Categories > Games > Devil May Cry
His blade was tinted red in the dim light of the unnaturally large moon, from the many he'd dispatched back to where they'd come, as he paused there, atop the dunes to survey the destruction below. Truthfully, he shouldn't have even been able to enter the so-called 'Holy Land', being what he was, and the supposed sacrosanct nature of the place.
It was a lie, but he wasn't going to tell the humans that.
This was the sole reason he'd even taken up arms in these 'crusades' to recapture God's country. The hordes of undead and demons alike that roamed these lands, in cracks of the seal he'd placed upon Hell. It was something he'd anticipated, though he hadn't guessed those cracks would appear so soon. Mundus was no doubt desperate to seek another way into the mortal realm.
Well, that was fine. The lone figure swung his sword around and cleaned the red stain from the demonically forged steel against his tunic, not worried in the slightest for the white cloth emblazoned with the red gothic cross. Of course not. The fools of the Order traipsed around disguised as a holy order and worshipped demons in secret, never once guessing there was a true demon in their midst, laughing at them all silently.
Love mortals he might, but he certainly didn't empathise with those that pittered in the affairs of things they did not understand. Whatever misfortune befell them, it was of their own making. He certainly wouldn't be the one to drag their sorry arses out of it.
The low bellowing of a horn sounded in the direction of the camp, and he turned back that way, noting the fires, lit for warmth against the cold desert nights, had grown larger, meaning they were being used as a signal, to draw those wandering in the dunes back to camp for whatever waited there. And for several long moments, he simply watched as patches of moving white, dyed blue by the moon's light, and crimson by the fires, sprang to life all below him, their pace fast to reach the campsite where, no doubt, another attack was happening. He honestly debated if returning himself was worth the worry.
In the end, the self-sacrificing nature won out, and he was moving to rendevous with the others, inhuman and nimble over the sand until he drew close enough to be seen, in order to let himself plod along as heavily as the other knights moving to meet the enemy. It was simply easier that way, and safer, to let them think he was simply another mortal-born nobleman with delusions of superiority of nationality than to expose the truth; that he was the one pulling the strings behind it all, leading them to their ultimate destruction.
Cruel...Harsh...Yet it was for the greater good, of all humanity, rather than the privaledged few. It was that, after all, that was the reason he even stood upon the mortal sands in the first place.
It was a lie, but he wasn't going to tell the humans that.
This was the sole reason he'd even taken up arms in these 'crusades' to recapture God's country. The hordes of undead and demons alike that roamed these lands, in cracks of the seal he'd placed upon Hell. It was something he'd anticipated, though he hadn't guessed those cracks would appear so soon. Mundus was no doubt desperate to seek another way into the mortal realm.
Well, that was fine. The lone figure swung his sword around and cleaned the red stain from the demonically forged steel against his tunic, not worried in the slightest for the white cloth emblazoned with the red gothic cross. Of course not. The fools of the Order traipsed around disguised as a holy order and worshipped demons in secret, never once guessing there was a true demon in their midst, laughing at them all silently.
Love mortals he might, but he certainly didn't empathise with those that pittered in the affairs of things they did not understand. Whatever misfortune befell them, it was of their own making. He certainly wouldn't be the one to drag their sorry arses out of it.
The low bellowing of a horn sounded in the direction of the camp, and he turned back that way, noting the fires, lit for warmth against the cold desert nights, had grown larger, meaning they were being used as a signal, to draw those wandering in the dunes back to camp for whatever waited there. And for several long moments, he simply watched as patches of moving white, dyed blue by the moon's light, and crimson by the fires, sprang to life all below him, their pace fast to reach the campsite where, no doubt, another attack was happening. He honestly debated if returning himself was worth the worry.
In the end, the self-sacrificing nature won out, and he was moving to rendevous with the others, inhuman and nimble over the sand until he drew close enough to be seen, in order to let himself plod along as heavily as the other knights moving to meet the enemy. It was simply easier that way, and safer, to let them think he was simply another mortal-born nobleman with delusions of superiority of nationality than to expose the truth; that he was the one pulling the strings behind it all, leading them to their ultimate destruction.
Cruel...Harsh...Yet it was for the greater good, of all humanity, rather than the privaledged few. It was that, after all, that was the reason he even stood upon the mortal sands in the first place.
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