#I have a vendetta against craft feathers

[dr-wormman]

I know Strix’s cloak is probably made out of feathers from birds he’s hunted but I think the idea of him on his hands and knees, scouring the ground for feathers during molting season is really funny

[corvuserpens]

The Roads That End: a Devil May Cry fanfic

Hey everyone! So first of all, I haven’t written fanfic in like... ten years give or take. Second of all, this is fic is really REALLY self-indulgent for a good part of it. I wrote it for fun, because I love writing and I love Devil May Cry. If you’ve been following me for a while, you know I obviously love Vergil. I had... a MIGHTY NEED to give our devil boys the happiness they deserve, because if Capcom won’t do it, then I will by thunder!!

Anyway, this story was crafted based off the videogames (1, 3, 4 and 5), the anime, the manga Visions of V and some bits of the novella Before the Nightmare. The rest is “creative liberty” and might not correspond to canon, and I’m at peace with that.

So, yeah. Here it is, I hope you have fun reading this because I certainly had fun writing it! Chapter one will come in a bit, and then I’ll try to post every friday night (Lisbon/London timezone), so stay stuned for the continuation! G’night! 

PROLOGUE

May 18 -- 19:51 PM

Chaos reigned, and not just in terms of circumstance.

Lyca forgot how long they had been battling this horde, but by the ache in her arms and the strain on her back, it must have been hours. They were close, though. She stared the demon in front of her right in its empty eye sockets; her sword, the Morning Star, was held tight in her hands to stabilize herself.  

The creature hissed threateningly, slithering its long slick tongue as it prepared for an attack.  

Somewhere nearby she heard roaring thunder followed by a rain of bullets, and the screech of a dying monster before it was silenced with a heavy thud. Good, Lyca thought. Only one to go.

“C’mon, you piece of filth,” she goaded hoarsely, raising her weapon a little higher. The demon shook its dorsal plaques, razor sharp and as tall as a man’s legs, and planted its clawed hands on the ground with a deafening squeal. It jumped into the air, rolled itself into a ball like a giant reptilian hedgehog and shot forward, effectively bulldozing everything in its path. It came straight at her, but the huntress was ready: mere seconds from turning into goth confetti, she ran away.

Jumping to the side, Lyca hid behind what must have once been a large piece of wall - hopefully it would be thick enough for what she was planning. Behind her, she heard the demon halt, turn and charge again. She crouched into position, holding her sword in one hand.

“Corax, are we ready?” She demanded through labored breath. Looking up, a raven crossed the twilight sky like a shadow, circling around the abandoned parking lot.

“I was spawned ready,” he taunted. Beyond her cover, the Chaos demon approached as if it had a personal vendetta against her. Everywhere, pieces of broken asphalt shot out of its path; sparks flew when its back blades hit a smashed car, ramming it some three meters away. Lyca took a deep breath.

“Now!” Corax squawked.  

The raven dove. Lyca leapt. From her shoulder blades sprouted two masses of black feathers that spread out and propelled her upwards, safe from harm. Below, the demon struck the piece of wall she had been hiding behind only seconds ago, but instead of pulverizing it like everything else, it became stuck in it, incapable of moving. As it wiggled its arms around like an upturned turtle, groaning in confusion, Lyca looked over to the gas station not a meter from it. She beat her wings to gain altitude, and Corax followed.

“The pumps,” she indicated. The demonic bird obeyed by whipping out several individual feathers from his wings that flew straight to their target. Cutting as effectively as a scalpel, they hit the rusting pumps from top to bottom, causing the nauseous smelling gas inside to leak in torrents, forming pools around the Chaos.

“Trish!” She called, glancing behind her just in time to see the bewitching devil do an air flip forward, an ever-present feline smirk on her lips.

“Lighten up, would you?” She mocked, a hand raised to call up the storm.

Lyca felt the hairs on her arms stand as electricity beams sparked and writhed around the blonde’s fingers. She covered her face and braced herself; even so, the explosion generated by lightning hitting gasoline still knocked her backwards and made her ears ring.  

The stench of burning demon flesh filled her nose as she fell. Her wings extended to slow her down, and still she dropped heavily on her hands and knees. With a hiss, she massaged her calves and stood up, letting the wings dissolve into dust and plumes. She walked up to her companion, who landed on both feet as gracefully as if she had skipped a couple of stair steps. 

Show-off.

Together, they contemplated the crater Trish had created. Somehow, the demon was still moving despite its broken plaques and scorched body. Stubborn resilience or survival instinct, it was impossible to tell which drove the creature to extend its claws towards the two women, growling furiously.

“Y’know...” Lyca muttered. “I really hate these nasty motherfuckers.”

Trish huffed a chuckle. “Yeah, they’re a mean breed, aren’t they? Just don’t know when to quit.”

“Fortunately--” the black-haired huntress hopped into the still sizzling hole and held the grip of the Star in both hands. “-- I know how to make them quit.”

The Chaos made a feeble attempt at trying to dig its needle-like teeth into her leg when she got close enough. It was in excruciating pain and all but immobilized, but neither suffering nor hindrance could extinguish its hatred for her. Lyca turned the blade around so the tip was pointed down, lifted it high above her head and sunk it through the center of the monster's skull until it hit the earth beneath. The demon twitched and spasmed violently for a few disturbing seconds, then eventually stopped moving altogether.

With a deep breath and the help of her boot planted on its neck, Lyca pulled out the bloodied sword, staggered backwards and landed on her rear while watching the body crumble into dust. Panting, she hanged her head and pulled out her leather glove with her teeth to wipe the sweat from her face. When she looked down at her palm, she saw it was heavily stained with blood and ash, yet didn’t find any serious wounds when she dabbed her cheeks and forehead with the tips of her fingers.

She spat out the glove. “Gross...” 

A light weight settled on her shoulder.

“You look terrible,” Corax commented, making no effort to conceal the amusement in his croak. “And you stink.”

“Not as much as you,” she shot back with a grin.  

“Excuse me, but I’m not the one covered in demon blood and guts right now. Seriously, you need a shower.”

“Yeah, but you stink by default because you ARE a demon.” She sniffed her arm pit and almost gagged. “You’re right though, I do need a shower.”

“Up you get, then.” He fluttered off her shoulder, dragging a piece of her skintight shirt along. “C’mon, you’ll feel better after some hot water and soap.”

As much as her whole body complained, Lyca stood up while pulling her glove back on. She sheathed her sword around her back and climbed out of the crater; up there, Trish extended her hand to help her out, which she gladly accepted.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” she joked as she watched the other lean forward with her hands on her knees. Lyca laughed half-heartedly.

“Give me a break, will you? We just fought an entire horde of demons on our own! I’m only human, remember?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll just say it’s your age, then.”

Lyca straightened up. Having recovered her breath, she took in the ruined parking lot of the gas station that not long ago had been heavily frequented.

The highway out of Red Grave used to stretch out on either sides of the platform, but now it lay broken, divided and positively uprooted. Where once there were plains, now hills and mountains reached skywards, completely altering the landscape. Most of the farming fields in the area were turned to a wasteland; buildings had collapsed; there were holes and canyons where gigantic Qliphoth roots previously snaked in and out of the ground.  

It had been a year since the demonic tree was felled, and despite the efforts to restore the city to a habitable state, the remaining hordes of devils running around made it into a slow and deadly task. To think this used to be one of the most well-known metropolises in the country, so sought after by the rural dwellers and outsiders... Now it was little more than a modern-day ruin.

She glanced back at the hole where the gas pumps used to be, replaying the move she and Trish had pulled to trick the demon into staying still. Dante would have loved it, she mused to herself with sadness. She could almost hear his laughter and see his wide toothy grin of pure gratification at the carnage.

“Let’s go home,” she sighed. “I’m starving and I can hear my bathtub calling.”

Trish gave her shoulder a gentle push. “I can see the gears in your head spinning out of control. Stop. We did good, that’s all that matters.”

“I’m fine,” Lyca waved her off. “It’s just... a depressing view.” She shook her head. “Anyway, have you seen Boa?”

Trish didn’t need to answer, for soon she felt a long, slippery body climb around her leg, her waist, then wrap around her shoulders. Lyca smiled and smoothed a hand along it, feeling its warmth even through her glove.

“Present,” the white-scaled serpent spoke, dragging out the “S” with her forked tongue stuck out. “I checked the surroundings – no more demons.”

“Good.” Lyca extended her arm for Corax to perch on, his milky eyes unsettling and watchful. “Well done, guys. Thank you.”

“Always a pleasure.” Boa faded out of view and took the shape of a silver bracelet coiled around Lyca’s right arm. Corax did the same, only he assumed the form of a pendant, a crow skull made of steel hanging from her neck.

“Maybe next time we should ask the Mayor to lend us a military squad,” she suggested to Trish as they began the short walk out of the lot. “They’re dumb as nails, but at least they can point and shoot.”

“Are you kidding? They’ll get themselves killed in two seconds.” The blonde devil took out her double pistols by turn, reloaded them and put them back in the holster hanging from her hips. “They couldn’t hold back the invasion or stop the spread of the Qliphoth, so what makes you think they can take down a Chaos demon or worse?”

“Blind optimism?”

Trish snorted. “You’d end up feeling guilty when one of them inevitably got his head chopped off.”

“Eh... You’re probably right.”  

To get out of the gas station compound they had to go through the auto repair shop adjacent to it. They got inside through the smashed glass wall, every step grinding on the shards spread around the linoleum floor. Like the rest of the destroyed half of Red Grave, everything was in disarray and there were signs of looting, judging by the empty shelves and the upturned cash register on the ground, its contents long gone. They crossed the room toward the garage where a single dismantled van remained, and headed to the gate through which the vehicles needing repair used to be brought in. Outside, Trish’s motorcycle and Lyca’s ugly, outdated rental car waited for their return.

“Hey, hold up.” Trish called. Lyca turned to see what had gotten her attention; she was looking at the inside of the wall, her brows knit together in intrigue.  

“What is it?” She asked while returning inside the garage.

“Isn’t this that weird symbol again?”

Trish pointed at a red mark, something that could have been mistaken as graffiti were it not for the fact that the rest of the walls were bare, and that this symbol didn’t resemble any word or letter in the Roman alphabet. What it did resemble however, was cuneiform script - Lyca recognized the typical triangle markings. She frowned and crossed her arms.

“Yeah, it is,” she confirmed. What that symbol meant, neither of them had any idea. It had shown up at the beginning of the year and they assumed it was random gibberish or perhaps a tag left behind from before the Qliphoth. “This is the...?”

“The third one, yes.” Trish looked at her partner, hands on her hips. “Isn’t it odd that we keep running into it?”

“Very odd. Not many people know about the existence of cuneiform, much less enough of it to formulate a word that means anything.”

Trish hummed in thought. The sun was getting close to the horizon, extending the shadows of anything that still stood and blanketing the world in darkness. Inside the shop was already almost pitch-back, and unlike her friend, Lyca couldn’t see in the dark.

“At any rate, we should go.” She stepped back outside, desperate to go home and wash. “It’s getting late.”

“Right... Let me just take some pictures.” Trish conjured her smartphone into her hand by magic and snapped a few shots, each one activating the flash light which momentarily illuminated the shop.

In the meantime, Lyca removed the strap of her sword and tossed it into the back seat of her car before opening the driver’s door, resting her tired arms on it. When Trish was done, she made the phone disappear, strutted toward her bike and flung a leg over the seat. She didn’t wear or even bring a helmet – devils weren’t prone to taking damage from road accidents, anyway.

“See you at the agency?” Lyca asked as she watched her revving up the engine. The blonde smirked and pulled a pair of pointy black spectacles from her leather jacket, putting them over her eyes.

“Last one there is paying for dinner.” And without bothering to wait for the black-haired huntress to get ready, she was off at speeds which Lyca’s poor old rental could never hope to match. Sighing in premature defeat, she slid into the driver’s seat, spent a good minute switching the engine on and followed Trish, searching her pockets for change.

[gramilano]

Progetto Haendel – photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

Mauro Bigonzetti’s Progetto Händel is intimate, expressive and beautiful to watch. Yes, for La Scala at least, it is low-cost – an EasyJet ballet – and you could see something similar with another company for a quarter of the price, but if you don’t have to worry about your wallet this is certainly a programme to see.

Progetto Händel finds Bigonzetti in Bigonzetti Country. I was praying that I would like this work as otherwise it would seem that I were harbouring a vendetta against him after my recent articles. My prayers were answered. While the work is not ideal for La Scala – only a small group of dancers, no scenery, and no orchestra – it works perfectly as a contemporary ballet piece, is just right for touring, and ideal for most theatres who are not blessed with a large corps de ballet, a world-class orchestra, and avant-garde stage machinery. Bigonzetti certainly loves this music, in fact it is not the first time he has used Handel’s music as his score, and his movements caress, reflect and illuminate these impeccably crafted compositions.

Progetto Haendel – photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

Progetto Händel is in two parts. The first sees the dancers in monochrome costumes in a black space under Carlo Cerri’s precise, clean lighting. James Vaughan is at the piano playing Handel Keyboard Suites, with two main dancers and fourteen others.

The second part introduces a little colour, and a violin, oboe, flute and cello join Vaughan who plays a harpsichord. The same main couple are accompanied by twelve other dancers (some are the same, some are different… I don’t know why).

There is no narrative, though there’s tension, much sensitivity, and some witty touches.

After an ensemble opening of beautifully lit contorting bodies, Progetto Händel proceeds with a series of solos and duets, starting with a gorgeous, sinuous Maria Celeste Losa. Helena de Medeiros’ skilfully constructed costumes are half costume and half sculpture, like deconstructed tutus. The girls strut and preen; exotic birds with curious plumage. Oddly, a few have their ‘feathers’ in front, leaving small, shiny buttocks on display, like perky baboons.

Stefania Ballone stands out, as always, with her strong personality and equally strong moves. Timofej Andrijashenko and Antonella Albano’s long duet was fascinating in its gymnastic invention, yet tender and intense. Tender too were Marco Agostino and Christian Fagetti who wrapped themselves around each other with a forceful softness.

The main couple do not dominate in the first part, but come into their own after the interval. The curtain parts to reveal a knot of undulating limbs, dimly lit, which are revealed to be those of Svetlana Zakharova and Roberto Bolle.

Progetto Haendel – Svetlana Zakharova and Roberto Bolle photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

Progetto Haendel – Svetlana Zakharova and Roberto Bolle photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

Progetto Haendel – Svetlana Zakharova and Roberto Bolle photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

Progetto Haendel – Svetlana Zakharova and Roberto Bolle photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

Progetto Haendel – Svetlana Zakharova and Roberto Bolle photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

There is a reason a star dancer becomes so, and Zakharova, especially, shines brightly above the rest. She was a goddess, and Bigonzetti has mined her many strengths and put them on display. It is always interesting, and occasionally amusing, to watch a classical ballet company trying more contemporary moves. Some dancers are unable, or psychologically unwilling, to step outside the ‘rigidness’ of their classical training. Not so with Zakharova, she goes from an arabesque to unaligned flexibility with ease and naturalness. It is the quality of her movement that makes her standout with her never-ending port de bras and the varied dynamics she applies to each step. That twelve o’clock leg is never repetitive because she uses it like a soprano uses a top note: sometimes it’s sung forte, other times piano, occasionally it is arrived at via a portamento, and it can die away with a diminuendo. It keeps the audience on the edge of their seats. Magical.

Progetto Haendel – Svetlana Zakharova and Roberto Bolle photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

Bolle, too, has been treated well by Bigonzetti who has given him all his favourite moves, and even a nod to his Basilio with a slow, high relevé on one foot. His fans were out in force, and when two small cuddly toys were thrown from the gallery during the curtain call, he looked a little sheepish as he handed a white bunny to Zakharova. More used to baskets of roses at the Bolshoi, she played with its ears bemusedly as they walked upstage to join the other dancers and they both, wisely, left the fluffy creatures there.

Their main duet is set to the Sarabande from the Suite in D minor – known in my house as ‘the Barry Lyndon music’ – and in La Scala’s vast auditorium you could have heard a pin drop.

In this second part, costumes similar to those already seen are now subtly coloured and the atmosphere is more expansive. Notable here was Fagetti dancing alongside Walter Madua, and Massimo Garon who gave his solo flair.

The piece ends as the lights fade on all the pairs echoing the opening movements. The applause was long and well deserved.

Progetto Haendel photo Brescia e Amisano, Teatro alla Scala, 2017

Mauro Bigonzetti’s Progetto Händel, with Zakharova and Bolle, wows La Scala Mauro Bigonzetti’s Progetto Händel is intimate, expressive and beautiful to watch. Yes, for La Scala at least, it is low-cost – an EasyJet ballet – and you could see something similar with another company for a quarter of the price, but if you don’t have to worry about your wallet this is certainly a programme to see.