~The Red Trench~

The unofficial demon hunter dragged his feet lazily homebound –or rather, towards the dilapidated place he called his home.

This young teenager had a goal in his mind, and though he was working towards it, slowly, bit by bit, he wasn’t even sure if he would accomplish anything at all.

He had no family –or so he thought –alive to care for him. He had no one to support him. No one, but himself. It had been so for the past fifteen years, and it wasn’t going to change. He loved no one, and no one loved him. Well, actually he loved himself, but did that matter?

He was covered in demon blood and ashes, and whatever juice that made part demon. He knew he smelled, and he knew he looked horrible. But, as he had done so for the past fifteen years, he didn’t care.

As if to fit his particularly gloomy mood for the night, a flash of lightning struck across the sky. A clap of thunder followed, and in the span of seconds, in which the teenager took to stop walking and observe the state of the black sky, a curtain of rain descended over him.

He cursed as he began to make for the nearest shelter –which happened to be a small rundown shack in the middle of nowhere. He knew it probably belonged to a homeless hobo, but for the moment, he didn’t care.

The shelter offered little warmth, but it did hide him from the water droplets that had hit his skin as if he were their mortal enemy.

He cursed quietly again as he wiped the water off his exposed skin. He knew he needed to get a coat someday; a coat that could withstand him. He needed a coat that could keep him warm in a cold day, a coat that could block demonic blood spray from his shirt and pants.

Of course, he had gotten it, for he had no time, and when he did have time, he usually forgot all about it.

“Young man… you look like you need a coat.” An old, raspy voice sounded in the darkness, and he spun around, clicking the safety of both his guns off.  The reason why he had not been able to reach his dream –to buy a demon hunting shop –was because of these two babies –Ebony and Ivory.

“Please do not harm me, for I am just a harmless, homeless and weary old man.” The speaker sure sounded it, and there was a faint flick of a match flame, which illuminated a wrinkled hand holding it.

The young man did not lower his guns as feeble hands shelter the flame from wind, bringing it to an oil lamp placed on the ground.

As soon as the lamp was lit, soft glow of yellow filled the small shack, and the young demon hunter looked around to see bits and pieces of rubbish left around, making into practical home use. Before him, across the lamp, sat an old feeble man with not-entirely-old eyes. Those eyes of intelligent green were dull, but they did bespeak of intelligence that made the young demon hunter wary. It seemed as if he had intruded on this hobo’s shelter, and he didn’t exactly know if he should step back out into the rain.

“If I am intruding on you, I’ll leave.” He said, making it sound like a question, keeping his guns when it was clear that this old man was neither demon nor someone capable enough to even wrestle him to the floor.

“No, no. You are welcome to stay until the rain stops. I hope you don’t mind the cluttered space of this little place I call my house. However, a name to address you by would be nice in return.” The old man smiled welcomingly, and though suspicious of what intent he might have, this hobo man gave him a homely feeling that he hadn’t felt since fifteen years old. It made him –unlikely as it was –want to stay.

“My name is Dante. Yours?” The young demon hunter took a seat, taking in the soft warmth the lamp offered. Rain continued to pour outside, and Dante unconsciously moved closer to the fire though it offered no extra warmth than he had already felt.

“I lost my name years ago when I lost everything I had. But you can call me Chris. I would pass some food for you, Dante, but I fear bread is all I have. I would give it to you, but it would deprive me and the little orphans hiding down the street what little energy a piece of bread may offer. I would pass you some water, but it might cause some of those poor starving kids to be dehydrated until tomorrow.” The old man explained, but the demon hunter shook his head.

“It is fine. I don’t need your food.” Since the demon hunter had not been communicating with many people the age of his grandfather, he wasn’t exactly sure how to communicate politely.

“Ahh… you seem like someone who has been living on his own for years on end. You have the backbone of an independent man.” Chris –the now-named hobo –observed as Dante tried his best not to look surprised.

“My parents died when I was young. I live alone.”

Chris the old hobo nodded his head.

“And you have been living thus far by…?”

Dante wondered if he should lie. No one liked the idea of being so close to a demon hunter –for some crazy fear that demons would hunt after these people first. But this man had been so kind and welcoming to him, to think of offering a mere stranger his rare meal and water.

“I hunt demons for a living.” Dante confessed, watching Chris carefully to see if he was replied by any adverse reactions from the older man

Chris merely nodded again. “A good path, albeit a dangerous one. Are you good at hunting demons?”

Dante thought of the fact that he was Sparda’s son, and of how infamous his name had now become in the demon world.

“I would say I am pretty good at it.” He state with no boast –surprisingly.

Again, the old man nodded thoughtfully. “Then let me hire you for a demon hunting job.”

Dante looked around at the small shack, at the shambles and scraps here and there. It was no surprise that the demon hunter either thought the old man was cracked in the head, or just over-confident of his ability to hire him.

“You can pay?” The young demon hunter asked rudely, and it came across clear to the old man that Dante had been long alone –away from his parents.

“In exchange for your services, let me make you a coat that will keep you away from the rain, and what danger that may come from your back.”

Dante folded his arms now. The young demon hunter, though not extremely experienced with dealing with clients trying to wring him of his money, knew when he was getting the short end of the deal.

“Demon hunting deals in exchange for a coat? Doesn’t that seem unfair to you, old man?” He asked sarcastically, but it didn’t bother the old hobo. Chris merely smiled, his wrinkles showing even more obviously as he did so. Small green eyes twinkled against the yellow glow, and instead of seeing someone trying to cheat him off his money, Dante saw a kind old man.

“It does seem unfair. My apologies, but you know I am a hobo. Had I have more money, I would not be here, hoping for your consent. I would not have made this shack my home, and orphans would not have come to know of me, would not have received what little meals I can offer for them. This shack would have been run-down, and you would have hidden in a shelter that offered no warmth and no company.” Chris answered intelligently, and again, Dante’s suspicion of the old hobo flared. Chris must have been really well-educated, but what could have caused a man like him to fall so far?

“I have lived fifteen years without warmth or company. What makes you think I would want some from you?” Dante challenged, testing the hobo’s willingness to stay by his word.

“Then you would not still be sitting here. You are young but old and weary at heart, as I am, Dante. You have lived a life orphaned, without warmth or love. You keep yourself closed to others, because you have been doing that since young. It made you practical made you survive. But it gave you no love or warmth. You walked into my little shack, and you found a little warmth. You have not left, and that makes me hold hope that you will agree to me.” Chris observed, and though Dante schooled his expression enough to not show his surprise, he most definitely was surprised on the inside.

What the hobo said had been true. Painful, but entirely true. Dante had walked his life alone for too long, and much as he didn’t want to admit it, this old hobo, this stranger, gave him a little warmth –the warmth that he craved for.

“Say you are right. Say you give me company and warmth. What does that have to do with me putting my life on the line for you in exchange for some lousy coat?”

It seemed as if nothing bothered or fazed the old man, for Chris’s smile never wavered –not even one bit.

“Not for me, young one. The demons I wished to be killed have been terrorizing the young orphans down the streets. They have watched one of their sisters killed, and they can do nothing about it. I wish to hire you, to help the fellow orphans out. Please reconsider before you turn me down. You are saving fellow orphans –children who had gone through the same experiences as you, and maybe less lucky than you are.”

“I don’t care about the other orphans.”

“Then do it for me, the warmth I have given you thus far, and the coat I promise you.”

“I don’t need all these. Thank you for offering, but I don’t need your lousy coat.” The young demon hunter regained his feet again, turning his back on the old hobo.

The shack door opened and closed, leaving the smiling old man in his own tiny home.

“Regardless, young one. I will be waiting for you return with your coat in my hands.” The old homeless man whispered silently to himself, dragged himself across the floor with his hands to his pile of accumulated cloth.

Dante never saw it, for the old man had always been sitting, but there was reason why Chris had fallen so low.

His legs had been torn off by demons, and all Chris had left was half of a left shin, and a right thigh.

**************************************************

The young demon hunter lingered on the roof, waiting patiently, quietly. He leaned against a chimney as one leg hung over the ledge. One hand twirled Rebellion absently as he stared up at the sky, daydreaming. He thought of the rainy day, the day he walked away from the old man in the shack.

He thought of how he had been coming back days on end to watch after the orphans that Chris had spoken of. He hadn’t been able to help himself –Dante always found himself back on the very same roof, waiting to kill some demons, waiting to save some young lives. He knew perfectly what it was like to live a life like orphans. The lives of orphans on the streets were usually the hardest, and he knew it perfectly well. It was experience that molded him, and he didn’t want demons to stop those tiny raging fire and will to live.

“Marley! Are you here?” Dante heard familiar whisper of a young boy he knew as Terence. There was a little hideout around the corner of the street where a group of six young orphans made their home. Terence was their leader –for he was the oldest, cleverest, most experienced and most cautious. He had a sister –Marley –who he would protect like his life depended on it. There were three other boys –Jack, Leon and Jake –as well as another young girl, Samantha. Six of them were like brothers and sisters, and stayed together. They looked after each other, and lived on what they could beg, steal and kill for.

“Big brother, I am here! Samantha is sick. She is getting really hot.” Dante heard a soft girl’s voice reply, and looked down to see the head of a blonde little girl running to meet her brother.

“We have a little money left. Take it and go buy some crushed herbs for her.”

“But, big brother-”

“We care for each other, Marley. We can earn the money back. What matter is we have Sam with us. We lost Jocelyn, and I’m not going to lose Sam to some stupid sickness because we didn’t want to spend.” Terence replied strictly, and there were no more complaints from his sister.

“I’ll go now, big brother. Samantha is inside. Leon and Jake went out to look for food.” The little girl replied dutifully, and Dante watched as the little girl receive only a small handful of money, beginning to bound off as if she were going to buy her favorite toy.

“Marley!” Terence shouted, stopping her before she ran away. “Watch out for demons!”

She nodded, and the blonde little head disappeared around the corner. Terence went back to their hiding spot, and Dante went back to staring at the sky. Fiddling with his amulet, he stared hard at the gem that shone bright red. It had been years since he missed his parents, and he did miss them –though quietly. He thought of his father, trapped in Hell, his mother, dead. How his life had been ruined by demons, how he swore to kill demons for as long as he lived.

Then, he approached a thought he did not think of for long. Where was Vergil? Was his brother still alive?

Dante’s train of thoughts was broken when he heard a piercing scream from a familiar voice. Looking down, he saw Terence standing before a dog-demon, frozen as the abomination opened its mouth, intent on tearing the kid apart with its razor sharp teeth. Dante was about to jump in, but Terence had other thoughts. In the last minute before the teeth sank into his skin, the little boy rolled away, conveniently giving the demon a hard kick in the face.

“C’mon, you stupid thing! You want some delicious human meat, come get it!” The little boy taunted, and though Dante could see the fear clearly in Terence’s eyes, he marveled at the child’s ability to stay calm.

Terence turned tail and ran when the dog demon began to pick up pace, and it became clear after only a short run that the demon was bound to catch up on him.

“Fuck!” Terence screamed, and it showed the state that the boy had caught himself in.

This time, Dante gave no hesitation. The demon reared its hind legs, ready to go pouncing on the boy. The boy looked back, at the last image of his life, a prayer on his lips. He prayed for the safety of his sister, of his friends. He prayed for forgiveness for not having taken his revenge for the dead Jocelyn who had been killed not long ago by demons too.

The prayer died when a new black figure appeared before him, and the sounds of a gargled whimper filled his ears. Dante removed his sword from the demon’s neck and gave it another slash, hacking off its head with one sharp swing.

Silence once again filled the quiet alleyway, save the panicked pants of the boy. Dante silently hung his sword back on his back, staining yet another shirt with demon blood. His front had been stained with the spray of the dog-demon’s blood, and he struggled not to wrinkle his nose. Yet another shirt needing wash. He truly needed a coat.

The demon hunter kicked at the body of the demon again, watching as it disintegrated to ashes at the impact. Satisfied, the demon hunter turned around, faced the kid outright, giving Terence an once-over as the boy did him too.

Intelligent blue eyes met stark aquamarine ones, and in it Dante saw no fear.

Dante reached into his pocket for loose change, coming up with several bills.

“Take this and get Samantha a doctor.” Dante instructed, tucking the money in the boy’s hands, and then moved to walk away as if nothing had happened.

“Wait.” The boy said before Dante left.

“I don’t know who you are, but tell Chris I said thanks. He knows I desire to be a demon hunter, and I know he hired you here.”

Dante looked at the kid from his peripheral vision, tilting his head slightly over his shoulder. What he saw now was no orphaned kid, but a child ready to work towards being a demon hunter.

“The old man didn’t hire me. I didn’t need his money or coat.”

With that, Dante walked off.

***********************************

The door to the shack opened and closed, and the intruder stopped in his footsteps before he could take another step further into the tiny home of the hobo’s.

The lamp remained lit on the ground and it provided him enough light to see what had happened. A corpse laid across him, not yet rotting but close.

Eyes were closed peacefully, but it was easy to see that death had been painful. Flesh was torn in shreds, hanging from the body like tattered bedspread. Holes puncture the chest, and a single hole was upon the forehead. Blood pooled and leaked everywhere.

It was difficult to see the cause of death, but it was obviously clear that this man had been maimed to pieces. He must have suffered so very much.

Dante stared at the sight before him, a little surprised that he felt so much pain at the death of such a stranger. He stepped around the lamp, ignoring the blood, and picked the corpse up in his arms. The head of old gray hair lolled back and Dante saw red material clutched tightly in the old man’s dead hands.

Carefully, he pried those fingers open, letting the cloth unfurl before his eyes. The cloth was no tatters, no dirty material made out from scrap. It was strong cotton, yet light as silk, soft as velvet. The cloth was definitely expensive, and he knew not how this old man could have gotten hands on this.

He couldn’t ask now. Not anymore.

Taking the trench coat from the dead man’s grip, he slung it over one shoulder as he carried the corpse outside. He found a shovel back in the shack, put on the trench coat for he didn’t want to dirty it by putting n the ground, and set to work digging a grave.

Halfway through, it began to rain.

Water washed away the blood that hung to Chris’s tattered skin. Water hit Dante’s face and head relentlessly.

But it was the first time he felt no coldness in the wind. For he was wearing the red trench coat.

A coat that was made for him, by the hands of a man who died waiting for him.

A man, who taught him more than he gave in reply.

A man who gave him warmth out of nowhere.