New York,
Some hours earlier

Feeling the weight of the angelic sphere in the stolen lab coat’s pocket, Akito entered his father’s house with grim purpose. He needed more men and a place to set the last battle against the accursed Italians, and thanks to his divine ally, he had the means to acquire them. 

The Larsa family and all their goons would pay for murdering his older brother. No one messed with the Yamaguchi-gumi and lived to talk about it, not even demons.

Making his way through the lavish, labyrinthic corridors of the family’s mansion, the young man finally found his father in the inner garden. The old oyabun was tending to his bonsai collection as if they weren’t waging a war outside of their walls.

Fool.

How could he be tending stupid plants when his son’s murder still needed to be avenged? What Vergil Larsa did nine months ago was an afront to their family’s honor. Then why wasn’t he using every last second to take back what they had lost?

Cold anger burned his veins as Akito made his way to his old man. The thought of killing the oyabun crossed his mind, making the black roots show under his fair skin, but his father turned around, staying his hand without meaning to.

 The mob boss swept his gaze over his youngest son and second lieutenant, taking in every detail. The black veins showing through Akito’s fair skin, the dark gray pants that seemed a little too big around the waist, the black loafers at least a size too big for his feet, and a coffee-stained lab coat with the name “Dr. Caster” embroidered in cursive blue letters. The oyabun pressed his lips into a thin line and went back to his bonsai. “They told me you were dead,” old Yamaguchi said in Japanese, his dark gaze never lifting from the small cherry tree before him. “I guess you are in a way. That power you sought isn’t right, my son.”

“I’m doing what you should have done,” the younger man answered in English. Contrary to his late brother, Isao, Akito was born in the United States and considered English his primary language. Knowing his dear old dad hated that notion, made him use English even more. At the end of the day, he lived to spite his father. “Aren’t you angry they murdered your precious, perfect heir and left you with the spare one? You, such a traditional Japanese, don’t want your honor back?”

The old man finally stopped fusing over the cherry tree and faced the only flesh-and-blood son he had left. “Not at the cost of your humanity.”

“We are gangsters, dad, there’s no humanity left in us.” Akito’s dark brown eyes became pools of tar while his skin took a sickly paleness, making the oyabun take a step back. “I’m going to ask you this one more time. Are you going to help me regain our honor or not?”

The man shook his head slowly with the gleam of fright in his russet irises, but he refused to look away. He would die facing his enemy like a true warrior, if it came to that.

Akito nodded and the black roots under his skin darkened and grew, covering every bit of unexposed flesh. “Then it’s time I start giving the orders around here.” The root inside his index finger grew, breaking through skin and covering the distance between the mobsters until it pierced the oyabun’s forehead in a matter of seconds. Blood trailed down between the eyes of old Yamaguchi before his body slumped to the ground.

The son breached the distance and gazed at the corpse of his father with cold eyes. His hands reached inside the left pocket of the borrowed white coat until his fingers brushed against the silky threads of his triumph card. The molten gold feather glowed in the afternoon sunlight, bathing the inner garden in its brilliance. He had no clue how something so pure and beautiful could turn humans into twisted abominations, but it served his purpose. Thanks to such angelic feathers, the Yakuza had the strength to take on demons and send them back to where they came from.

Crouching beside the corpse, Akito ripped a few golden strands from the divine feather and pressed them into the mortal wound he had inflicted, scarlet staining his fingers. He reached into his pocket once again and pulled out a small coppery disk— which was no bigger than a fingernail and felt sandy —to seal the feather strands inside the hole.

A smile curved his lips as he stood, casting shadows over the lifeless body of his dad and leader. “Let’s see what you turn into, oto-san.”

Unlike with his live guineapigs, this time the process started slow. His father’s corpse remained still for an eternity before the skin began turning a purplish gray and thorns— similar to the ones of roses but bigger, way bigger— sprouted like daisies in Spring from his arms. The hands grew in length as the fingers curved and hardened, becoming sharp talons.

If these were the results of turning dead people, then he should make more. By his dad’s new appearance, this type of monster should be a good match for the strongest demons.

Old Yamaguchi’s eyes opened without warning, revealing pools of milk instead of tar, while his three bodyguards entered the inner garden.

The men’s faces blanched as they looked from the still prone mutated old man to their young boss.

“What’s going on here, Akito-sama?” the closest bodyguard asked him, disbelieve and fright dancing in his dark coffee irises.

“Perfect timing, guys! I need a favor from all of you.” Akito’s lips curved in a dark broad smile as roots emerged from the five fingers of his left hand.

Mina finished feeding little Arian and laid him over her lap since the four-month-old boy loved to sleep hearing her unborn daughter move inside her belly. At eight months of gestation, the small demoness had another four left before she could come into the world but already had her own tiny bodyguard.

The brunette smiled and hugged the boy closer. Just seeing him turn to his side to grab her swollen belly brought bloody tears to her eyes. Ariashka would be so proud of her boy. “If only your mother hadn’t left us,” she murmured, brushing Arian’s ginger hair away from his golden eyes without irises— the same as his late mother. “I miss her so much.” A scarlet tear ran down Mina’s cheek and fell to her white blouse before she could stop it.

The baby stirred at the smell of blood, but to her surprise he didn’t wake. He only put his thumb inside his mouth and kept sleeping, grabbing her belly with his free chubby hand. The tiniest of red scales had begun to emerge over his gray skin, forming patterns similar to the ones of his father’s demon form.

She wiped the blood from her cheek and licked her fingers clean as she watched the adorable critter.

Arian could have his mother’s eyes, but the rest of his little body was all Nockrish.

Mina’s lips curved with a small smile at the thought of the redhead incubus. Lately, the demonic bodyguard had been spending more and more of his free time with her and Vergil. Though, to be fair, she didn’t mind it at all because it meant she got to have Arian with her longer. Taking care of the boy for the duration of Nockrish’s shifts wasn’t enough for her anymore.

She wanted to be more than just Arian’s nanny.

She wanted to be his mom.

I’m sorry, Ariashka. I don’t want to usurp your place, but your son has stolen my heart.

She felt a soft kick from her daughter and the boy cooed in his sleep. Was her baby girl already jealous of Arian? The brunette burst out laughing before her cheeks reddened and she clamped her mouth shut. It wasn’t wise to wake the boy up.

Picking Arian in her arms, Mina stood from the sofa when a chill went down her back, making the little hairs in the back of her head stand on end. From the darkness of the living room a figure took shape before her. The demon of long white hair and glowing purple eyes summoned a falchion to his hands, the weapon shone with otherworldly light.

“I suggest you attempt a teleportation while you still can, princess,” the male said, sensing the enemy flood the hallway leading to their apartment. “I’ll cover your retreat.

Holding the baby tighter to her chest, Mina shook her head, her silver irises shining in the darkness of the room. “You know I’m a disaster using magic, Zafan. I won’t risk the lives of my babies like that.”

Her guard growled as he gripped his weapon harder. “You’re risking them anyways!” he said as the front door of the apartment opened with a loud bang and three monsters spilled inside.

***********
A/N: Here I leave the meanings of the Japanese words.

1- oyabun= mob boss
2- oto-san= father

Song: In the Shadows by Rasmus