. His searing blood still gushing from his neck and desolating the floor below, the great weight of the fire drake began a slow descent towards the ground. His tail flicked furiously, and every claw that was near flashed out towards Sparda, but he dodged them with ease, and they both knew this battle was over. Ifrit’s blood was soaking everywhere, a huge wildfire starting as, with a resounding crash, the great Demon Lord hit the ground, earth flying everywhere at the impact.

Despite the threat of Echidna and Phantom looming large over Sparda even now, he wasn’t one to leave his enemies to bleed to death, even as Ifrit roared and flailed on the ground like a dying fish, causing great tumults of earth to fly in every direction. Sparda closed his wings and dove straight towards the dying dragon, Devil Sword Sparda held out before him like the prow of a ship. With a sickening squelch the sword connected, straight between the serpent’s eyes and through his skull. He didn’t even roar, life leaving him quickly, his body exploding with fire that quickly ate him to ash.

All that was left behind was a glowing orange orb before Sparda. The Legendary Dark Knight whispered a sword of thanks to the departed Demon Lord, before reaching out towards his soul. With a rupture of flame, Sparda stood equipped with Ifrit the Devil Arm.

Chapter Text

Sparda examined Ifrit, he had become a powerful Devil Arm, a set of greaves that erupted a burst of fire as he swung them. Sparda turned, ready to take whatever foot soldiers hadn’t already charged into the Temen-ni-gru, only to find himself almost alone where there had been hundreds of lesser demons before his fight had started. What? Where did they all go? He sniffed deeply, trying to catch the demons’ tell-tale scent.

Behind him, towards the tower, confirmed better news than Sparda could have hoped for. Spilling from the great entrance to the first room of the tower was a river of blood and demon corpses, several bearing the signature marks of his Captains. Sparda smiled, his Captains were more than a match for Mundus’ lesser creations, and they were following their bindings and protecting the tower as they should. Wonderful. That just left Echidna and Phantom for Sparda to grind into the ground. And Mundus. With any luck, once his personal Captains had been defeated Mundus would retreat long enough for Sparda to complete the ritual and seal him away for good.

Then again, Sparda had fought Mundus one-on-one twice before, and both times barely escaped with his life. Mundus was an army of strength all on his own and if Sparda left him to come again and possibly interrupt the ritual. The consequences would be disastrous, perhaps even merging the Human Realm and Hell. That settled it. No matter what happened, Sparda had to deal with this here and lest it come back to haunt him later.

Decided, Sparda readied to leap into the air again, before behind him he heard a clatter and a rumble. Out from the tower entrance 20 or so lesser demons straggled their way out. Bloody, broken and several missing limbs, they were all that remained of Mundus’ army that had existed when this day began. Really, he should have known better than to threaten Sparda’s Captains with lesser demons.

“FAILURE.” The voice of the Demon Emperor emerged from the three glowing orbs high above the battleground, the voice booming outwards and shaking the ground. Sparda was directly between the lesser demons and the Emperor, and really didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, so quickly dashed out of the way of the stumbling, damaged demons. “YOU ARE NOT WORTHY TO SERVE ME.” Mundus boomed, and out from the three orbs great arcs of lightning shot, evaporating the lesser demons where they stood. Within moments, all that was left were several piles of ash.

“COME TO ME, CAPTAINS.” And with that, Mundus’ form blinked out of existence, the three orbs disappearing from the sky. Below where he had manifested, a huge Hell Portal opened, seemingly for Phantom and Echidna to follow Mundus back to wherever he had retreated to. No, there was only place that they would be going. It had to be. Mundus’ very own Castle.

Mallet Island.

Sparda had only been there once before, hundreds of years ago when he defeated by Mundus. He had been forced there in chains, his army decimated by Mundus’ and within moments of dying after being demolished in a personal battle with the Demon Emperor. He had been hissing and spitting the entire way, before being forced to swear loyalty and joining the ranks of Mundus’ Generals. It was only later that he realised how he could use this to his advantage and had rebuilt his pride upon loyalty and the politics of Mundus’ court.

Even by the standards of Demon Lords’ Castles, Mallet Island was an unusual one. It was of course a continuation of Mundus’ soul, but could move throughout Hell, and presumably also the Human Realm if he so chose. Currently, Mundus tended to keep it at the centre of the great disc of Hell, where the metaphysical barriers between the regions of Hell all joined to create a mind-bending mess of impossible physics and magical feedback. However, at any single moment it could arrive in any region of Hell to bring a terrifying force to beat into submission whoever was unlucky enough to have attracted Mundus’ attention.

Well, Sparda reflected, if there was anywhere, he was going to finally face Mundus, he supposed it made sense to be there. Right at the heart of his power where he would be at his weakest and his enemy most powerful. Gods, Sparda hoped he wasn’t walking into a death trap here. He watched first Echidna then Phantom walk quickly through the Hell Portal, glimpsing tall, unearthly spires and perverse gothic architecture. It had to be Mallet Island. Sparda leapt forward, putting on a burst of speed even as the Portal began to close. Thankfully, both Echidna and Phantom were several sizes larger than him, and Sparda managed to make it through before it slammed closed behind him.

Sparda found himself in a part of Mallet Island he had never been before, although to be fair he had only really been to Mundus’ throne room before, right at the heart of the spokes of Hell. It reminded him a little of the atriums of the villas of Rome, a rectangular courtyard with a mismatched colonnade surrounding it, with two similarly colonnaded floors above that. At the centre of the courtyard was a parody of a fountain, a single spike surrounded by concentric circles in the floor, although it was off centre compared to the whole courtyard. Way above Sparda, the bleeding red sky of Hell ached, an unwelcome sight so soon after he had left, although Mundus was nowhere in sight which was something to be grateful for, he supposed.

However, what did blot out the sky way above him was the great, serpentine shape of Echidna.
“I thought I recognised that stink!” She sneered, her great mouth opening outwards to reveal her human-like face. “Sparda, everyone’s favourite little traitor!”
“Echidna.” Sparda replied, gazing up at the army producer as she trailed lazily through the sky above him. “It’s not been long enough since we last met.”
“Killing you will give me the prestige I need to finally fill your place next to Mundus.” She crowed, still circling above Sparda like a bizarre flock of crows.
“We both know the only reason you were granted the position of Mundus’ general was because you can create an army within two hours. The only valuable part of you is your children.”

Echidna shrieked in reply, diving towards Sparda. She retreated inside of herself, her huge mouth closing inwards to reform into a gaping maw that threatened to swallow Sparda whole. The Legendary Dark Knight was ready for her, however, and with a quick flick sent several Summoned Swords directly up into her mouth. She shrieked again, darting back upwards at the last minute, mouth unfolding again to reveal her humanoid body impaled with Sparda’s glowing purple spikes.
“I suppose I shall have to sink to your level.” She snarled, before impaling herself into the ground directly in the centre of the courtyard. Immediately, 5 huge spikes of plant-like material threw itself up from the ground, shattering the tiling of the courtyard floor, which Sparda dodged with ease. They almost immediately retreated back into the ground, but Echidna remained with most of her body sunken into the ground, which left her vulnerable.

“You will live to regret this moment.” Sparda promised her, before he began to run towards her buried form. He still had Ifrit attached to his limbs, and didn’t have time to grab Devil Sword Sparda before he had arrived before her flower-like body. With two huge swings of his fists, Echidna’s body was hit, fire blossoming around the pair of demons. Suddenly, Echidna’s head snapped forwards, her hair-like tentacles whipping around towards Sparda. He only just managed to flick open his wings and take to the air before the wicked sharp ends of her hair cracked through where Sparda had been standing. More spikes eruptted from the ground, snaking their way towards the Demon Lord with frightening speed. Sparda was faster, however, and had time to strip Ifrit from him and close his fist around his sword.

Wrong sword.

Alastor crackled in his hand, blade already swinging through the air like an extension of Sparda himself. He slices quickly through one tentacle, then another, before the other two retreated into the ground.
“You’re right Sparda,” Echidna howled at him, “my children are valuable. Try them!” She burst from the ground, shooting upwards into the air before coming down again. The bottom of her tail opened outwards, forming like a huge spider above Sparda, a starfish like organ right at the centre. With a spurt, one of Echidna’s chimera eggs fell from it. Sparda was fast though, and like a flash Alastor sliced it in two, the chimera within dying before it had a chance to emerge. Sparda landed quickly, running further beneath Echidna even as she prepared to lay another egg. Then, with a quick twist of his wrist, he jabbed Alastor up into her egg laying organ, funnelling as much electricity as he could along Alastor’s blade and watching with a grim satisfaction as it arced and danced away from the Devil Arm and deep into Echidna’s body.

She screamed in agony, body quivering above Sparda before she launched herself into the air again, tail closing around the damaged organ. Even now, as she took to the skies above Sparda, lightning crackled throughout her and parts of her petal-like head spasmed.
“What have you DONE!” She wailed, still convulsing from Alastor’s hit. “This will take CENTURIES to heal. I may NEVER have children again!”
“Good.” Sparda replied, the cold thrill of battle refusing to leave his system. “Leave and I won’t do it again.” With another shriek, Echidna looked as if she was going to attack again, before she took to the skies, disappearing quickly into the blood red Hellish sky. Sparda smiled grimly before turning and entering into the halls of Mundus’ soul.

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Sparda wasn’t sure how long he had walked through the Castle at this point. Time seemed to bend here, and he could have been hours or years within these endless hallways, staircases and colonnades without knowing the difference. Finally, however, something had changed. He had come out into another great garden of this labyrinthine palace, another rectangular courtyard but much larger than the one he had fought Echidna in. This one also had three levels around it, although each is slightly set back from each other like an amphitheatre of floors.

And there, at the centre of the garden is the great bulk of Phantom.
“Sparda.” He growled, lava-covered mandibles thrashing. “I hadn’t realised the traitor was a sneak as well. I’m going to enjoy destroying crushing your tiny, pathetic body.”
“Not as much as I’m going to enjoy defeating you.” Sparda replied, Devil Sword Sparda a familiar weight in his hand. “I’ve been waiting so long to pummel you, you ridiculous, oversized spider.” Phantom snarled in reply, lava spurting from his mouth, before he brought one of his forelegs down towards Sparda. As if that was ever going to hit. Phantom should have known that was never going to land on the Legendary Dark Knight, but then again Phantom was never the most intelligent of demons. And Sparda was not going to pull any of his punches when paying the bastard back for centuries of irritation.

With a vicious grin, Sparda shifted his Devil Arm expertly, bringing the shining blade around and whistling through the air. In one clean hit, it severed the leg Phantom had tried to crush him with at the knee. Phantom howled in pain before bellowing, his scorpion-like tail swinging down towards Sparda in retaliation. He was always going to be quicker than the arachnid though, and dodged the barbed tip with ease.

Devil Sword Sparda swung around again, right as Phantom was levelling another leg towards Sparda, and metal met rock with a horrific grinding sound and a flurry of sparks. The two demons strained against one another, a test of brute strength neither was winning, before the Devil Arm’s sharp edge began to cut into the bottom of Phantom’s leg. Phantom snarled again, removing his leg from Sparda before leaping backwards up onto the raised level. Sparda followed, wings thundering to life allowing him to hover just above the lava demon’s position.

With a hum, several Summoned Swords blinked into existence around Sparda like a bizarre halo before shooting towards Phantom. The spider’s great tail swung around, batting the shards of light away, but that was enough of a distraction for the Legendary Dark Knight. He dodged quickly around Phantom before swinging Devil Sword Sparda again, severing another leg right at the joint where it joined Phantom’s body. He screamed again, having realised just too late what was going to happen, but with a start Sparda suddenly realised he had left himself vulnerable to Phantom’s jaws. With a speed Sparda had never seen from the Captain, his mouth swung around and clamped down hard on the Legendary Dark Knight.

With a snap, Ifrit sprung forward unbidden, coating Sparda’s armour and giving him an extra layer against the spider’s fangs. Lava hit fire drake suddenly and the two demonic energies reacted violently, creating a huge explosion. Both Sparda and Phantom were flung away from each other, fire blooming outwards in a brutal floret. Sparda could only keep a grip on one Devil Arm in the intense heat and tumult and, in a split-second, Ifrit flew from him, pinwheeling away to the garden below him.

Sparda quickly righted himself, turning back towards his enemy who certainly looked worse for wear. The lava demon had lost another two legs in the explosion, now barely standing on half his original limbs, and part of his jaw hung open like a broken puppet’s lava frothing outwards from within like an overboiling pot. Sparda wasn’t going to stop until Phantom was dead, though. He dove forwards again, Devil Sword Sparda raised ahead of him like a lance. Phantom’s tail came around again, noticeably slower this time, and instead of dodging Sparda simply swung his sword and cut through the limb. Lava spewed forth, but there was little Phantom could do to stop Sparda now. With a grinding squelch and a further deluge of lava, Sparda’s Devil Arm sunk deep into the spider’s head. The lava demon spasmed once, twice beneath him, before falling still. Finally dead.

Sparda removed Devil Sword Sparda from the dead Captain with an air of satisfaction, when suddenly the realisation hit him. That only left one thing left alive in this whole Castle. One being left to fight. An inexorable draw began to work upon Sparda’s soul, and without truly realising it he landed and began to walk towards the throne room at the heart of Hell. Sparda began to walk towards his final battle against Mundus.

Chapter Text

From the moment Evelyn woke up that morning, she could tell something was up. Perhaps after these 8 years and all the magical exposure, she had developed a seventh sense for these things. Or perhaps she was always paranoid but only remembered when it was justified. Whatever the case, for a few moments after Evelyn woke that morning, she almost thought she was pregnant, what with the nausea and dry heaving.

She wasn’t pregnant. Perhaps it was the seventh sense after all.  

It happened around mid-morning. Sam and Robert were on Guard duty, but it was the North team that spotted them. Demons. Hundreds. Fast approaching. The carnyx sounded, thundering horns of war that beat out a tempo with her heart. Like every time before. Gods, it was probably bad that battle was this familiar to Evelyn. One short eye contact with her husband was all she needed before they set off for battle.

Borak scooped Anatu into his arms, her eyes wide but accepting. It wasn’t like this was her first time either. Gods, what kind of a world was her little one growing up into. No time for that now. Evelyn was running, the camp around her springing to action as well. Civilians ran one way, soldiers the other, already individuals gravitating into squads and squads gravitating into battalions. Within moments Evelyn was with General Cathal, Magus Huo and Ahearn already with them. They all nodded at Evelyn as she ran up to join them, the Head Priestess returning the nod.

The camp had been the perfect position to hide in, an almost perfect circle of hills with a wide, open plain beyond. And Borak and the other Enchanters had worked hard to place a powerful cloaking spell over them to hide them from flying spies. Clearly it hadn’t been enough, as even know Evelyn could see the enemy fast approaching, Grecian dust billowing up behind them and away into the hot summer sky.
“This is bad.” Cathal intoned; their voice as solemn as if they had already lost. “While this position is the perfect hiding place it’s a shit place to fight. If the army gets to the camp, we’ll have no where to run to. It’ll be like fish in a barrel. Literally.” Borak appeared behind Evelyn, an apologetic look on his face.
“Sorry I’m late, General. All civilians behind some serious defensive enchantments. Some of your lot also put some mean shields around them, Evelyn.”
“Good. They might well need it this time.” Cathal continued. “As much as I hate to admit it. We might lose this one. Sparda’s still away, and there’s no sign of him completing the ritual we sent him off to do. That means the demons can still disrupt our lines any time they want. I know we’ve been grilling the troops on new defensive manoeuvres for that, but there’s really only so much we can do. I’ll try my best to keep orders fluid and responsive out there, but you’re going to have to pull your weight and then some, am I understood?”
“YES SIR!”

Evelyn and Huo were placed in the vanguard of the army, along with the cavalry. The plan was, they sweep forwards; strike like a snake and break the demons’ formations. Then, infantry follow in behind them and kill as many demons as possible while they’re disorientated. Spearmen stay behind as a final defence of the camp and the archers, who should be pelting out as many magical arrows as Borak and his Enchanters can make.

Meanwhile Ahearn takes on the single Demon Lord the scouts had picked out, a huge Eagle-like demon. Griffon, Sparda had warned them about him. One of Mundus’ personal Captains, although the foot soldiers weren’t the demons of Mundus’ personal army, but a hodgepodge of demons belonging to others. What that meant, Evelyn didn’t want to think about. All that mattered was fighting here and now and keeping her little girl safe.

Evelyn was leading her team of the 20 greatest Priest and Priestesses, riding alongside the black-clad charioteers. Omens of death, Huo always called them. Now, as Evelyn flew towards the imposing demonic army, she could almost understand why. The wind whipped and tore at her hair as the chariot raced towards the sea of demons, the rough ground a blur beneath her, separated from her feet by a thin sheet of wood and two blade-tipped wheels. With a flick of her wrist, Evelyn summoned her glowing green shield, which quickly grew to encase her like a suit of ethereal armour. Around her, Evelyn could see her Priests and Priestess doing the same, while on the other side of the vanguard splashes of colour told her Huo and her Magi were doing the same.

The enemy were 10 metres away, the closest to the rapidly approaching chariots a form of phalanx-like spear wielding demons.

               BOOM!!

A fireball that could only have been Head Magus Huo’s exploded, ripping through the demons, and spitting fire everywhere. More spells followed, explosions of every shade of magic impacting upon the demons and ripping them to shreds. Holy fire here, acid there, and pure concentrated energy over there melted, bludgeoned and shattered the demons.

And then they were upon them. The charioteer gripped tight to the reins, ducking below the headboard. The heavily armoured chariot warrior hefted around his spear, driving it straight through the skull of the first demon that came near them, before switching to his sword and hacked at any and all demons within reach. Evelyn did the same, standing on the other side of the chariot. She cast a huge, pointed shield around the two horses, allowing them to quite literally plough through wherever the charioteer directed them to.

Then, she went to work. Much like the blades on the chariot wheels (magically enhanced of course) she extended her green armour to two vicious blades on the ends of her arms, before leaning over as far as she dared from the speeding rig, both arms slashing away at any demon that came near. Her shields were deadly sharp, and also protected her from the wide range of claws, jaws and saws that the demons wielded at her. Heads went flying, arms separated from their owners in spurts of blood with vicious precision. There, to her right, a fury loomed, which she impaled straight through the head before it could teleport away. Evelyn turned, a blitz just out of reach. She lengthened the points of her gauntlets driving the tip through the demons’ chest, an eruption of blood signalling its end.

With a sudden jolt, the chariot shifted to the right, the floor beneath Evelyn titling dangerously before righting itself.
“We’re running out of army!” The charioteer called from where she was sheltering from the worst of the attack, popping her head up every now and again to see where they were going. “We need to stay with the rest of the cavalry, or we’ll be picked off.” Of course, Evelyn had been so focused on destroying as many demons as she could she had lost sight of her comrades. But there they were, forming up for a second charge with them at the rear of the demon army, having punched their way through.

Perhaps only 15 – 20 chariots had been destroyed; Evelyn’s quick glance told her. Good. The demons were now trapped between the infantry and bowmen on one side, and them on the other. Damn, Cathal could be good when they wanted to. The carnyx bellowed again, and again they were charging. The thrill of battle was within Evelyn, and within moments she was hacking again at every inhuman face she saw.

Suddenly, the world went black, grey, red, green. An explosion of colours as Evelyn was flung from the flimsy floor of the chariot, barrelling into the floor, her shining armour protecting her from harm. The shielded chariot had run straight into a larger demon, a Kyklops by the look of it, and now lay in shattered pieces having run straight into the magical shield that had been protecting it. Shit. The charioteer was dead, a huge shard of wood straight through her chest.

The warrior had survived, just a little shaken, and was already getting to his feet, his sword ready and waiting. Evelyn sprang to her feet as well, manipulating her armour to give her that extra push of speed. The kyklops was coming straight at her, its insectoid mouth snarling and dripping saliva. She jumped, forming a shield beneath her feet to carry her high above the demon, before flipping herself to dive head first at it, one fist raised towards it as she feel, a huge arrow head of magic around her, essentially transforming herself into a huge spear. She impacted with a sickening thud, blood spraying around her like a halo of gore, flipping herself around again with the armour in what was essentially a short burst of flight.

Suddenly, on Evelyn’s left, a red streak flew through the air to bury itself into the ground. It was Ahearn, in his full scaly glory. He had grown a huge, lizard like tail since the last time she had seen his Devil Trigger, a vicious looking thagomizer on the end.
“Ahearn!” She called, sending a spiked wave through two approaching Husks and slicing them clean in half. “What’s happening.” She got a deep throated growl in reply, before his all red eyes focused on her through the mask of black scales and spines that had grown across his face.
“Evelyn.” He panted, his mouth a mess of all-black fangs. “That Griffon can give some mean lightning bolts.”
“Plan?” She asked as he dragged himself from the crater he’d made, while also smashing three more Husks into Husk jam with her shields.
“I distract him, you pepper him with spikes from here?”
“Alright. Let’s go.”

As the words left her mouth Evelyn felt a shadow pass over her and Ahearn, and looked up to see the huge bird demon overhead.
“GRIFFON!” Ahearn yelled, his voice supernaturally loud. “Down HERE!” Before he tensed and jumped unnaturally high, his legs propelling him up into the sky. He grabbed two pins from the extra limbs on his back before throwing them towards the Demon Lord, where they impaled straight through one wing before exploding in a blaze of glory. The eagle-like being shrieked, before diving straight towards where Ahearn was tumbling through the sky.

Evelyn tensed before sending three projectiles straight at Griffon, spikes of shield perhaps twice the size of Sparda’s summoned swords. They impacted deep into the bird’s chest, blood squirting out before his demonic healing went to work. However, at the same time, from the other side of the battlefield, three of Huo’s signature fireballs impacted. They burst moments after Evelyn’s spikes did, opening the wound in Griffon’s chest further and sending a cascade of blood towards the ground. The bird demon faltered, drawing out of his dive at the last minute and allowing Ahearn to land safely.

Griffon clearly wasn’t finished however, as he rose into the air before bringing three huge bolts of lightning down on the three people that had attacked him. Evelyn raised her shield to defend herself and watched Ahearn to the side dodge out of the way. Good, she wasn’t sure he could take another hit. Huo was too far away for her to see, but before she and the others could formulate another attack, a contingent of 20 spearmen suddenly appeared to her right from where they had been holding the line to the camp. As one, they launched 20 spears into the sky, each glinting with a very specific magenta enchantment. They landed with definite thuds into the feathered demon, the spell instantly going to work and sending vine-like strands of corrosive magic through the demon.

Ah, Evelyn knew that spell well enough. A little ‘I love you’ from her husband. A brief smile and she followed it up, sending another three spikes through the closest wing to her. Huo clearly caught wind of what she was doing, and eight bolts of pure magic impacted on the other wing, the Demon Lord squawking again and quickly loosing altitude. In her periphery vision, Evelyn saw Ahearn tensing and leaping again into the air, and Evelyn decided to give him a little hand.

She summoned a shield below him, a platform just large enough for him to stand on level with the panicking bird demon. Ahearn reached around to his extra limbs again, drawing as many explosive pins as he sword and launching them at the bird demon, before grabbing more and more and sending them flying through the air to an explosive finish on Griffon’s feathered side. It was enough, and the Demon Lord slowly limped through the air before landing on the ground with a thud.

All three humans were dashing towards the fallen eagle, even as those crushed beneath his immobile form panicked. Huo was furious, her azure magic blazing around her as brought down a rain of fireballs on the defenceless bird, lava and fire spewing from her deadly hail. Ahearn as well was continuing his barrage of explosive, glowing red swords, before he was right before the Demon. With a resounding roar, the half demon brought his claws straight through the bird’s skull, fracturing it along one side and stripping the feathers to reveal bone. Evelyn was also sending spikes into the exposed demon, and as she also drew level she formed her shields into a huge sword in one hand, before bringing it down on the demon’s wing.

His blood was everywhere, huge feathers littering the field. Evelyn slashed again, her shield infinitesimally sharp and slicing through the bird’s wing bone like a stick through water. Griffon screeched again, before drawing the mess of his wings towards him and releasing another stream of lightning around him. Evelyn only just managed to bring her shield up before her in time, sheltering herself and a few of the soldiers near her. Others nearby were not so lucky, several humans near her exploding in a shower of gore as the lightning fried them.

Ahearn screamed as it hit, his eyes glowing and Devil Trigger flickering around him before it dropped with his exhaustion. It seemed to be Griffon’s last resort however, as it barely lasted before the Demon Lord too collapsed into exhaustion.
“Must……..return……….to Mundus.” He panted, before his shattered wings barely lifted him into the sky. Evelyn sent a few more spikes after him, but he was soon out of reach and there were foot soldier demons all around her she had to stave off to stay alive.

Chapter Text

For as long as Sparda had known him, Mundus had been a pompous bastard. With the amount of power he had, he had every right to be, but that still didn’t change the fact that the pure white throne room he had constructed at the very centre of Hell was several steps past too much. It was huge and marble, towering over Sparda as he strode within it for the second time in his life. The marble was polished beneath his feet, reflecting up to him his own reflection.

Sparda grimaced for a moment at his clearly demonic appearance. He wasn’t here for any demonic reasons, he was here for the good of mankind. Ahead of Sparda was the thing that had relentlessly pulled him through the remainder of Mallet Island. The greatest of all demons, the Emperor of Hell and the one who sought to eradicate mankind. A madman and a god. He sat, the form of an aged statue not dissimilar to the gods of Ahearn’s civilisation, a pair of splendorous wings falling like a halo behind his bearded face; resplendent on a raised dais and prodigious in size he soared over Sparda like a hurricane to a mortal man.

The third eye in the centre of the statue’s head blinked, once, before rounding to look on Sparda with a gaze that threatened to freeze him in fear.
“MUNDUS!” The Demon Lord yelled at the Demon Emperor, adrenaline racing through him. This was it. This was the great fight, the be all and end all. Sparda couldn’t afford a mistake no matter how minute. Sparda had to win this and win it now. “Face me, DEVIL!”
“Hmmmmmmm…the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda.” Mundus replied, his voice deep and imposing like grinding stone, spitting Sparda’s title as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “If the sole intent of this melodramatic little tirade was to AGGRAVATE me then let me assure you boy – ” Mundus rose here, his marble like form creaking as it shifted from sitting to standing, power radiating like heat from a fire. The very existence of Mundus’ rage compressed against Sparda’s presence like a child’s foot on an ant, sending waves of agony through Sparda’s body. “ – that you have succeeded BEYOND measure! Now come…let us FINISH this!” Mundus leapt from his chair, his wide wings snapping open with a thunder-like clap. Sparda tensed ready to leap after him, he was certain he was more agile in the air than Mundus.

“Curse YOU, Mundus!” He yelled. “Today your dark reign comes to an END!” He was airborne after the statue-like demon, Devil Sword Sparda reading and aching for blood in his hand.
“Hmph. Indeed.” Muttered Mundus, before rounding on the Legendary Dark Knight. Instantly, Sparda recognised the move, Mundus had used it on him before, and brought Devil Sword Sparda around in scythe form to catch Mundus’ red bolts of energy. They shattered in a shower of sparks, scattering around the throne room. The Demon Emperor growled at Sparda, and Sparda snarled right back, channelling all of the rage and hatred of years of subjugation and further years of open battle against this monster.

Sparda moved first this time, channelling all of that burning fury into his sword and bring it around to Mundus in a huge slash of bright purple energy that warped reality as it flew deadly straight towards his enemy. Mundus dodged, but not quickly enough, the edge of the arc of energy clipping his right wing. He growled, a little lava escaping from the wingtip before he began to heal, and with a great swipe of one of his hands, easy the same size as Sparda, and brought a huge lava dragon forth from nothing. The beast immediately opened its jaws and disgorged a series of fireballs. Sparda dodged the first two, his wings thrumming thunderously, before slicing straight through the third fireball. Then he sped towards the lava dragon, again channelling energy into his sword before slicing clean through the creature’s head. It dropped, loosing its shape to a formless mass of lava that slapped against the marble below the two demons.

“I stand for humanity, Mundus.” Sparda cried, creating a halo of summoned swords that buzzed with power before sending them forwards in an unrelenting storm. “You will lose this day.”
“Some human you are.” The Emperor spat, shattering the summoned swords with a blaze of white energy from his third eye. “There is no-one who can defeat me.” Mundus brought his two great, marble arms together, clearly charging some kind of attack. Sparda dropped like a stone, landing on the ground and placing his sword before him like a shield. “I AM A GOD!” Mundus roared, sending a huge wave of energy out like a white bubble. Sparda braced, the wave impacting him and sending him flying. He hit the opposite wall with a thud, agony flaring through him. One elytron was mangled, thick blood leaking from it, and Sparda spat some blood from his mouth where he had bit through his own cheek.

“Then I am a God killer.” He growled back, before taking flight again, forcing the broken elytron to work. He raised his hands, creating a ring of summoned swords around Mundus before, with a clench of his hands, brought them in on the Demon Emperor like the closing of an iris. Mundus shattered a few before they could land, but the rest impacted straight into his marble skin, shattering the stone and bringing forth gouts of lava from the statute-like demon’s core. Mundus reeled backwards, before balling a fist and swinging it straight towards where Sparda was barely hovering.

Mundus’ fist was coming straight towards Sparda, it was as large as the Legendary Dark Knight himself and speeding towards him. Too fast. Knowing it was futile, Sparda swung around his sword to try and intercept the speeding marble fist. Too slow. The fist impacted, like a shockwave running straight through his body, Sparda’s armour creaked under the pressure and towards his back began to crack minutely. Gods, that was painful. Really, really painful.

Sparda went flying, and not by his own choice. He landed in the marble flooring, ploughing a few metres into the exquisite white stone before coming to a stop in a Sparda-sized crater. Sparda was furious. This fight wasn’t going anywhere, they were just driving each other into the ground. But he had to win this, for humanity, for Evelyn, for everyone. Suddenly, from within him, Sparda felt a golden energy bursting out of him. It burnt searing hot within his heart, before pouring out down his veins, flowing like magma beneath his armour and pouring out in spears of golden orange light from his joints. Sparda had never felt anything like it before, it wasn’t that old familiar battle rage but something different, something new. With a roar, he embraced it, threw his floodgates open and let the burning light pour within and without him.

It faded within moments that felt like years, and with a start Sparda realised the room had gotten smaller. No, he had gotten larger, he was now perhaps half the size of Mundus’ huge form, two clawing hands out before him and a gaping maw which roared at Mundus with all the righteous anger Sparda felt. Sparda the dragon dived right at Mundus’ huge, statuesque form, his long tail thrashing behind him, mouth open and ready to clamp down and shatter that crumbling marble. To his shock, he instead passed straight through Mundus like a ghost, appearing on the other side of him with all his parts still intact. Mundus, however, was not so lucky. Whatever that shapeshifting, burning light had been, it had departed Sparda and now tore through Mundus like floodwater.

The Demon Emperor’s form began to rattle and shake as the golden light ripped through him, causing great chunks of the marble to fall away from the demon leaving open, aching lava behind. Mundus screamed, pain etched into his voice, before dropping like a stone towards the destroyed throne room floor beneath them. The Legendary Dark Knight dropped as well, the golden light having left him with a void in his chest, and as he fell he felt the dragon form abandoning him like snow blowing from a rooftop, leaving him with his normal form once again.

Mundus impacted the floor below them and shattered. Pieces of marble flew everywhere like shrapnel, a huge seismic wave pluming out from the impact and rippling through Sparda as he shifted back. The Demon Lord landed on a small area of undestroyed floor away from the fallen Demon Emperor, gazing at the amorphous glob of lava that had erupted from the shattered marble statue. Whatever that shapeshifting had been, it had left him more exhausted than he already was, and Sparda took a moment to catch his breath.

Suddenly, the undulating lump of Mundus began to shift again, and another bolt of adrenaline shot through the Legendary Dark Knight in response. He created another stream of summoned swords that crashed into the lava being, although they didn’t seem to do anything against the reforming Demon Emperor. Moments later and Mundus was reformed, the same aged god-statue form he had always inhabited. Except, it was a lot smaller. Before Mundus had been over 10 times larger than the Legendary Dark Knight but now, well Mundus barely even had a head over Sparda.
“Mundus!” Sparda called out with a slight smirk. “Welcome to being small.” All Sparda received in reply was a growl, before the Demonic Emperor was charging him, a vicious curved blade that burst from the end of his arm readied for a blow. Sparda stood ready, the perfect defence against Mundus’ vicious looking blade. Really, he was an idiot if he thought he could beat Sparda in a sword fight, that was the one thing Sparda was guaranteed to win eventually.

Mundus brought the blade down, but as soon as it impacted against Devil Sword Sparda’s smooth metal it exploded red spikes of energy outwards and then straight back into Sparda like homing missiles, where they then exploded with the heat of the sun. Sparda screamed, different parts of him flung in different directions. Godsdamnit he had gotten complacent. FUCK THAT HURT! Sparda’s vision whited out with the pain before coming slowly back into focus. Half of his side had been blown away, thick blood seeping from the raw, red wound. His arm was gone along with it. OH SHIT! THAT WAS HIS SWORD ARM. HIS SWORD. Across on the opposite side of the room, Sparda’s bloodied limb lay, the sword of his soul still gripped in the detached fist. FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Mundus was bearing down on Sparda, and he had nothing to do but run, his healing sluggish as he desperately dodged and ran from Mundus’ incessant assault. Mundus summoned another series of his explosive white orbs and sent them towards Sparda as he ran, the Legendary Dark Knight just making it behind one of the few remaining columns in the room before they collided, rubble flying everywhere and destroying the marble column. Sparda growled, his armour having covered enough of his side but arm still missing. Fine. He brought a back up sword anyway.

Alastor in hand, Sparda charged the Demon Emperor, shock showing on his marble face for a few moments. And that shock was exactly what Sparda needed, giving him that edge of time to bring Alastor directly onto the top of Mundus’ bearded head. It didn’t bite deep, but it was deep enough to send a shock directly into Mundus’ head, lightning that wasn’t his own leaping around his eyes and in and around his ears. The Emperor roared in fury, bringing his fist up directly towards Sparda’s injured side, but Sparda anticipated and dodged out of the way before the marble could connect with him. Mundus was charging again, and Sparda stood ready once again. Mundus’ sword came around in a great arc towards the Legendary Dark Knight, so fast the wicked edge began to glow with the friction, and Sparda brought his own sword up to meet it, bracing the back of the blade with the stump of his regenerating sword arm.

A shockwave blew out from where the two swords bit into one another, but before Mundus could again send his pins towards Sparda, the Demon Lord struck first, sending a cascade of lightning from Alastor’s side. It hit the exact same spots as before, worrying and worsening the wound on the top of the statue’s head, and Mundus lashed out in pain. It was another energy wave, and so much closer it flung Sparda backwards like a fist to the stomach, throwing him violently into the opposite wall with a crunch of marble and armour.

Sparda blinked the marble dust from his eyes, greeted with Mundus once again bearing down on him. Godsdamnit he needed something else to even this fight. He gripped Alastor again – Sparda’s fist closed on empty air. WHAT?!? Where was Alastor??!? Sparda glanced around but the lightning blade was nowhere in sight. It must have been caught in the most recent blast but who knew where in Mallet Island it had ended up. FUCK! He was swordless again!! Sparda began to panic, his arm still only grown to the elbow, what was he going to do??

Suddenly, he felt that golden light within him again, screaming in his head and forcing out from his heart. It burst from the fingertips of his still remaining hand, flooding out onto Mundus where is began to corrode his marble form like acid on limestone. It was weaker this time, however, and despite Sparda pouring all the determination and hope he could into the wonderful, hot, filling sensation the burst of light stopped again suddenly. Before Sparda had a moment to think of what to do next, however, a glowing golden object flew through the air from the opposite side of the room and impaled itself straight through Mundus’ form. Devil Sword Sparda. The same power had acted upon it, and was now leaving it slowly like heat from a forged sword.

Sparda wasn’t going to question it. He leapt forward, hand closing around the handle of his soul. His hand! The power had regrown the rest of his sword arm as well! Sparda was complete again! Sparda ripped his sword from Mundus’ side, twisting it to do as much damage as possible and drawing a spray of lava with it as it went.

“I’ll never stop, Mundus. Humanity will never stop. You lost the minute you began this pointless genocide!”
“ENOUGH!” Mundus cried. “You SICKEN me!” Mundus swung his sword again, much faster than before. FUCK! Sparda hadn’t been expecting that. It caught along the still weak side of Sparda’s new armour, drawing a splash of blood behind it. “UNGRATEFUL worm! I have given you your every desire – only to have you disgrace me by pledging your undying allegiance to them?! WHY?!” FUCK FUCK FUCK. Mundus’ rage was serving him well, he was faster. Sparda barely caught the next onslaught of his sword above his head, arms shaking with the strain of keeping Mundus from cleaving him in two. “Why do you love them so? They are nothing more than ANIMALS – miserable playthings of a bored creator.”

Sparda growled, slowly pushing back against Mundus’ sword, his face centimetres from Mundus’. Gods he’d love to reach across and bite that disgusting face clean off. “We are THE CHOSEN, and it is we who are destined to rule! Can it be that they have tainted your blood? Have you so quickly spurned your noble heritage? Or have you succumbed to their primitive nature? Tell me, BOY, is that it? Have you become one of them?”

Gods, Sparda wished. He wished he could have left this corrupt demonic body behind. But that wasn’t what Mundus was going for. FUCK! He needed some way to get the Demon Emperor off of him! The pressure was going to crack his arms like a crab’s! “Ha! Is it true then? Has the once great demon knight Sparda been REDUCED to nothing more than a lustful MONKEY?” Sparda was forced to the floor, the Demonic Emperor still squeezing from above like an apple press. Gods, he knew nothing of mankind. He didn’t understand at all, and he never would. “Nonetheless, your pathetic crusade is doomed! All that you cherish – your kingdom, your world, those beloved little monkeys of yours – soon it shall all be destroyed…CRUSHED within my merciless grip!” FUCK! Not unlike Sparda if he didn’t get himself out of this GODDAMNED lock!! “Now, WORM. Prepare for the Mistress of Death’s cold embrace.”

“NEVER!”

Sparda snapped, letting go of his sword with one hand to bring it up and across Mundus’ face. He felt his claws bite deep into the marble flesh, and Mundus growled in pain. The Emperor reeled backwards, but Sparda wasn’t letting up, moving faster than he’d ever moved in his life.
“I shall purge this world of your cursed existence ONCE AND FOR ALL!” THUD! Devil Sword Sparda was brought down before Mundus could react, slicing clean off one of his wings, blood and lava spewing from the wound. “Even if I must sacrifice my own life. I will RID our world of your evil – of your TYRANNY!” Mundus wasn’t replying, lying on the destroyed floor groaning slightly. “It ENDS, Mundus.” Sparda raised his sword high above his head, looking with all of his hate and all of rage down at the broken Emperor. “Now and forever! IT ENDS!”
“NOOOOOOOOOO!” Mundus screamed, terror for once written in all three eyes as Sparda’s sword whistled as it flew down towards the fallen demon.

Devil Sword Sparda sank deep into Mundus’ skull, silencing the Demon Emperor’s cry with a definite thud. Blood and lava erupted everywhere, and the demon’s body began to twitch and convulse, what remained of his jaw working madly at thin air. Sparda sagged a little, collapsing in on himself in his exhaustion. He couldn’t stop now. Mundus wasn’t dead – whether it was even possible to kill the bastard did cross Sparda’s mind. But this was enough. With a powerful sealing spell, Sparda could trap Mundus forever within Mallet Island, and ensure that, once the barrier was in place, he never even looked at humanity again.

Decided, he drew his sword from the mess of Mundus’ skull, and took off at a run back out Mallet Island, even as his very essence screamed to stop. To sleep. Anything, just stop for a moment. Soon, Sparda was hovering over the castle, his wing already having healed a significant amount. Sparda took a moment to centre himself, before reaching out into that mystical place he accessed magic. Gods, he was so tired. So so tired. But he had to do this. Just keep going, go on. Sparda reached out, his magic coalescing and forming into a great array before him. He wasn’t the best magic user out there, but Sparda new this sealing spell inside out and there was no way it could be broken if he put enough power into it. Sparda focused again, drawing again on that bizarre energy that had shape shifted him, before pooling it into the spell. It instantly took light, crackling with a bright burning energy before shooting out great limbs of pure white energy. Within moments the entirety of Mallet Island was encased within the spell, like a huge snow globe trapping Mundus and the corpse of Phantom in forever. It was over. Mundus was defeated. Now to seal the two realms and it would all, finally, be over.

Chapter Text

After Griffon’s departure the battle began to steadily decline, as more and more demons realised their leader had abandoned them and they were soundly losing. Before long, Evelyn was advancing on the remaining demonic soldiers alongside Head Magus Huo and two other Magi in a long-practiced routine. However, their advancement was interrupted by a thunderous droning from above, and Evelyn looked up to see a fast-approaching silhouette streaking across the midday sky. There was only one person Evelyn knew who looked like that, or whose insectoid wings made quite that much noise. With a resounding crash, the figure landed in the remaining demons, a small shockwave bursting from his impact, before he swung his sword around in three decisive swings, decapitating them.
“Sparda!” Evelyn called, a wide smile breaking out across her face. He looked…he looked pretty awful truth be told. Ragged and run down in a way Evelyn had never quite seen before. “It’s good to see you. You look like Hell though.”
“Was that a joke?”
“Perhaps. How did it go?”
“Evelyn. You look well. I’m glad. I’m sorry, things didn’t go as they should. Gather the others, I’m going to find General Cathal. We need to be as fast as we can. Sorry.” Sparda readied to jump into the air again before pausing and saying, “Good to see you too, Head Magus.” Thunder roared to life again as Sparda took flight above them, disappearing quickly into the bright blue sky.
“Well shit.” Muttered Evelyn.

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Once again, at the end of a battle, 7 people stood around a table in General Cathal’s tent. Evelyn stood alongside her husband Borak, across from Ahearn and Huo, while Arlynn hovered nearby, with Sparda and Cathal at the definite head of the round table.
“Brigadier Sparda.” Cathal intoned. “I can’t help but notice you have returned to us and we’re still under attack from demonic forces. What’s going on? What happened?”  
“General, I have prepared the ritual, but it doesn’t work.”
“What do you mean Brigadier?!” Huo shot back perhaps more harshly than was necessary. “We spent days on that spell.”
“I know we did, Head Magus. But you can’t always account for every eventuality. The spell was unbalanced, it focuses so greatly on my soul, a demon’s soul, that it’s too heavily weighted towards Hell to be able to create a barrier between the two worlds. The safeguards in the spell stopped it from activating, because if it had it would’ve drawn all of the Human Realm into Hell.” Silence reigned within the tent, and Evelyn could hear only her heartbeats, deafening loud.
“Bloody hell.” Borak muttered beside her, his hand alighting on hers and gripping it like a sailor to driftwood.
“I think I know how to rebalance the spell though. It’s still set up within a tower I created from my soul. All that it needs is a human to split their soul alongside me and use the two unified to become the barrier. I – I think that would work.”

“I can’t volunteer for this one, can I?” Ahearn said, his eyes heavy.
“I’m sorry, Ahearn. I don’t know what a hybrid soul would do to this spell, let alone the fact you also have your father’s soul permanently bound to your shoulder.” Sparda replied.
“I would, if I could.” He muttered quietly.
“I will volunteer for this.” Huo said, her eyes stern but blazing. “I helped the Brigadier design this spell and as a magician I will be able to react if the spell reacts unexpectedly again.”
“No, I think I should do it.” Evelyn countered, blood roaring in her ears. “I also designed this spell, I’m a Priestess my magic is more attuned to a giant shield between worlds. And I’ve known Sparda the longest. I trust him, and that will let my soul join with his more easily.”
“Evelyn, you can’t do this.” Borak said instantly, drawing her gaze away from where it had come to rest on Sparda. “Let me volunteer. I also designed the spell, and surely an Enchanter is more attuned to a spell placing an enchantment on the realms?”
“Sparda, this is your call to make.” Cathal interrupted before any of the arrayed volunteers could begin to argue. “I would volunteer but I think the three you already have are more qualified than an old soldier like me. Come on everyone else, let’s leave them to discuss this.” Cathal began to stride out of the tent, Ahearn and Arlynn following. As he left, Ahearn placed one hand on Sparda’s forearm, before ducking through the tent flap.

“Borak. I think you are the most sensible decision here. You’re right. This spell is most similar to an enchantment.”
“Oh come on Sparda! That’s bullshit and you know it! I’m volunteering!”
“Sweetheart, please.” Borak turned completely to Evelyn, blocking her view of anything but him. He looked at her, those eyes so strong and kind and loving. “We don’t know how human souls interact with magic. It’s never been done before, let alone on this scale. If this spell goes wrong, I couldn’t think of you in danger. Harmed even, where I could be in your place. Let me do this, please. I’ll come back to you as soon as it’s all over.” Evelyn opened her mouth to reply but was beaten by a snort from the other end of the tent.
“It’s clear these two lovebirds are more worried about their relationship than ending the war. I am clearly the best choice here, Brigadier. I know this spell, I am just as qualified a magician and I’m not compromised.” Huo bit out.

“I’m not compromised! You should know by now Huo that magic is just as much about people as logic. You DESIGNED this spell with us, you know how important Sparda’s relationship with the Tower is for it!” Evelyn hurled back, her head whipping around before turning to look up directly into Sparda’s pupilless eyes. “Which is why I’m the perfect choice for this. Sparda, you know me and I know you. We’ve basically grown up together. It would certainly be stupid of me to say we haven’t affected one another. Please, Sparda. Let me do this, to help everyone.”
“Evelyn, I’m not letting you do this! There’s no guarantee this will work – ”
“Which is why it’s important you’re here, Borak.” Evelyn reached up to cup his cheek, his jaw nestling into her hand like they were made for each other. “There’s no better healer than you. If we both fail, then humanity’s going to need that more than ever. I’m more expendable, I’ve already taught the Priests and Priestess everything I know.”
“Evelyn,” Sparda interrupted, “Borak is right. He’s the best choice for this. This spell also functions on how well the casters know the Human Realm. He’s been more places than you have.”
“Oh yeah? And why is it so important the casters have been to where they’re casting a spell on?”
“It’s their relationship with the physicality – ”
“Exactly, Sparda. Their relationship. Who in this room do you have the closest relationship to?”
“That’s beside the point – ”
“NO! NO IT’S NOT! Stop lying out of some ridiculous notion of trying to protect me! I am just as capable as him or her or YOU to make a decision to put my life on the line! I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again! So go on. Who in this room do you have the closest relationship to? Who did you meet when you were just any other Demon Lord? Who showed you the wonders of mankind? Who did you save from certain death more times than I can count? Who did you look after and let look after you? Who is the right choice?”

“I can see where this is going.” Huo said suddenly, drawing unwanted attention from everyone in the tent. “If you’ll excuse me.” She headed towards the door.   
“Sparda please!” Borak was almost begging now. It had been years since Evelyn had last seen him this upset. “Think of Anatu! If this goes wrong.”
“It might not go wrong, Borak. In fact, if I know your wife her sheer determination will be enough to ensure we both come out of this unscathed.”
“He’s right, my love.” Evelyn said, snaking one arm around his neck and bringing his face in close to hers. “We both designed this spell, it’s not a fatal casting. I’ll be back again before you know it. All of the dangerous parts like going through Hell have already been accomplished.”
“Ah, you’re right I suppose. I just – I worry you going out of my sight so long. We’re so close to ending this godsforsaken war.”
“Yeah, we are.” Evelyn planted a kiss on his lips, sensuous and loving. “And we then have the whole rest of our lives to enjoy. In actual houses! Imagine that!” Borak laughed, that deep, warm, sweet laugh she loved so well.
“Alright, sweetheart. Just this once mind you. Don’t you go making a habit of disobeying your husband.”
“Please, like you could control me.” She laughed, and he laughed with her.
“Goodbye sweetheart.”
“Goodbye for now, my love.”

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Flying in Sparda’s arms, bridal style, was perhaps the most terrifying thing Evelyn had ever done. It was fast. So incredibly, madly, stupidly fast. She could barely keep her grip as they raced through the air, the ground infinitely far below them like a map of minute detail racing past to almost be a blur. The wind was ferocious, biting into any exposed skin on Evelyn harder and stronger than the worst of storms she had weathered, and the cold as well. As they climbed higher into the sky, those far off distant clouds now almost being within touching distance, the cold seeped deeply into Evelyn, and she found herself gripping even closer to Sparda.

“I know this is unpleasant, but this is the fastest and safest way we can get to the Great Plains were the Tower is. Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.” Sparda rumbled to her over the roar of his wings. Because wow, this close to them they were so much noisier. Constantly. Evelyn wondered how he withstood it.
“Just focus on flying and getting us there.” She replied. This was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying, she had decided. And wonderous as, for a moment, she saw below and around them a wide expanse of sea, more than any she had ever seen in her life. She was finding them a better way to return though. When time wasn’t forcing them to travel like this. Then they were rushing over land again, far far to the west of her homeland. Evelyn was almost tempted to wonder if they had flown around the world but the wind still screamed and she was still clinging to Sparda like a terrified lichen. The ground below them changed, and then suddenly they were hurtling towards a tower larger than any Evelyn had ever seen in her life. It was huge, huger than any building had any right to be and towered over the landscape more than even a mountain could. It took Evelyn’s breath away more than the wind and the speed and she gazed at it for a moment, not quite comprehending. And then, suddenly, they hand landed, Sparda’s feet slamming into the top of the tower like hailstones.

“This is the tower for the ritual.” He said, letting her down to stand on the unnaturally smooth surface.
“This isn’t a TOWER.” Evelyn replied, barely daring to move a foot so high into the sky. “This is a carved MOUNTAIN!”
“Just because your towers are so pathetic doesn’t mean mine have to be.” Silence abated for a moment as Evelyn processed what Sparda had just said.
“Did you just TEASE ME? Sparda, we’re about to separate the Human and Demon worlds forever, rewrite the course of history. And you’re TEASING ME?!?”
“Would you prefer I stay silent and serious. You know I can do that if you want.”
“No. I just really dislike you sometimes you know.” Evelyn said with a wry smile. Wow, he really did know how to calm her down.
“Duly noted.” Sparda paused, before looking down at her directly. “I’ve set up the ritual in the Lair of Judgement, although I don’t know how we’ll need to adjust it to include you as the second lynch pin.”
“Show it to me. It won’t take too long to work out.”

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It didn’t take too long to work out, as it turned out. The room stank of blood the minute Evelyn walked into it, a huge array laid out before them in Sparda’s thick blood, the spell holding it as if it had just been shed. A quick once over and discussion with Sparda, and they adjusted the number the mandala specified to two instead of one. Two lynch pins, a balanced pair. With a groan and a rumble, the tower shifted around them as soon as the spell had been completed, the array adjusting itself.

“Are you ready?” Sparda asked, staring directly into Evelyn’s eyes. “This is it.”
“Yeah.” Evelyn smiled, a rush of adrenaline lighting her up. “Let’s save the world.”

Together they took each other’s hands, before stepping to stand in the centre of the array. With a flash of red and white light, the spell activated. Magic flew outwards from the mandala like embers from a fire, the sheer power racing through Evelyn and filling her with a sense of power. Was this how Sparda felt every day? Energy crackling just below her fingertips, begging to leap out like static. She could feel her hair standing on end, lifting up around her like a halo, and with a shock Evelyn realised the pair of them, still hand in hand, her hovering above the ground, surrounded by the maelstrom. It was working!

Suddenly, the magic storm flashed again, a bright angry red, and with a stutter the non-existent ground beneath them lurched, and even though physically she and Sparda remained hovering above the ground, she felt as if she were tumbling through free fall. Over and over and over. Nausea rose through her at the complete disorientation. Then, Evelyn wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. Reality began to warp around her. The spell was giving off discharges of energy, and everything just went…wrong.

Sounds and smell and sight didn’t line up, her vision fracturing like a mirror each reflecting nonsense back at her, her ears screamed and moaned and heard things she had never heard before and couldn’t begin to understand, and tastes flew across her tongue with a speed she couldn’t comprehend and flavours that were madness. She opened her mouth to ask Sparda or scream or something but her mouth wasn’t there and yet it was but what came out wasn’t sound and everything was wrong. Her mind fizzled and popped and disgorged facts, nothing was working everything was wrong and Evelyn felt like she was floating, a consciousness alone in a sea of experiences that didn’t make sense. She couldn’t even feel her limbs, her lungs weren’t filling with air her heartbeat was gone. There were just sensations everywhere and none of them made any sense at all.

Suddenly, familiarity. HANDS! She could feel her hands and clasped within them…………something. Sparda, she managed to work out while thinking through toffee. It was Sparda’s claws, although they didn’t feel like she remembered them feeling what else could it be? Evelyn clung to the only sensation that made any kind of sense through the chaos of existence, focusing on what could have happened. Like a javelin through the skull, the realisation hit her. The spell they had been casting. The spell that interacted with the nature of existence for every living thing was going wrong. The magical feedback was going mad and unravelling the tapestry of reality from its most fundamental point, and she was caught at the epicentre of it. Of course the world was breaking down around her.

But why? What could have gone wrong? She had checked the spell backwards and forwards and all over. What could have happened? Think Evelyn! COME ON! There had to have been something. You know this spell better than anyone, Evelyn. Come on, come on. What’s gone wrong with it?

Balance. This spell is all about balance. That’s why it wouldn’t even trigger before. So what’s unbalanced now?

OF COURSE!

Blood.

The spell was made with Sparda’s blood in its entirety. And blood is the currency of the soul, that was the physical link to Sparda’s soul. But they had woven another soul into the spell without any way of accessing it. Of course it was falling apart.

Right, Evelyn had to get her soul into the spell somehow. Get it out of her body and into the spell. Perhaps her mind wasn’t thinking straight, perhaps the stress made her miscalculate, but she thought of one option and set her heart upon it.

While reality was still warping and rippling around her like the reflections in a pond. She could still feel Sparda beneath her hands, even ignoring the cyclone of other experiences that was still blaring around and through her. It took everything Evelyn had, but slowly she felt her way across Sparda’s weirdly soft and spongey chest and shoulders. She could only hope this was really happening and not yet another falsity in this crumbling reality.

And there! His face, Evelyn ran her fingers slowly across it, feeling his lips delicately beneath her fingers.
“SPARDA!” She yelled as loud as she could with a mouth that didn’t exist and lungs that filled with air that wasn’t air but hummed like static.
“Evelyn?” Sparda’s lips moved, and although the sound that came out was whining and screaming and all wrong, the shape was right. The shape she recognised.
“SPARDA THE SPELL’S GOING WRONG! IT’S UNBALANCED! I THINK IT’S BECAUSE YOUR BLOOD – YOUR SOUL – IS SO INTEGRAL TO THE SPELL AND MINE ISN’T! I NEED MY SOUL TO BE IMBEDDED TOO!!”
“Evelyn that’s impossible! Humans’ souls cannot be split!”
“I KNOW SPARDA. I NEED YOU TO KILL ME!”
“EVELYN! Don’t ask that of me. We’ve grown up together, we’ve fought this war together, we saved each other. I can’t kill you. I won’t!”
“YOU HAVE TO! IT’S THE ONLY WAY! WE HAVE TO SAVE MANKIND WE HAVE TO END THE WAR FOREVER! YOU KNOW THIS!”
“I’m NOT killing you EVELYN! You can’t ask me to do that! Please!!” 
“SPARDA! WE NEED A PROPER CONNECTION TO THE HUMAN WORLD! I’M THAT CONNECTION! YOU SAID YOURSELF HUMAN SOULS CAN’T BE SPLIT. MY SOUL NEEDS TO COME OUT OF MY BODY AND JOIN THE SPELL AND THE ONLY WAY TO DO THAT IS TO KILL ME! SO DO IT! PLEASE!!”
“I CAN’T! Evelyn you’re the person that saved me. You showed me what was wrong with myself and pulled me out of the mire! If I killed you I’d feel I’d killed hope. My hope. Our hope.”

Reality was getting worse. It was difficult now to even focus on Sparda’s words as things like ‘concepts’ stopped started to have any kind of meaning. Nothing had any meaning and everything was degrading. There was only one thing left to do. She kept running her hands across Sparda who was now undulating beneath her hands like the sea, and felt like red. Her hands closed around what she was looking for.

A hard, round handle Evelyn would recognise anywhere, even as her sight was assaulted with a senseless tempest of colour and light. With a sharp tug, she felt Devil Sword Sparda within her hands, finally letting go of Sparda to float alone in the dream logic. As carefully as she could, she moved it around in her hands, before plunging it down and into her.

Even with reality fracturing the pain was shocking and real. She felt her body again, to feel the sword go all the way through her and out the other side. Heart and lungs and organs returned to scream at her as they failed. It was agony, pure and simple. Reality flickered around her, before blipping back into existence, her body all there again and all pain.

She dropped like a stone from where she had floated maybe moments maybe years before, clattering to the ground in another scream of torture. She could see her lifeblood, so rich so red so thick, erupting out of her and pooling away, drawn to Sparda’s to the spell like a magnet. She couldn’t breathe, all of her chest was gone and it was so so painful. Blood seemed to be coming from everywhere. She couldn’t feel her legs, her hands, her arms. Just that burning, burning pain. Her vision crackled again, but this time Evelyn was certain it was because she was dying. Like bubbles of black mud, the edges of her vision darkened, before creeping inwards. She died.

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As soon as the spell activated, Sparda could tell something was wrong. It didn’t feel right, and even as he and Evelyn were lifted into the air, the thrill of powerful magic leaping around and through them, he tensed. Something was about to go very, very wrong. But before he could try and think about what it was or what was happening, the spell backfired.

               It was like an explosion in his brain, everything flashed and shook and bent in ways it would never, should never be possible to do.

               And then there was nothing.

               Just………….void.

               No sound. No touch. No taste. No smell. Nothing.

               Just white void.

               Sparda had no body.

               There was no Sparda.

               There was nothing.

               Just absolutely nothing.

               White void.

               No up, no down.

               No hot. No cold.

               Void. Whiteness.

               Nothing.

               No concepts. No words.

               Nothing.

Suddenly, deafening, from all around him sound rang like a bell. It was the only thing that was real. The only thing that existed apart from the vague concept of ‘Sparda’.
“SPARDA!” A voice said. He recognised? Didn’t he? From before the void, when memories were a thing and were important and - 
“Evelyn?” He said, although there was nothing to say with. But somehow he still created the sound, even in this complete vacuum.
“SPARDA THE SPELL’S GOING WRONG! IT’S UNBALANCED! I THINK IT’S BECAUSE YOUR BLOOD – YOUR SOUL – IS SO INTEGRAL TO THE SPELL AND MINE ISN’T! I NEED MY SOUL TO BE IMPEDED TOO!!” Spell? What? What? Sparda focused, drawing those hazy memories out from wherever they had been before. Hmmm. Wait?!? Her soul!! No but that would mean!
“Evelyn that’s impossible! Humans’ souls cannot be split!”
“I KNOW SPARDA. I NEED YOU TO KILL ME!” That awakened things in Sparda he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten.
“EVELYN! Don’t ask that of me. We’ve grown up together, we’ve fought this war together, we saved each other. I can’t kill you. I won’t!”
“YOU HAVE TO! IT’S THE ONLY WAY! WE HAVE TO SAVE MANKIND WE HAVE TO END THE WAR FOREVER! YOU KNOW THIS!”
“I’m NOT killing you EVELYN! You can’t ask me to do that! Please!!” 
“SPARDA! WE NEED A PROPER CONNECTION TO THE HUMAN WORLD! I’M THAT CONNECTION! YOU SAID YOURSELF HUMAN SOULS CAN’T BE SPLIT. MY SOUL NEEDS TO COME OUT OF MY BODY AND JOIN THE SPELL AND THE ONLY WAY TO DO THAT IS TO KILL ME! SO DO IT! PLEASE!!”
“I CAN’T! Evelyn you’re the person that saved me. You showed me what was wrong with myself and pulled me out of the mire! If I killed you I’d feel I’d killed hope. My hope. Our hope.”

Sparda waited a moment, waited for Evelyn’s voice to return. But there was nothing. Then, reality blinked back into existence. Like the extinguishing of a candle only backwards. Sight, sound, feeling. Existence rushed back into reality around Sparda, the Lair of Judgement morphing back around Sparda, the spell which had been working rapidly out of control coming back to a controlled whirl. He was still floating, right in the same spot he had been before, but Evelyn…..

               DEAR GODS EVELYN!

She was lying on the floor in front of him, a growing sea of red bursting from her in rhythmic pumps, his sword jammed directly through her chest.
“EVELYN!” He roared, immediately dropping to the ground and dashing to her. It was too late. He knew the moment he touched the body, the moment he moved those staring eyes to look back at him without seeing. Sparda had seen the spark go out a thousand thousand times in humans’ eyes, but this.

He couldn’t deal with this. Couldn’t bare it. Her still warm body hung limply in his arms, like a doll her blank face still oozing blood slightly. He couldn’t. Couldn’t deal with this. This wasn’t real she wasn’t dead he couldn’t bear it. He cradled her close, bringing his hand around to support the back of her head and holding her against his armour, grief ripping through him. Sparda never before realised how deeply he wished he could cry. Like a damn building up inside of him, pain was tearing through him, cold achingly empty and harrowing.

Suddenly, from within Evelyn’s body, a warm green glow began flowing out of her. Like a lizard shedding its skin, an unmarred vision of Evelyn lifted slowly out of her made of the same glowing green light. Her eyes were closed, and her long hair floated freely around her, as if she were peacefully asleep in a deep deep sea. Warm and calm exuded from her, like an angel rising from its vessel. Lightning from the spell array began to crackle around Sparda and the soul, before lancing between the ethereal image and the array in an insane cobweb of pure magic.

And then it slammed into Sparda.

Agony tore through him, not just through his body but his presence and deep into his actual soul. He could feel his soul fracturing and fragmenting, like a shattering of a plain of glass. And it was dire. His vision flashed white and red, the world became numb around him. He was vaguely aware of his legs giving out, collapsing to the floor even as the magic pulled different parts of his soul this way and that, taking his very essence and manipulating and containing it. And oh it was worse than death. He could barely even think as torture took over his every concept and experience.

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Sparda wasn’t sure how long he spent like that, lying on the floor of Temen-ni-Gru, aware of every jolt and stretch and pinch done to his very soul as it was taken, shattered, and the pieces each formed into entirely different things. He felt the largest fragment meld with Evelyn’s whole soul, which as a humans was incapable of being split, before being stretched thinner than he ever thought was possible and stretched out across and through the metaphysical plains in a way that made his mind bend and wobble when he tried to comprehend it.

               But…it was there. It had worked!

Sparda’s eyes snapped open, and he went to leap to his feet, a shot of excitement despite everything bursting through him. They had won! But as soon as Sparda’s eyes were open, the world wobbled and rippled around him. The room was spinning, even as his eyes told him it wasn’t, and that deep wooziness in his chest refused to go away. He had previously thought that a side affect of the truly inexplicable things that had been done to his soul but it wasn’t abating as Sparda lay, dazed, on the floor. Ignoring this, he moved his arms and prepared to stand up.

Or, at least, he tried to move his arms. They didn’t move. He tried to move his legs. They didn’t move. Suddenly, Sparda was aware of just how exhausted he felt. He had been tired before, utterly totally and completely shattered, but he had still pressed on. Perhaps that was finally catching up with him? Because now, he felt like little more than a pile of jelly, a deep-set ache and debilitation throughout him. What had happened to him? A dull groan managed to escape his lips, the sheer effort of getting air from his lungs leaving him feel weak and shaken. What the fuck was going on. Sparda was beginning to panic. Perhaps the spell had malfunctioned after all? Was he dying? What on earth??

Sparda was at a loss for what to do. He was lying on the floor of the Tower, completely helpless, just staring at the ceiling while who knows what happened in the rest of the world. But no matter how fast his heart raced in his chest or how much he strained to stand nothing was working.

Who knows how long he lay there, every and any possibility about what was possibly happening racing through his head.

Slowly. Oh so slowly, warmth started to creep from his core. It spread like warm water down his veins and to his fingertips. With another grunt and groan of effort, Sparda managed to pull himself shakily to his feet.

His legs trembled beneath him at the effort, his heart racing and breath coming in short, desperate pants. In fact, if he hadn’t have been standing beside a wall as he dragged himself up he probably wouldn’t have stay standing, clinging to the wall of the Tower with arms that shook like branches in a gale.

Good gods even this was exhausting him.

Sparda surveyed the Lair of Judgement, his head wobbling with the effort of keeping it upright and his eyelids drooping already. The array was burnt into the floor, like a brand on the building, signs of magical discharge all of the room. It was hardly surprising. Reality had fractured in this room, and now the walls of this place buzzed with the power barely contained within them. Wait. Why was the tower so brimming with power? Hesitantly, like a child first learning to walk, Sparda brushed the ragged remains of his presence against the tower’s.

It nearly sent him flying straight back to the floor. It was overpowering, feeling worse than any metaphysical attack Sparda had ever experienced. What was worse was that he recognised that energy, that power that now coursed through Temen-ni-Gru like blood through arteries. It was his power. That was why he felt like death, when his soul had fragmented it had taken almost all of his power with it, congregating in the largest part, the part that was now spread between the realms and anchored right here.

Fuck.

If he had been any weaker it probably would have killed him, using the metaphysical elements of his being like that. Sparda groaned again, everything ached and it really made sense now. Fucking hell.

And there, in the centre of the room, was exactly what Sparda had been avoiding looking at. A body. A body that should not be dead.

Forcing himself forwards, Sparda stumbled towards the immobile woman with stumbling footsteps, his legs barely carrying him, before collapsing to his knees beside it. Beside her.

The blood was long dried, flaky and crackling all across her body. With shaking hands, Sparda brushed his hand across her face, feather light, and closed those unseeing eyes. He couldn’t bare seeing that dear face without life in it. Evelyn was such a bright, shining person. It hurt, hurt beyond words to see what should be her, without any of it. A shell, that’s all this body was, a shell with Evelyn long departed. Leaving him behind. Sparda curled around the shoulders which had held the weight of the world and now seemed to small, so fragile. Gods fucking damnit this should never have happened.

Legs burning, Sparda lurched to his feet again, feeling incapable of letting the corpse leave his arm for a moment. He noticed without really looking some items that were strewn beside were Evelyn had lain. His sword, which he had last seen……..impaled right through her……….was missing, although the deep, angry, red gash right through Evelyn was all the proof that was need for its existence. Instead, lying in a triangle on the floor, were three swords which Sparda could feel his soul flowing through.

Like being hit by a bolt of lightning, infinite understanding of what they were bloomed into Sparda’s mind. They reflected him and of the world. The great sword with a grinning skull and ribcage at its hilt was Rebellion, the future and all the hope it could bring. The thin, deadly katana was Yamato, the past and all the horrors it held. The great sword with two matching but non-identical amulets strung around the handle was Force Edge, the knife’s edge between the past and the future, as well as Sparda himself. And the two amulets represented demons and humanity, the unity and yet polar opposites that had created this seal. And together: Sparda, humanity – Evelyn, and demons – the tower; had were the key to undoing this seal.

Perhaps these were the most precious artifacts in all of history. But currently, Sparda couldn’t care less about them, using his command over them to have them fly to him, the great sword across his back and Yamato at his hip, although when he tried to grasp Force Edge his hand passed straight through it. This wasn’t Force Edge, that was in Hell. Right. Whatever. Sparda turned his attention back to the precious cargo his arms cradled. He had to return to the camp. Gods, he would have to tell everyone exactly what had happened.

Sparda almost didn’t make it back to his feet this time, his legs shaking with the effort of taking each laboured step, breath coming in uneasy pants. Just this little bit more, once more. Come on, Sparda. You’ve won. You just have to keep going this little bit longer. But it sure didn’t feel like winning, did it? Evelyn’s weight was heavy in his arms, he struggled to hold the enormity of it. Was it worth it? Could he regret a choice that had ultimately been hers, hers absolutely? Sparda didn’t know, all he knew was that his heart bled with every step he lurched through, and the weight of the world was crush without and within.

Eventually, his laboured steps lead him to escape the tower, the great entrance looming behind him as his legs barely held him upright. Although he could still feel his soul coursing within Temen-ni-gru it was already alien to him. So powerful it burnt him on contact, suddenly so huge and incomprehensible to his feeble form. The world had been turned on its head and refused to right itself.

The minute Sparda’s feet left the tower the last part of the spell activated, multicoloured lights spurting from the base of the tower before shooting to the top and covering its entire face with a glimmering, gossamer-like shroud of magic. Probably not all that different to what the new barrier looked like. At once, surrounding the tower, the Seven Deadly Sins appeared, a set of demonic siblings Sparda had defeated and bound years ago, they would stand as the seal to the tower itself. As one, the seven began rotating around the tower, the air once again becoming powerfully charged with magic. Sparda widened his stance as the winds of power buffeted at him, struggling to stand against the fearsome headwinds of the powerful magic. Chains of the rainbow edged light flew from the tower to ensnare each of the demons, taking their true names and binding them physically and metaphysically to the tower. Then, as one, each began to transform into a statue, before sinking once again into the ground, the chains disappearing from sight but not from existence. And as the bound demons sank, the tower did too. Slowly, Temen-ni-Gru ground its way into the earth, taking with it all of Hell that remained in the Human Realm except for Sparda himself. Within moments, it had disappeared, the ground untouched as if first the Qliphoth and then Temen-ni-Gru had never erupted from Hell in this spot. Instead, the gentle, pristine rolls of the Great Plains stretched out to the horizon like an open hug.

Sparda sighed, almost collapsing to his knees again as he felt the barrier already becoming more distant. His and Evelyn’s souls stretching out into the space between realms and far far away from him. But his work was never done. He still had to return to the camp. Home. And explain why exactly he was alive when Evelyn was motionless in his arms.

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Flying across the ocean one last time was perhaps the worst thing Sparda had ever done. But what was one more worst experience of his life to add to the others that had already occurred this day. He was tired. So so so tired. Everything ached and by the end even his brain began to shut down, just utterly focussed on getting back and nothing else. He was dropping through the sky the entire time, half flight half controlled glide, so that by the time his feet touched ground just outside of where humanity had last been camped, his ankles rolled and collapsed beneath him.

Have to keep going. His arms screamed and screeched at him, but he still cradled the precious precious cargo in his arms. Kept her out of the dirt that he couldn’t keep himself out of. Nearly there. Come on. So close. So close. Just keep going. Please for the love of everything return her to her family before you pass out. The world was swimming around Sparda, the ground the undulating surface of the sea. Back to your feet. That’s it. First one. Good. Now the other. Good. Keep going. Please Sparda, keep going. Keep Evelyn safe and just keep going back to the camp.

Vaguely, Sparda suddenly became aware of people around him, one lending him a shoulder to lean on. Voices that popped in and out of existence and didn’t say words that made any sense to him. Not that his own mouth was making sounds that made sense either. He couldn’t let them near Evelyn though. He just had to keep going. He was so so close now, the border of the camp just within reach.

He stepped one foot into the camp before agony flared through him again, the world turning white. Ah, the wards, Sparda had time to think before the world finally slipped from his grasp.

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Sparda came around in a bed. Gods, he didn’t feel any better. Something whined in his ears, his head rang with sound and pain and the world seemed blotchy around him. He opened his mouth but found all that came out was a dull croak.
“Sparda.” Came a voice beside him, although he found he couldn’t move his head to see who it was. Things were still out of balance then. Not that he would be able to see in this light regardless. “You’re with us again. I won’t lie, I was worried. I – I’m very glad you made it though.”
“Ahearn.” Sparda smiled. “It’s good to hear your voice again. I thought I was dead for sure as well. How – how long have I been out?”
“Three days. Although the last day. I think you had nightmares or something. You wouldn’t stop screaming and none of us knew what was wrong. We already moved you outside the wards around the camp when – Sparda that nearly killed you. One foot inside the wards nearly killed you. They’re designed for the lowest echelons! What – what happened? I don’t know if you remember but you returned with…..Evelyn’s body. I could be wrong but I’m pretty sure she had a wound from your sword through her – ” Ahearn hesitated, clearly afraid of saying too much.
“We succeeded.” Sparda managed to croak out after several false starts and being helped to some water. “Evelyn and I created the barrier between Hell and here. It just…..took more than we realised. Evelyn gave her life so the spell could succeed and I was very lucky – or perhaps unlucky – not to join her. That’s why I’m – ” Sparda went to gesture at himself but his arm still refused to move “ – so weak.”   
“Gods.” Ahearn muttered beside him. “You did the right thing. She did the right thing, too.”

“What happened here? Where are the others?”
“It was nearly a day after you left that the magicians said they felt something changing reality, and then they declared the barrier was in place. We expected you back at any moment and then…well…it took nearly another day for you to arrive back here and we weren’t expecting…..quite that. It took us a while to realise it was the wards that were the problem and then we moved you here and…..well there were Enchanters here to try and heal you earlier but, quite frankly, they didn’t know what to do. You’ve always told them you’ll heal fine with time. So, um, we didn’t know what else to do. I’ve been with you the entire time, but after yesterday Enchanter Connor said he couldn’t bear any more of your screams and no-one else volunteered. Um, Head Enchanter Borak refused to help after he saw the…..body. The General’s been planning a state funeral for tomorrow, they were hoping you’d be awake by then.”
“I see.” Sparda said after a long pause. “I suppose I should explain to everyone exactly what that spell did. How it ended like this. I don’t want to have to tell it in detail more than once.” The Legendary Dark Knight was so weak he could hardly raise his voice above a whisper, but even if he could the emotions currently holding him at a choke hold wouldn’t have let him.

It didn’t take long for humanity’s leaders to make it to Sparda’s bedside, already news was spreading he had survived. From the outside Cathal smelt as stony as ever but Sparda knew them well enough at this point to sense the concern and deep, deep pain in their scent. Huo was just as stern, but again Sparda could recognise the hurt in her. She was convinced Sparda had killed Evelyn, he realised. And he could understand why, beside her Borak was refusing even to look at him, such a hatred in his aura to disfigure his entire being, the soft, loving man degrading into an ugly ball of rage. And there was, of course, someone missing. Impossible to ignore her ghost when they were all gathered here.

“Sparda.” Cathal began, a perverse sort of hope coming from them. “What happened.” It was a command, not a question, and within moments Sparda was spilling everything that had happened, every detail. He found himself unable to withhold a single detail, even telling the others the fear and sorrow he had endured. By the end everyone was quiet, silence like a suffocating pillow enveloping everyone.

“I see. So that is how she died.” Borak said, muted. His emotions were in turmoil, straining against chains he had placed very firmly upon them. His hands fidgeted, however, first clasped in front of him, then behind, then in front again. “I do not blame you, Sparda, for not being able to prevent her death. But I do not forgive you for putting her in that situation.” It seemed for a moment like he would continue, but then the Enchanter turned on his heel and turned sharply away, his quick strides leaving them behind within moments.

“He’s still in pain.” Ahearn said as soon as he was out of earshot. “He’ll soften to you eventually, sir. He's just acting out of grief.”
“He’s not wrong, though. I just hope Anatu and the twins don’t suffer for his justified anger.”
“I won’t let them, Brigadier.” Cathal replied. “Part of my duties is protecting everyone under my care. Perhaps it is overkill to become personally involved but I think I can make an exception.” There was a leak of dry humour from the General then, and Sparda found himself smiling wryly despite himself.
“Thank you, General. How are Anatu and the twins taking things?”
“As well as can be expected. The twins are…forlorn. I gave them both a week of half duties as is standard practice after the loss of a significant loved one. I do wonder if Anatu will even remember Evelyn in years to come, however.”
“Borak will raise her well.” Huo interrupted, startling Sparda slightly. She was usually one to stay silent during meetings unless it directly affected her. “He is a good man and a good father.”  
“You’re right. That family’s a tough one and always will be.” Sparda croaked.

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Evelyn’s funeral was a sombre affair. Almost every member of humanity was there, and the atmosphere was oppressive with mourning. It was lead by Borak and General Cathal together, with several leaders of different religions giving their words to her life. Sparda only just made it, the wards, which had been cast by Evelyn herself he noted with a stab of pain, were altered to allow him to attend. Once there he gave a short speech on what exactly Evelyn had meant to him, before describing her end. As he walked to re-join the congregation the air was thick was the salty smell of tears and Sparda ached to join them. The physical pain in his chest was worsening under the pain of his misery every moment this went on. Everyone gathered around the pyre they had constructed for her as the sun set, and with a flick of his wrist Ahearn set it ablaze.

Anatu was crying, clinging herself into Borak’s shoulder. And Borak himself looked so weak, so sad. His whole body was shaking as silent tears slipped down his face, reflecting the firelight as they fell. But he looked so small and fragile next to the inferno. Eventually, as the sun well and truly disappeared, the now dwindling pyre the only source of light to the camp. And that was when the alcohol was brought out. Sparda hadn’t realised there was that much alcohol in the entire camp, but barrels and amphora and all manner of containers were being brought forth, cups and cups being handed out to whoever reached out for it. Before long, small fires had been lit, music was playing, and dancing had begun. Toasts were given to victory, to new life and most of all to Evelyn. It was the most fitting tribute to her all day, Sparda reflected. The hope that ran from everyone. Her life had bought them all a future.

Only two people were left at the pyre. Sparda stood a short distance off, his attention caught between the revellers and the other figure. Borak, on his knees and internally collapsed before the now hardly flickering embers. Tears had long since dried on his face, and he now stared, emptily into their gentle glow. Anatu had refused to be removed from his arms until she had eventually fallen asleep in his now slightly lax grip and been carried away by the twins. Borak now sat, slumped, boneless before the fire. Sparda still felt taught, like an overfull waterskin, and after another moment of hesitation approached him, placing a hand firm upon his shoulder, before leaving him and the party and wandering out into the crisp summer night.

Sparda stood for a moment, contemplating the stars so far above him, before tensing for a moment, his wings snapping out behind him. He was still weak. So very very weak, but this was something he needed to do. Although if it were for himself or for Evelyn he wasn’t sure. His wings thrummed to life with a familiar roar, and before long he was once again flying over land then sea. It took longer than he expected, and he landed exhausted. Gods, this new total lack of strength was going to take some getting used to. At this point he felt weaker than when he had first hatched. Sparda now stood in a spot that was forever etched into his mind, seeing it in the night-time light in all its glory. The burnt-out, crumbling ruins of the Stronghold of the Pine Trees. The elements had not been kind to it these past 8 years, but even so Sparda found his way around it with ease. Here was the hallway an entirely different Dark Knight had strode down. And here, here was his destination. The room where he had first laid eyes on Evelyn. First seen the strength humanity held.

Sparda knelt, almost in reverie, in the tattered remains of some walls and floor overtaken by nature. Shards of charcoal that perhaps had once been furniture were all but eroded around him but, right here very close to the edge of the hill the stronghold stood on, Sparda felt the importance of this place. A place that had changed him beyond comprehension. A girl that had changed him. He slowly took an acorn and buried it lightly under the topsoil, the burnt debris sure to be fertile. Then, focussing heavily, he took a part of what little of his strength remained and looped it tightly around the acorn. It bound the plant and his lifeforce together, for as long as he existed so would the tree. Already, Sparda could feel the acorn begin to hum and sprout beneath the surface, a thin shoot breaking through the topsoil within moments. The wave of emotions was almost too much to contain and Sparda felt he would pop at any moment. With a flurry of purple sparks, he shifted to his human form. A fitting farewell, he thought, and pressed his forehead to the slightly cool earth before the shoots. And the wave crashed. With tear ducts suddenly available to him Sparda began to cry. And cry. Something within him felt broken as the tears came and came, spilling out from his eyes and pouring down his face into the soil. Everything poured out of him.

               Until at last it stopped.

And Sparda felt, just a little, more at peace. He stood, a touch shakily, and shifted back to his true form. The disguise had drained him and for a moment he worried he didn’t have the strength to return home. But there was a party waiting for him, and so many people to help.

Chapter Text

It took Sparda a long time to adjust to….well…everything. It took time. More time than perhaps he had expected. But life continued regardless. Cathal was as great a leader in peacetime as war, a firm but fair guiding hand. Together with Arlynn and several of the other human leaders they had set up a Council to manage human civilisation, although everyone was in doubt as to who was the leader of the Council. Many were even pressing Cathal to take a title like President or First Consul, although Cathal was hesitant to make their leadership and official title, something Sparda thought was more than sensible.

No-one was going to outright oppose them but it set up a dangerous precedent to officially give anyone that power. Sparda himself was an…unusual presence in the Council. While no-one was going to deny his part in the strange peace they now found themselves, he himself couldn’t aid particularly with their leadership debates. While he had centuries of experience leading, it was experience leading demons in war. Plus he was now really a Brigadier with a single subordinate, Ahearn. The army was now only made up of those who wished to continue serving, a small but not insignificant number that Cathal managed to handle on their own. Sparda and Ahearn had very quickly become hangovers from a forgotten era who, while respected in their positions, were all but obsolete as humanity recovered under their own steam frighteningly quickly.

That changed, however, during a particular Council meeting three months after the end of the war. The assembled leaders were debating a familiar topic, where exactly humanity should settle now that the earth was once again theirs alone. Some pushed for staying as a unified group, arguing the few, scattered demons that still remained were enough of a threat to keep them together. Others pushed for people to return to the lands they had originally come from, although in some cases this would result in entire continents with two residents total.

“What of the Isle of Fortuna? Perhaps that could be a rallying point for us to settle around? Not everyone has to come with us to the Isle, but using it as a focal point for our new society could perhaps be a compromise?” Suggested a rather exasperated member, a high up Roman general called Mark Antony.
“The Isle of Fortuna is a myth.” Replied Cathal, a little irritation creeping into their voice, not that anyone but those who knew them well would recognise it. “Brigadier Sparda has travelled the world and has assured us on several occasions that he never saw any indications of an untouched island inhabited by survivors from across the world.
“That’s because,” Mark Antony replied a little testily, “it was a very closely guarded secret! Not offence to the Brigadier but when he was travelling the world he was the enemy, and we were very careful to ensure the enemy never discovered Fortuna. The whole point is that no demon knew if it even existed.” Silence spread through the Council for a moment as the slight boredom was blown thoroughly away by this revelation.

“What?” Growled Sparda, his brain slowly catching up with what exactly that meant.
“The Isle of Fortuna is very real, and there are representatives of most every human civilisation there. Or at least there were when I left. It is a…badly managed placed and I left when I heard of the great success yourself and the Human Army had achieved.” The Roman continued.
“Antonius…are you aware that The Barrier is only affective in places where I have been?” Sparda replied, his human disguise wobbling slightly as he speedran every emotion.
“Ah…..no.” The Antony had paled. As had Cathal when Sparda’s eyes flicked across to them.
“Shit.” They muttered. Other members of the Council looked at each other and the General expectantly.
“Soldier Ahearn.” Sparda announced after another few moments of hesitation. “With me. We’re going there now. We need to see how bad the possible damage to The Barrier is. Antonius, where exactly is this island?”
“Um…off the coast of Italia. Go out into the sea almost directly from the ruins of Neapolis.”
“Thank you. Ahearn, we’re flying.”
“Yes sir.”
“Brigadier, be careful. Remember you are not as you were.” Cathal said with a voice like iron, a firm but kind scent leaking from them.
“Noted, General. If you’ll excuse us.”

The flight from the semi-permanent settlement in Hellas to Italia was tiring, especially carrying Ahearn, and Sparda had to stop several times to rest before they made it. Still, it was much faster than they would have made it otherwise. Sure enough, after flying seemingly aimlessly out into the sea, almost entirely without warning an island appeared on the horizon and quickly mapped itself out beneath. Sparda could feel the barrier thinning even as he approached it, like the unravelling of fabric around a hole, and then suddenly he was beyond the barrier. Hell felt incredibly close, or perhaps that was how close it had been before and Sparda had just become sensitised, like stepping out into the sun after days underground.

“Sparda do you…feel that?” Ahearn yelled over the wind, although still hesitant.
“Yes. The barrier isn’t here. I hadn’t realised you were attuned to Hell like that.”
“Well, I’m certainly attuned to something.” Ahearn muttered. Below them now the island was laying itself out, beaches then forests and high, snowy mountains. “It’s beautiful.” Ahearn almost whispered, Sparda only just catching it over the wind. Suddenly, he gasped, gazing down at the land below them. “Sparda, below us!” He shouted. “There’s a huge one of those portal things. Demons are pouring out of it! I think – my Gods! So many people Sparda, they’re being attacked.”

Sparda began to dive in an instant. The speed they were travelling at made it difficult to tell what his nose was telling him, but now that Sparda knew what he was smelling he was able to discern what was going on. Scarecrows, perhaps a few hundred, swarming a similar sized group of humans. Most were fighting but there were also a sizable number of civilians, the reek of their fear thick in the air. There was also a not insignificant smell of blood.

Within moments the pair crashed into the ground, both rolling to lessen the impact before springing to their feet and to battle on instinct. They had fought often enough with each other at this point, falling into and easy rhythm, not quite back-to-back, carving their way through the scarecrows with fluid movements. Ahearn had his enchanted sword, flashing through the air as he moved, Sparda swinging one of his new swords, Rebellion, with moves he had practiced a thousand times with Devil Sword Sparda. #

Confusion and fear rippled from the humans who had been fighting the scarecrows, and they began to hang back as Sparda and Ahearn ripped through the scarecrows with ease. There was a group of maybe 7 mega-scarecrows that seemed to be leading this bizarre group, and without needing to communicate Ahearn and Sparda began to cut their way through the scarecrows towards them. Within moments, the seven demons were dead, their bodies already disintegrating to dust, and the rest of the mob had routed, fleeing into the portal with shrieks and calls.

“And remember, this world is under the protection of Legendary Dark Knight Sparda, defeater of Mundus.” Sparda roared after them as the portal slammed shut, his voice echoing around the wreckage of the forest the demons had created. Ahearn smelt unhurt and, for the most part, completely calm, so Sparda instead turned to the people. There were perhaps 150 of them, around 100 soldiers and 50 civilians, and all were staring at him and Ahearn with a deep fear rolling off of them.

Ah. Right. He was a huge Demon Lord and Ahearn had a mouth full of charcoal black fangs, black spines growing from his joints and face, and glowing, pure red eyes. Perhaps they had not been the best decision to send to a group of humans who had never met them before.

“Greetings! We are not here to harm you, we are here to help. We have come from humans on the continent. We have driven demons from the world and wish to do the same here.” Silence fell on the group, the scent of anxiety still thick in the air. “What language do you speak? Quelle langue? Shénme yǔyán? Uhm, luphi ulimi?” Sparda wracked his brain for other human languages he could speak confidently. He had a smattering of…well a lot, but he wasn’t sure he could diplomatically converse in Sanskrit.

“Loqueris latine?” One of the soldiers – a young man from, oh what had the country been called…..Benin – called out from the nervous crowd.
“Yes, I speak Latin.” Sparda replied in Latin. Thankfully he had enough of that to talk properly in. “Ahearn, that alright with you?”
“Sic.”*
“Great. I’ll repeat what I just said.” Sparda continued in Latin, before repeating himself.
“I – um – you should probably talk to a representative of the Assembly about that. They run everything. But – uh – well, you don’t exactly look like representatives of humans.”
“Hey! I’m half human!” Ahearn bristled.
“And we did just save you from a lot of demons that were attacking you.”
“I believe you.” The soldier quickly clarified. “But the Assembly might not. Everyone else, I guess go back to whatever you were doing before. These fine gentlemen will protect us if another portal opens.”
“Yes we’ll sense it.” Sparda said, before Ahearn interrupted him.
“Where’s your superior officer? They’ll be more believable to this Assembly, surely?”
“He’s – uh – he’s there.” The soldier said, pointing to one of the corpses. “There was a much bigger demon earlier. It went for the officers first before we could kill it.”
“I’m sorry.” Ahearn said, placing his hand gently on the soldier’s shoulder before removing quickly.
“Yeah…well…thanks. Uh, the Assembly’s this way.”

As the pair followed the soldier they were amazed to find the forest give way to more forest. Except, this was a forest that was also a city. Crammed in between the trees were buildings that melted between them and squatted low under the cloud cover, so that from above this part of the forest would look indistinguishable from any other part, not betraying the city nestled beneath.
“Wow. This is pretty impressive.” Ahearn muttered, following the soldier’s quick steps.

“Thanks. The most important thing here is keeping hidden. There’s, a lot of people hidden here.” The soldier kept up a pace that Sparda almost struggled to match, his fast feet darting through the winding, almost organic streets that wove their way around and through the unusual city. They garnered suspicion and, in some cases, out right fear, with most people fleeing at the sight of two (presumably) demons and a soldier beetling through the city. Within moments they were in front of a huge grand building wrapped around the largest Human Realm tree Sparda had encountered. Once within, the soldier led them through more winding, strangely rounded, corridors to what Sparda recognised instantly as an office. The occupant of the office sprung around as soon as the door opened, his hand inching to a small dagger at his waist.

“Who the fuck are you?!? How in the Gods’ names did demons get into MY OFFICE!” He yelled.
“Er, sir. Sorry for interrupting but these gentlemen came from the continent. They say they’ve removed all demons from there.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe a pair of demons!” The leader’s hand was closed around the dagger now, and he looked ready to leap at any moment. “What have you done to my soldier? Bewitched him?”
“Sir! I swear, they saved us from those patchwork demons.”
“Scarecrows.” Ahearn corrected on instinct.
“Er, right. Some scarecrow demons. And the horned one said he’d be able to banish all demons from here too.”
“Sir, if I may.” Sparda continued where the soldier had dropped off, not giving the increasingly panicked looking leader a chance to speak. “We have come here because this is the only place in the world demons can still travel to the Human Realm and with a little work we should be able to prevent that here as well.”
“That’s all well and good if you’re to be trusted but forgive me if I don’t trust two demons who waltz into my office.” The leader growled in reply, dagger in hand although judging from the way he was shaking not due to be used any time soon.
“One half-demon.” Ahearn muttered with little malice behind it. “Besides, you should trust us. We only knew this place was here because Mark Antony told us. Otherwise you’d be dealing with your demon problem alone.” That seemed to give the leader pause for thought.
“You’ve seen Mark Antony? But he’s dead! He disappeared to the mainland 7 years ago chasing a mad rumour of a Human Army.” The leader paused. Made eye contact with Ahearn then Sparda, and then sank slowly into his chair. “My Gods. He was right. You people aren’t lying are you.” The leader paused, letting silence wash over them for a moment. “My name is Octavius Caesar although people often call me Augustus for…various reasons. How can I help you?”

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They talked for a long time. Fortuna, as it turned out, was vastly overpopulated. There were nearly 200,000 people crammed into the island and no matter what rationing Augustus implemented he was going to unable to feed everyone in the upcoming years. But, with communication between him and Cathal, they Cathal and the Council would settle in the ruins of Rome and hopefully tempt most of the Fortunas off Fortuna. And the Fortunas! There were refugees from every culture there, and they had worked together to create this wonderful hybrid culture.  Sparda, with the help of an assortment of magicians he flew across from the mainland, managed to isolate the fray in the Barrier, constructing a huge Hellgate, a permanent but controllable.

“I’ll need to stay with the Hellgate.” Sparda had said to Cathal on one of their few moments off. “At least for a few hundred years. I can’t guarantee that the Hellgate will hold forever and I want to be near it to check.”
“That…might solve some problems, actually. Augustus isn’t pleased that I’m stealing his home city from him, as he sees it. And believe me, there’s no way people will make him leader over the people I saved, but he’s also determined not to give up his position of authority. Especially after Fortuna was left on the brink of famine. But with you in the mix…well I think it’ll solve some problems.” They smiled, and Sparda smiled back.  

And it came to pass, all that seemed wrong was now right, and those who deserved to were certain to live a long and happy life. Sparda was eventually placed as Lord of Fortuna, alongside the Assembly, with Augustus becoming First Consul of the Council. With Cathal still leading, naturally. Ahearn refused to leave Sparda’s side, becoming an honoured Lord and soldier in Fortuna’s leaders, living a long life under Sparda’s rulership. He died happy, and though unmarried the frequency of red-haired, slightly demonic children suggested he did not die childless or unfulfilled. The Devil Arm that had been welded to his shoulder finally detaching and swearing itself to Sparda, although ‘Lucifer’ never lost Ahearn’s red shade.

Borak grew into a charming but steely old man, and a captivating magician to the last. Respected and loved, he was always known as a ‘pillar of the community’. Anatu grew into a graceful young lady, not as famous as her mother nor as relied upon as her father. But happy. She had a husband she loved and children she adored and was happy for all her days. The twins also grew into young men, had loves and laughs. And were happy.

Cathal was a glorious ruler, and lead mankind to prosperity in a matter of years. Under their tutelage, the Council prospered and grew in wisdom, capable of leading mankind with ease even after Cathal themselves passed. Population exploded under their care, and everyone was content under Cathal’s leadership. In the next century, it eventually became to much for the Council to handle alone, and separate leaders rose and fell, and as Sparda watched the passage of history is eventually spiralled into countries and cultures as numerous as before Mundus’ war. 

Chapter Text

The summer sun was warm on Eva’s face, cradling her in a way that only sunlight could. It played and dappled through the overhanging tree branches and cast the whole word in a hopeful light. As her feet walked slowly but deliberately across the mud-baked track. Eva had been walking this path for as long as she had been allowed out of the house on her own, it was her favourite, the best place in the world as far as she was concerned.

Perhaps that was why the countryside seemed to sing with freedom and joy as she walked. And it was certainly a welcome escape from the absolute hell that was her degree. Just because she had suffered the misfortune to be born into one of the ‘bloodlines’ didn’t mean she had to wade her way through incomprehensible torrents of magic and alchemy. All the while pretending to the world she was doing chemistry because explaining an ancient demon war and the existence of magic was too much. For some reason.

Oh and don’t forget the secure future of a magician for the rest of her life stretching out in front of her in one unerring path, no matter what she did. Joyous. She’d much rather be, as she was even at this very moment, clutching a sketchbook and a set of charcoals, with a beautiful subject in front of her. Those who still stuck rigidly to the ‘bloodlines’ – supposedly direct descendants of those chosen few to be taught magic direct from the Legendary Dark Knight himself – could go on for hours about how important their position was. Honestly, if they went any further up the Legendary Dark Knight’s ass they’d find Fortuna.

Still, she was on holiday away from university, she could think about the drudgeries of endless alchemy labs and magical arrays later. For now, she was here, far away from anyone, with a gorgeous landscape about to be lain out in front of her. That was the one good thing about her parents’ bizarre obsession with the Legendary Dark Knight. They had moved out here to the edges of Redgrave City since supposedly the Sparda had been spotted out here, not that Eva had seen hide nor hair of him. And they had moved here when she was 6.

As far as Eva was concerned, the Legendary Dark Knight might not exist, or at the very least not exist in the way the tales described him. And he was certainly dead of old age by now regardless. Especially if the rumours were true. Eva heard more and more now at the “Convening of the Bloodlines” (which as far as she could tell was an excuse for her posh parents to invite their posh friends over to dinner parties that belonged in the previous century) that real demons had been spotted in different places around the world, and some of them had even been forced to use their magic to stop them (as opposed to the noble art of researching more magic. Which was obviously what Sparda had really intended by teaching it to them in the middle of a demonic war). As far as Eva was concerned, Sparda was dead and ending up in a fate like her parents’ was worse than death. There was a reason that stale relationship had only produced her.

Eva shook herself from her thoughts as she realised she had arrived where she had been headed without noticing it. This was what made coming home for the holidays worth it. The woods that surrounded her and her very expensive neighbours dropped away to a natural clearing around a tree, right on the edge of a huge hill. Down below the hill and stretching out as far as the horizon in every way were fields and little pom-poms of trees. Here and there roads and a trainline criss-crossed the patchwork like branches through the sky, and then far off in the distance was the glinting of Redgrave City, steel and glass dancing in the summer sun as much as her heart. Beautiful. Just beautiful. It took her breath away ever time.

Gripping her sketchbook and tin of charcoal in one hand, Eva walked around the central tree once, running her fingers lightly over the gnarled bark. It had to be old, so old, to grow this twisted and wide. The tree’s trunk was broad, with stout branches coming off it in every direction like the arms of an uncle, strong and unwavering. With a small grin, Eva placed her hands and feet on the tree where they had gone a thousand times before and began to climb, within moments finding herself nestled among the branches, back against the trunk. She could see the world but the dry, summer leaves meant it struggled to see her. Instead, it was just her, the tree and – she thought twirling the charcoal in her hand – inspiration.

It was perhaps a couple of hours later that Eva was roused from her perch. The early afternoon sun shone lightly through the leaves around her and alighted on what had managed to drag her from her art. Below her another person had arrived and was moving to sit at the base of the tree. They were tall, taller than Evelyn or possibly even her father, and from a distance Eva had thought they were an old man but close up she realised they were remarkably young, his skin smooth and eyes sparkling. It was just his hair that was stark white and slicked back into an uncomfortable-looking style. He was dressed…..uniquely was a kind way of putting it; atrociously an accurate way. In a bizarre 1960s-Victorian mash up all in the most garish shade of purple Eva could imagine. Honestly, she was this close to leaping from the tree and avoiding the weirdo when he began to speak, running his hand almost lovingly along the tree trunk.

“Hello Evelyn. It’s been 10 years. Another decade, eh? Well, it’s actually a little over 10 years, sorry I lost track of time. But you know what I’m like. At this rate I’ll be coming to see you every century.” The man laughed, sadly. Perhaps this was some kind of theatre performance or something, Eva thought. Or he was a nutter. To be fair, with those clothes Eva was leaning more towards that. The figure continued to talk to the tree, some of it nonsense like how he had began, some of it almost comprehensible. But all of it, well it reminded Eva of the few times her parents had been off to visit her grandparents’ graves. The solemnity and loving grief in their eyes was incomprehensible to Eva, but she could recognise it in this stranger’s eyes well enough. So perhaps they weren’t mad.
“And there’s been some demons in the world. I’ve sensed them and dealt with them. Hard not to sense them when they’re the only other demonic presence I’ve felt in…well you know how long.” Now that peaked Eva’s attention. Perhaps those stories floating around of actual demon battles weren’t so fake after all? Or this man was cuckoo. She was still wavering on that one.

“I haven’t had any help with them so far, although a couple I’ve arrived and found them already killed. Apparently some of your magicians are still out there. I suppose I wouldn’t mind having company on my next hunt. Assuming there is a next hunt although I hope there isn’t. I can’t hop from continent to continent on just my wings anymore, Evelyn. I’m slowing down, after all this time. And the humans have radar and satellites and oh so many things you’d be amazed by. I know I’m certainly amazed by them. So I’ve been slow but travelling. What little travelling I’ve done though. Well, a large part of me is glad I’ve spent so little time in human company in the last…oh 70 or so years. They’re changing so fast, Evelyn. It scares me, a little.”

Now the cogs of Eva’s brain were beginning to turn. Connections were being made Eva really didn’t like. Her parents’ moved here because of rumours of…and this man knew of demons and certainly wasn’t of the Bloodlines…and believed himself several centuries old…and that fashion sense.
“So much for a Legendary Dark Knight eh?” The man laughed, patting the tree slightly. “Humans are the real Legendary ones if you want my opinion.” Well that seemed pretty conclusive. Wow. Eva stopped for a minute just to absorb what she had just heard. What was going on here. Holy Hell she couldn’t believe this was happening. Happening to her. Eva listened to the man…to Sparda talk for a little longer. He seemed to be drawing to a close, his talking becoming more meandering than recounting stories. “Well. It’s been good to see you.” He said, drawing himself to his feet and patting the tree again. “See you in 10 years. Perhaps something a little more interesting will have happened this time.” He smiled, a charming, quick smile that leapt across his face like a fox. Before he began to walk away back down the path he had taken to get here.

Eva still wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to be thinking, but without really thinking, she acted on the first impulse that came to her and stealthily climbed down the tree, stowing her art supplies away, before standing at the base of the tree, almost exactly where the Legendary Dark Knight had been standing.
“Hi! I didn’t see you there!” She called, a smile that wasn’t quite a lie springing to her face. “Sorry. Was just going for a walk. Do you live near here? I don’t think I recognise you.”
“Oh! Oh hello there!” Sparda turned, surprise etched across his face. “H – how long have you been standing there?”
“Oh I was just walking.” Eva lied, gesturing to the path that led in the opposite direction to Sparda’s. Well, she supposed technically she hadn’t been standing here very long at all.
“Ah. I see. My name is Sp – ” he hesitated “Simon! Yes, Simon is a normal human name, that I have.” Wow this man was a terrible liar, Eva thought with a barely stifled giggle.
“Alright then Simon. Pleased to meet you.”
“You too. I recently inherited a local mansion. House. I mean house. Just exploring the countryside.”
“Oh, well, I’ve lived here all my life. I can show you around, if you want?”
“That sounds perfectly pleasant, my lady. Errrr. Ma’am?”
“Please, I sound like a grandma!” She snorted. “My name’s Eva.”  

Chapter Text

TIMELINE

TIME SKIPPPP – Winter of 3 BC to kick Mundus out of Albion (England). Winter of 2 BC to kick him out of Gaul (France). Winter of 1 AD ended up going through Germany, Switzerland etc. Got a little bogged down in the Alps and then again in the Ardennes and Black Forrest. Summer 3 AD to kick him out of Italy (traversing to Sicily, Sardinia etc was a FAFF. Evelyn married maybe after the taking of Naples. Daughter born after the taking of Corsica but before taking of Sardinia). Summer 4 AD for European Plain (Poland, Romania etc). Summer of 5 AD Carpathia. Ending Spring of 6 AD in Greece. 

• April 6 AD – Mankind loses the first battle against Mundus
• May 6 AD – Mankind looses three more battles against Mundus
• Thursday 10^th June 6 AD – mankind is licking its wounds after losing a 3^rd battle where the Demon Army opened a portal from Hell right in the middle of the human army, causing chaos. In a logistics meeting afterwards Cathal, Evelyn, Sparda, Borak, Ahearn and Huo (also Arlynn in theory) discover this is because of Mundus opening the Hell portal.
• Friday 25^th – Sparda and the three Head Magicians perfect the spell to create the barrier between the Human Realm and Hell.
• Monday 28^th June – Ahearn comes out as aromantic. Sparda is still in Hell (time is difficult to measure there)
• Tuesday 29^th June – It’s the twins’ birthday!
• Sunday 6^th June – Temen-ni-Gru rises from Hell through the Hell Portal left by the Qliphoth. Once there, however, Sparda realises the ritual is flawed and needs a human to balance his involvement. Before Sparda can complete it, however, Mundus and his person army attacks. Ifrit is defeated in the Human Realm (Ch 8) and Mundus’ mooks by Sparda’s Captains AKA the DMC 3 bosses (mostly). Mundus retreats to Mallet Island with Echidna and Phantom. Sparda follows them, defeating Echidna and Phantom (Ch 9) and Mundus (Ch 11), sealing Mundus away within Mallet Island. However, he does not realised Phantom is still alive. Meanwhile, Griffon leads the other half of Mundus’ army against the Human Army. Together, Evelyn, Borak, Huo and Ahearn defeat Griffon, with Cathal’s tactics defeating the mooks. (Ch 10) Sparda returns to the humans in the ashes of battle. After a brief argument Evelyn is chosen to be the other lynch pin in the spell and she and Sparda fly back to Temen-ni-Gru.
• Monday 7^th June – They activate the spell but it’s still unbalanced, because it’s based almost entirely off Sparda’s soul but has no part of the soul of the other lynch pin. Evelyn realising this asks Sparda to kill her but when he refuses impales herself on DSS. The spell equalises, splitting Sparda’s soul into: himself; the barrier (combined with Evelyn’s soul because she dead now); Force Edge; the two amulets; Yamato; and Rebellion. This is very painful.
• Monday 8^th June – Sparda comes around in Temen-ni-Gru utterly weak having just had his soul split 7 ways and almost all his power sealed away. He manages to limp out of the tower (which seals itself away) before flying across the Atlantic again (also carrying Evelyn’s body) before collapsing upon coming into contact with the wards around the human camp
• Thursday 11^th June – Sparda wakes up outside the human camp (because wards) and explains to Ahearn, Cathal, Borak and Huo what happened to Evelyn. Borak says he understands but will not forgive Sparda and leaves.
• Friday 12^th June – Evelyn’s funeral. Towards the end Sparda leaves, flies to Albion and plants a tree where he met Evelyn, joining it to his lifeforce so it will live as long as he does. (Ch 12)
• Sometime September 6 AD – Sparda realises about Fortuna. He and Ahearn fly out to the Isle of Fortuna, where they meet Augustus and unify all of humanity. Allowing prosperity and good leadership for all. (Epilogue)

CHARACTERS

Shengtong Huo – Head Magus. A middle-aged Chinese woman. Kind of a stickler for traditions, although also kind. In a tough love kind of a way

Elantia – a Gaulish seamstress who fled Gaul for Albion. Very dyslexic and struggles to read and therefore to cast magic, hence staying as a seamstress. Has something of a temper

Anatu – Evelyn and Borak’s daughter. Basically, a mini Lady with green eyes and darker skin

Machiavelli - two stick-thin three-jointed limbs ending in long, twitching, deft hands                                       - a four-armed, two-legged demon. He had a body like a ball, perfectly round, from which emerged two, stick like, many jointed legs and four similarly unnatural and spindly arms. His head shaped like a rotten strawberry had merged into his spherical body, and as the demon turned, he revealed a long, thin nose emerging from it, almost as long as the first half of his forearm, upon which rested two round, blue glass spectacles and below which was a wide smile of fangs. He had no hair and was dressed in a rough parody of human clothes