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and i swear to the stars, i'm gonna burn this whole city down
Another kinda older thing. DMC4. Postgame fallout. No real immediate spoilers beyond who's standing at the end of everything. Mostly I was experimenting with my Nero voice. Don't think I had it down at this point.
“Demon! Hellspawn!”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Nero. He took a bite out of a peach as he watched one of the local butchers advance with a broken street-sign. He checked the time on the big clock in the square. It said eighth hour of the day. It’d said that for the last three hours. Nero signed and tossed the peach over his shoulder. As far as angry mobs went, this was a pretty scattered, shell-shocked bunch. No Knights as far as he could see, but he figured if any of them had survived without being all demonified, they probably had other things to think about right now. “I figured as much. You people always did know how to make a guy feel welcome.”
“You’ve done this,” frothed an old woman, waving a bony hand at the trashed streets. The remains of the Savior piled up not too far away, a new rise of stone on the good old Fortuna skyline. “You brought this upon us!”
“Not really,” said Nero, not really expecting to be believed. “Settle down, Grandma. You’re a little old to be throwing stones.”
The amount of shouts and sputtering this brought almost made Nero feel things were back to normal. One lady had the remains of an iron fence, another guy had what looked to be a backhoe. They were advancing with something that almost looked like a uniform determination. Nero picked up a car crashed across the street. Townsfolk gasped. Nero let it dangle in front of him for a second before slamming it down into the cobblestone. He vaulted up onto the roof, and leaned over one knee, wagging his clawed index finger.
“Listen to me,” hissed Nero. “You believe what you want. If that happens to be that bastard and his grade A B.S? Fine. You go on believing that. And I can believe he was a shriveled old fuckface and we can all be good and faithful under the eye’s of God. How’s that?”
He stared down into about a dozen slack faces.
“D-devil,” said one, faintly.
Nero rolled his eyes and reached for another nearby truck to pile on his barricade, ready to knuckle down for what was going to be a long day, except he caught sight of a small figuring pushing her way through the group. The townsfolk glanced at her. Saw who she was. Stepped to the side almost out of simple surprise. Nero put the truck back where he found it and jumped off the car.
“Nero!” cried Kyrie, bent under a sizable pack. She couldn’t quite control where it swung. Townsfolk had to get out of her way to avoid getting hit.
“Sister Kyrie,” said the butcher. Everyone knew Kyrie. “Take care! He’s…”
“I’m sorry,” breathed Kyrie, standing straight as Nero lifted the pack off her arm. “I wanted to pick up a few things. There was more than I expected.”
The old lady, who had not taken Nero’s very sound advice, crackled in alarm: “Sister Kyrie! Be watchful!”
“It’s not much.” Nero hefted the bag. “Kyrie. You sure about--”
“Yes.”
Nero grinned. “All right.”
“Demon! Hellspawn!”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Nero. He took a bite out of a peach as he watched one of the local butchers advance with a broken street-sign. He checked the time on the big clock in the square. It said eighth hour of the day. It’d said that for the last three hours. Nero signed and tossed the peach over his shoulder. As far as angry mobs went, this was a pretty scattered, shell-shocked bunch. No Knights as far as he could see, but he figured if any of them had survived without being all demonified, they probably had other things to think about right now. “I figured as much. You people always did know how to make a guy feel welcome.”
“You’ve done this,” frothed an old woman, waving a bony hand at the trashed streets. The remains of the Savior piled up not too far away, a new rise of stone on the good old Fortuna skyline. “You brought this upon us!”
“Not really,” said Nero, not really expecting to be believed. “Settle down, Grandma. You’re a little old to be throwing stones.”
The amount of shouts and sputtering this brought almost made Nero feel things were back to normal. One lady had the remains of an iron fence, another guy had what looked to be a backhoe. They were advancing with something that almost looked like a uniform determination. Nero picked up a car crashed across the street. Townsfolk gasped. Nero let it dangle in front of him for a second before slamming it down into the cobblestone. He vaulted up onto the roof, and leaned over one knee, wagging his clawed index finger.
“Listen to me,” hissed Nero. “You believe what you want. If that happens to be that bastard and his grade A B.S? Fine. You go on believing that. And I can believe he was a shriveled old fuckface and we can all be good and faithful under the eye’s of God. How’s that?”
He stared down into about a dozen slack faces.
“D-devil,” said one, faintly.
Nero rolled his eyes and reached for another nearby truck to pile on his barricade, ready to knuckle down for what was going to be a long day, except he caught sight of a small figuring pushing her way through the group. The townsfolk glanced at her. Saw who she was. Stepped to the side almost out of simple surprise. Nero put the truck back where he found it and jumped off the car.
“Nero!” cried Kyrie, bent under a sizable pack. She couldn’t quite control where it swung. Townsfolk had to get out of her way to avoid getting hit.
“Sister Kyrie,” said the butcher. Everyone knew Kyrie. “Take care! He’s…”
“I’m sorry,” breathed Kyrie, standing straight as Nero lifted the pack off her arm. “I wanted to pick up a few things. There was more than I expected.”
The old lady, who had not taken Nero’s very sound advice, crackled in alarm: “Sister Kyrie! Be watchful!”
“It’s not much.” Nero hefted the bag. “Kyrie. You sure about--”
“Yes.”
Nero grinned. “All right.”