Decline - Ch. 3
Decline- Devil May Cry / Silent Hill crossover fanfiction
Genre: Horror, survival, action/adventure.
Rating: PG-13. Language and general ickiness.
Author’s Note: If you have the time, I recommend skimming or re-reading the back half of the second chapter, just as partial background. It helps the cohesiveness, but it’s just a suggestion. I claim no knowledge of car repair. Also, I have nothing against New Jersey. I’m sure it’s a lovely place. Or at least was a lovely place. At some point.
Summary:
"He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster." -Friedrich Nietzsche
Nero was beginning to realize how bizarrely normal Silent Hill could be.
Sophia led the way through right-angle twists and turns, checking the unfamiliar street signs at every chance, and he followed closely. She moved quickly, and he couldn’t blame her. The empty store fronts, occasionally boarded doors or smashed windows betrayed the emptiness of the town, amid the faded signs and peeling paint. It was a normal town, with restaurants and stores and buildings common to all civilization, but with sinister overtones. The silence, kept at bay only by their footsteps, reminded him of a condemned neighborhood, not quite recently evacuated, but before nature reclaimed the area.
At one point in the quiet, uneasy journey, Sophia stopped at any intersection, looking both ways down the perpendicular street, and the fog beyond.
Nero frowned. He couldn’t sense any difference in the paths, but the fact that she’d suddenly stopped troubled him. “You’re sure you know where you’re going?”
“I lived here,” She replied, mildly. “The fog may be relatively recent, but everything else is the same. We go this way.” It was the street to their right.
Nero wasn’t sure whether he was startled or not. The pale, unwell look that she had made him believe her when she said she lived here. He couldn’t imagine comfortably staying here longer than a week, let alone living in a such a place. It was a wonder someone with Dante’s attention span had stayed sane inside the city limits. “So it’s not always like a bad horror flick?”
“It used to be alright,” Sophia glanced over her shoulder, but it was to look past him. “But places change before you realize. Too gradual to really notice, I guess.”
Nero looked over his own shoulder, but saw nothing but the fog they’d just passed through. Either she was paranoid, or there was something he should be looking out for. Sadly, either could be true in this place. A noise barely brushed past his ear, and he almost stopped. Could there have really been something? Or was it just his own mind, playing tricks on him?”
“The mechanic’s is just up there.” Sophia pointed down the street, shifting the weight of the canvas bag on her back.
“…phie!” called his imagination, and Nero did his best to ignore it. While he hated the idea that his own senses were working against him, that was probably all it was. Sooner or later, he’d get used to it, and it would all
“Sophie!”
She almost paused, but seemed to think better of it, keeping her attention turned squarely ahead. He put a hand on Blue Rose, walking backwards for a few paces to get a better look at the street behind them. Empty, the fog shifting in formless patterns from invisible breezes. At least he knew he wasn’t going crazy-- someone was calling Sophia’s name, or nickname, whatever.
“Nero!”
He stopped, immediately. The voice was feminine and stressed, beyond visible range, but within hearing. Searching the fog for any kind of sign, he took a few steps in the direction the call had come, listening intently.
“Nero--!”
“Wait!” Sophia appeared beside him, grabbing his arm and ineffectively trying to pull him away from the voice. But the motion caught his attention, and he looked down at her strained expression. “It’s no one! Come on, we’re almost there!”
“But--” He stopped, as the voice wailed again, this time an indistinct cry of pain that put him on a knife’s edge. “There’s someone out there, are you just going to--”
“Look! It’s the shop! See? We’re there!” Sophia gestured persistently to the grubby mechanic shop: ‘BALDWIN AUTO’ One of the large glass windows at the front had been shattered, and the OPEN sign had fallen out onto the street.
Nero looked back out into the fog, torn for a moment. Yeah, the shop was right there, that was what he’d come along for, but on the other hand, someone out there in the fog knew him, and it sounded like they needed his help, too--
But, really, what were the chances? It was more likely some kind of trick. Sophia certainly thought so, and she’d been here a much longer time than he had. Armed with this wary conviction, he let his hand drop away from Blue Rose, and left the streets in favor of the auto parts shop.
It was a dusty, crowded building lined with shelves filled with parts. Crusted-over cans of leaky oil, grimy, half-used carburetors, windshield wipers, headlights, hubcaps, batteries, jumper cables, all kinds of automobile paraphernalia had been stuffed onto the shelves, spilling out onto the floor in some places. There was a smell like far-decayed meat lingering around the back of the store, and Nero avoided it as he picked his way through the store.
Sophia, now standing guard outside, had given him the large canvas bag to carry whatever he found. He walked through the empty aisles, automatically selecting standard, mostly useable parts, only distantly thinking about actually repairing the truck. It was a common model, if not slightly outdated, so it wasn’t a great mental task. Nero’s thoughts were still outside, searching amid the banks of fog for the voices calling for them. After yesterday’s incident at the gas station, he’d all but given up on the idea that Silent Hill supported real people anymore. Clearly it had, if Sophia was being honest.
If Sophia was being honest.
He glanced over his shoulder at the blonde, who was still stationary, staring out at the fog. He didn’t want to have to be suspicious of her. She was the only proof that Silent Hill wasn’t completely evil enough to mutate all the lives within its borders.
And Dante seemed to trust her. In a place like this, Nero felt confident that the older man would let him know if there was something to look out for besides demons.
The bag filled up before he was done thinking, but he was ready to leave the store anyway. There was a pervading feeling within the cluttered shop that if he stayed too long, he’d wake something up that was better left sleeping.
Outside was colder and damper, but the air was less stagnant. Sophia avoided looking at him for a moment, expression somewhere between guilt and discomfort. Eventually, she caved in, slowly wringing the long sleeves of her sweatshirt. “Sorry. About before. It’s just…uh…”
Nero ignored the apology-- it wasn’t needed. She was just doing what she thought was best. Instead, he motioned towards the town hidden behind the layers of gauzy air. “What’s out there?”
“… Lots of things. Here,” She offered him what looked like a handheld radio, some of her apprehension diminishing. “It helps with getting around.”
Nero took it, curiously. It was a grubby, scratched thing that looked too old to really function properly. “What’s it do?”
“If you keep it turned on, the static tells you when you’re getting too close to something,” The blonde pointed to the main knob. “But the batteries wear out fast, so keeping it on all the time isn’t good. I think it’s the most useful in the mornings.”
“Not exactly a Devil Arms, is it?” He turned the knob, experimentally, and was greeting by a rising and falling hiss of faint static. Sophia tensed, and glanced around at the walls of fog, clearly ready to get going.
Taking a different approach, Nero drew Blue Rose, handing the canvas bag back to Sophia. “Hold this.”
“Sure.” She muttered, following him obediently as he entered the thicker banks of fog.
Senses on edge, Nero could hear it more clearly now-- not just one voice, but many. Like a chorus of frogs, he could hear his name, and Sophia’s, repeated and echoed in a hundred different tones, but all far away. They were drawing closer, though, that much was becoming obvious.
Nero! nero Sophie
sophie
nero! Sophie sophie Nero!
Ne
Sophie!
The only other sound was the radio, stuffed into his pocket, but hissing and spitting static incrementally louder pulses. They both stopped moving, lost at an intersection of two streets, the lack of direction emphasized by the blank fog and disorientating sounds.
“Nero!” The voice cried, too close beside him to be ignored. Blue Rose was thrust over his shoulder, and he fired, the noise giant in the reverberating mess around them. A moment later, a screeching gurgle cut off the frightened chorus of other voices, and Sophia dodged behind him as he followed the noise with a stream of gunfire, each double shot followed by a dark splatter of something within the fog. It became a game, firing wherever he heard a sound, one hand kept on Red Queen in case anything got too close-- and still, he couldn’t see what the hell it was--
“Oh--! Sh-shit--!” Sophia stumbled back a step, her bag touching his back. Nero turned, reflexively shoving her behind him again, raising his revolver to get a bead on the squat figure that had finally come into view.
Bizarrely, the first thing he thought of was a large ottoman-- it was about the same size. But he wasn’t about to put his feet on the thing, not even to kick it: like some kind of crab, it had four spindly legs supporting it, the flesh twisted to bruised points like a twirled napkin. On top of the legs sat a distended bag of flesh, the muscle overlaying pale, glistening skin interrupted by a spider web of thick, ugly purple veins.
“SOPHIE!” It shrieked, the noise emerging from the star-shaped mouth set into the top of it’s body, primitive desperation stealing some of the humanity from it’s voice. “SOPH--”
Nero cut it off with a gunshot directly into the mouth or the center or whatever the hell it was, and noted the way Sophia jumped at the sudden flare of dark blood.
Turning to his left, there was another, moving quickly and close to the ground. Firing again, he watched as it staggered and struggled to stay upright--
“Nero!” It could have been Sophia, but something in the pitch wasn’t right. Whirling around, three, no, four more monsters had crawled from the mist, and as Nero looked around, he only saw more of them, skittering and congregating around him and Sophia in a loose, undulating circle of crablike legs.
“Sophie!” “Sophie! Nero!” “Nero!” “Nero! Nero!” “Sophie!”
The genuine Sophia stayed behind Nero as he counted enemies, slowly forced to be back-to-back as the monsters hemmed them in. The Devil Bringer glowed with a kind of feisty anticipation, as Nero drew his sword with his other hand. “Well, it looks like I’m finally popular!”
He couldn’t see Sophia’s face, but could imagine the uneasy expression. “We’re kind of outnumbered here, you know!”
“And the odds are still against them!” Rushing forward with Red Queen, Nero plowed through the developing circle of monsters, flinging one high into the air as he swept his blade upwards. “Go!”
Sophia darted forwards, unexpectedly leaping over the last howling creature in a long jump that was surprisingly effective, despite the weighty canvas bag. She landed heavily, stumbling and quickly backing away from the deformed, crablike creature that had crawled forward to meet her. “Sophie! Sophie!”
Confronted with an exceptionally large variation of the monster, Nero pulled back a step, before driving the tip of Red Queen into the soft underbelly, rewarded by a gurgle of thin blood and squeal of pain.
He was only half-aware of the center of the top of the creature suddenly blossoming, a pale, fistlike shape slamming upwards. Stars exploded behind his eyes in a burst of shock and pain, and he stumbled back, almost tearing up at the abrupt pain in his face. “What the hell--!!”
“Watch out!” Sophia shouted, somewhere behind him. Her voice echoed above the cacophony of voices-- they were all calling his name, now, the crab things having lost interest in her, it was a steady rainfall of nero, nero, nero
Something hit the back of his calf, and he opened his eyes, the pain in his nose subsiding quickly. Whirling around, Nero lunged forward, spearing the trespassing monster on the tip of his sword with another gush of dark blood.
The top of it popped open, spraying saliva-like liquid as a distended neck shot out of the fleshy center, the head at the end of it bony and almost all jaw, the yellowed teeth sharp and small. Weakened by the powerful stab, the ribbed neck fell limp, and the head could only twitch on the pavement, jaw flapping uselessly as the blank white eyes rolled furiously. “NE-- NE-RO--NE--”
Nero shook himself out of the disgusted surprise, and shot the thing, vividly aware of the still frenetic scrambling of the body’s legs as the head exploded.
Throwing himself around, Red Queen’s tip caught on the leg of one creature, and dragged it in a long half-circle, bowling over the other of it’s kind that had surged forward to attack his back.
Sophia was pacing back and forth on the outside of the chaotic crowd, anxious but unharmed. Most of the monsters’ interests had focused on Nero, although the occasional one still rushed at her. “There’s too many! Come on, let’s go!”
“I’m not running!”
She made a noise of frustration, before turning and running. Nero didn’t think anything of it-- now he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping an eye on her, and could turn his attention fully to the fight. His opponents had the advantage of numbers, but he wasn’t normal prey by any means-- He drove through the thick of the crowd with a sweeping rush from Red Queen, scattering the crablike enemies in a frenzy of shrieks and limbs.
Fighting against so many, Nero quickly picked up the basic impression of the four-legged monsters, and adjusted what he could in the way he fought to remain efficient. The main body was tough, and he quickly pinpointed the actual heads as the weak point-- severing or shooting them ended the thing for good, but anything less and it would probably survive to attack him again with the sharp, claw-point legs or teeth.
Reaching forward with the Devil Bringer, the demonic arm sunk into the fleshy mouth of one of the larger screaming monsters, and his fingers closed around the hidden skull inside the slimy interior. Ripping his hand back, he drew the thing’s head out like a jack-in-the-box, jerking the entire creature around in a powerful sweep as the cartilage in the long neck snapped and splintered. Letting go, it hit a crowd of it’s kin, the force of the impact smashing legs and cracking the cement.
But there was only so much he could do at one time, and he was surrounded by enemies smaller than what he was used to. The demons he usually confronted in this line of work were almost always human-sized or larger, and having to fight something below his eye level was a difficult exercise.
“NERO--!” One screamed, the fear and desperation in the painfully loud voice incongruent with it’s sudden rush forward, spear point feet clattering on the cement.
“I heard you the first time!” Red Queen was raised up, then slammed down, messily cleaving the squat monster almost in half. The feet flailed, sharp point barely missing his leg, the force of the stabbing motion catching his pant leg and snapping the fabric taut before ripping it. A squelch from the rear signaled the full opening of one of the mouths, and he realized too late that he would be open to an attack from behind--
Following a wet, metallic thwak and following crunch, Nero whirled around, surprised to see that Sophia had returned, this time armed with some kind of pipe. She glowered at the exposed, damaged head of the crablike monster flopped over on the cement, the dent in the end of the pipe matching the messy collapse of the creature’s skull. “Only more of these things are going to show up!”
He stood still for a moment, staring in a kind of exasperation at the lead pipe. “Why can’t you carry a gun?”
“I don’t like guns, that’s why!” She answered, keeping a tight hold on the pipe as she headed back down the street, watching to make sure Nero followed her. “Come on!”
The motel was empty when they returned. Dante had left. Nero regretted running-- the monsters had been harder to kill than he’d thought, and their numbers were enough to have made it a challenge. On his own, he probably could have taken them, one way or another. But he couldn’t have done it and babysat Sophia at the same time.
He almost felt guilty, thinking of her as some kind of civilian burden. She’d left the bag, filled with his assortment of mechanical parts with him, and was just a figure in the fog, leaning against the wall of the motel. She wasn’t a burden, not really-- she ran as fast as he did, she knew her way around Silent Hill, and she’d given him the radio.
And she’d survived alone before Dante arrived.
Nero got to work on the truck, wanting to keep himself busy. Besides, any moment spent in Silent Hill was a dangerous moment. He rolled up his sleeves and lifted the truck’s rood with a rusted squeak.
He wasn’t sure when he realized that no matter how many parts he replaced, no matter how many times he tried the ignition, or how many curses he threw at it, the truck would not start.
The frustration gave way to an impulsive punch thrown at it, and a noticeable dent in the flaking hood of the piece of crap. Nero sat down on the truck’s lowered gate, imagining Dante’s reaction to the new mark of abuse-- not that he particularly cared. He was tired from a bad night’s sleep, irritable out of hunger, and seemed to be stuck in a kind of living hell because the older man wouldn’t just buy a new vehicle--
He could only stay angry for so long. Eventually, it dissolved into a kind of disappointed hopelessness. They’d have to walk out of here if they wanted to leave, and he didn’t envy camping in the woods at night in this area. His attention eventually wandered away from the mechanical layouts and adjustment tips and automotive rules of thumb, and he simply sat, staring at the puddles that had collected in the low spots of the parking lot.
The puddle didn’t reflect any rainbows, as the pools of water in most parking lots would. There was no iridescence, just constantly shifting whorls of darkness upon darkness. He watched, eyes drawn to the curling, unfurling mysteries embedded in the liquid. The motion made him uneasy, and the uneasiness opened the door to Silent Hill again.
The fear returned, but it wasn’t silent this time. Instead, it was a pounding, like a heartbeat beside his ear, the rush of blood thrust through veins, so loud and deep that it blotted out his own heart
He could hear the fog now, but knew it wasn’t hiding any scuttling, twitching creature this time. The voices wouldn’t be false, if they decided to stalk him. The air around him wasn’t as quiet as it had been. It had it’s own sound now, a kind of constant flux of movement and the smallest sound, as if the town was alive and breathing all around him, the faint stink of decay rising up from the throat of it. It had eaten all the people, and he was next. When he wasn’t on guard, when he was zoning out in the back of a pickup, when he wasn’t watching his back, it would be there, just as it always had been
Sophia’s footsteps preceded her, and she arrived at a jog. She’d wandered out of sight and mind for an undeterminable amount of time, but had returned, staring at him with anxiety, but not unkindly. “…. Who were you calling for?”
Nero shook his head, mouth dry. “No one,” He hadn’t called for anyone. “I didn’t say anything.” Shit, what had he been thinking about? Where had his mind gone, unchecked? He ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the cold sweat.
Sophia was quiet. She didn’t say she believed him-- she didn’t say ‘okay,’ or anything like ‘it’s alright,’ and he was at least distantly glad. He hated that kind of patronizing bullshit: unconsciously yelling for someone was not something ‘okay’ or ‘alright,’ but he’d learned his lesson about losing focus, so it was time to move on--
She blinked, as if remembering something significant. Nero watched her trot into her room, rummage around for a moment, before returning to the truck. “Ta-daaah.” The monotone triumph actually complimented the anticlimactic nature of the gift: the red, bizarrely cheerful bag of M&M’s seemed a pathetic defense against the weirdness of Silent Hill.
On the other hand, Nero was hungry.
Stomach already muttering in delight, he accepted the bag of candy, trying to pinpoint what kind of an expression he was supposed to give her in return. “… Thanks.”
“It’s cool,” Sophia said, sounding a little pleased with herself. Sitting down on the truck’s gate beside him-- not too close, Nero noted-- she pulled out her own bag. “Dante says he doesn’t believe chocolate is real food, but that’s coming from a guy who’s been living ravioli for a month.”
“Yeah… he’s picky about what he eats.” The chocolate was, by far, the best thing he had ever eaten. Or at least it seemed that way. He was willing to bet most of that impression was due to having not eaten since yesterday morning.
The M&M’s began to dwindle, and he was faced with the prospect of having nothing to do again. Sophia got up, causing only a very small squeak from the truck’s suspension, and walked off into the fog without another word. Nero had the feeling she would return, but kept his senses focused on her direction. This was sort of her town, so he trusted she wouldn’t get herself lost, but it wasn’t worth not taking the chance.
Crumpling the empty red wrapper up, he tossed it over his shoulder. It wasn’t a good habit to litter, but he wasn’t feeling particularly benevolent towards the truck anyway.
Sophia’s footsteps returned, and Nero saw that it was her-- but she was carrying a heaping armful of variously-sized boards, a bag of nails, and a hammer. It was a ridiculous-looking load, and he wondered how her spindly little legs hadn’t snapped under the extra weight. Still sitting on the truck’s gate, he watched her walk a little ways farther down the wall of the motel, before dumping the boards and tools onto the pavement with a relieved sigh. “Building a tree house?”
“Boarding up empty rooms.” Sophia corrected, picking up a board and measuring it’s length in relation to the door’s width.
“What for?” He asked, glancing suspiciously at the closed door.
She shuddered, although it seemed more of a physical response than a sign of conscious disgust or fear. “I think if you leave the rooms alone, things… breed in them.”
“Sounds like a normal motel to me,” Nero approached, picking up a different board and holding it against the frame. “This one fits.”
“Thanks.”
For a moment, he envied her purpose. She actually had something to do. “Want any help?”
She looked like she was running through a checklist of reasons why he might not actually want to help her, as if trying to come up with excuses for him to get out of it. “I’ve only got one hammer.”
“There’s one in the truck.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Before long, the motel complex was lit up with sound-- disjointed hammer beats bounced around like ball bearings, and being outside was infinitely more bearable. Nero liked the noisiness and the physical work. He hadn’t done anything constructive like this since Fortuna had needed help rebuilding, but that was a long time ago, in a completely different place.
It didn’t go quickly. Some of the boards were too rotten to use, and Sophia recommended at least four boards to every door, and three to every window. But having manual labor to do kept him occupied and moving, which was more productive than sitting around and willing the truck to spring to life. Or just being still and letting the fog get to him.
Conversation was made a little awkward by the constant puncture of hammering down nails, but it was still more noise. Sophia didn’t seem to mind talking too much, but she was evasive about personal details, but he wasn’t hypocritical enough to think less of her for being unwilling to talk about herself.
“Do you know where Dante went?” Nero asked, eventually. The question had been gnawing at him for a while-- the older man had just disappeared in the space of time when they’d left for the mechanic’s and when they’d gotten back, which was a relatively small window.
Sophia kept a hand on the board pressed against the doorframe as she knelt down to fish out another nail from the bag. “He leaves for most of the day, usually. Says he’s off looking for that kid he came here to find. Allie, Alec, something like that.”
“So you don’t know who it is?”
She shrugged, unconcerned with the matter. “If it’s the right person, I don’t think he’s here. His family lives in Shepherd’s Glen. But if he was here before Dante arrived, there’s no use looking for him.”
Nero stopped, hand resting on the board he’d just fixed into place. “You think he’s dead.” It wasn’t a question.
Sophia’s eyes darted away, with a certain degree of guilt. “…What am I supposed to think? I’ve been all over this place, and I didn’t see anyone,” She seemed to struggle with a slightly hopeful look. “Do you think Dante will find him, though?” That’d be nice, went unspoken behind the question.
He wasn’t sure. If it took Dante this long to look for a regular human, then chances were the kid was dead. “If anyone can find anything in this place, it’d be him.”
She nodded, ponytail bobbing. “Yeah. He’s… certainly professional.”
For the first time since arriving in Silent Hill, Nero felt like laughing, not out of irony or bitterness, but because of the way that sounded. He settled for a smile, imagining the look Sophia might have if confronted with the way Dante’s room looked. A professional didn’t usually have pizza boxes stacked in every corner, cleverly disguised as heaps of junk with skin mags and ancient vinyl records piled on top. Even the ever-persistent Patty simply ignored that room of the agency when she cleaned.
They’d finished the western side of the U-shaped complex after what Nero guessed were a few long hours. With no sun and no watch, time had ceased to really matter. It got dark, and when it got dark, you went inside. That was the only constraint.
Standing back and looked at their handiwork, it was easy to see who had done what: Nero’s boards were straight and symmetric, the nails near perfect, and it almost looked respectable. Sophia’s, on the other hand, appeared to be the work of a frenzied quarantine rush, the boards crooked and overlapping, the nails hammered in too much vengeance.
“Not too shabby.” Nero remarked, with a mild sense of pride. Nothing would be getting in or out of those rooms without at least making a racket.
Arriving with a customary smirk and vague creak of leather, Dante folded his arms over his chest as he stopped beside Nero. “Yeah, you’re a regular carpenter. How is it you never want to replace shingles at Devil May Cry?”
The younger man made a sour face. When had he become resident handyman? “You don’t need new shingles, you need a new roof. It’s full of bullet holes, that’s why there are so many leaks.”
“I lead a dangerous life.”
“I noticed.”
The demon hunter stepped forward, rapping a knuckle against one of the skewed boards. “Who was drinking?”
Sophia flushed, or at least some pink appeared near her cheeks. “It works, so who cares.”
“Well, don’t quit your day job.”
She didn’t have a comeback for that, settling for shoving her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt and wandering away, kicking an empty can into the fog as she came to it.
“So,” Dante turned back to the truck, suddenly all business. “Did you fix it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Nero answered, bad mood returning. “I looked it over, and there’s nothing else I can do. I replaced all the parts that might be malfunctioning, but it still won’t start.”
Going in for a second opinion, Dante lifted the hood with a painful protest from the truck, looking in at the engine himself. “Solenoids?”
“What?”
“Did you replace the solenoids?”
“What good would that do?”
“I bet it’d help.”
“You couldn’t put batteries into a flashlight the right way, and you’re giving me advice?”
“You guys,” Sophia called, now somewhere nearby the motel, in a patient tone. “It’s getting dark again.”
Nero started to wonder how she could even tell, but decided it was better not to ask. Dante left the truck, and joked with Sophia about zombies or something-- Nero wasn’t paying attention. He took a last look at the truck, before putting the hood back down. He’d go find some solenoids in another car or something, and at least try the suggestion.
Returning to the motel room’s door, he noticed that Sophia had turned on her light and closed her door again. It seemed almost rude how quickly she shut them both out at night, but it was none of his business anyway. She probably just preferred to eat alone, or something.
Meanwhile, in his room, Dante had set up a propane torch on the floor, for some reason, and seemed to be trying to cook with it. Nero held in a snide remark about failing the Boy Scouts, and glanced at the two cans balanced precariously on the metal crown above the torch. Ravioli. Nero made the mistake of thinking about real ravioli, and instantly the cans seemed less appealing. Better than just M&M’s, anyway.
He sat down nearby the lantern, also placed on the floor, and proceeded to do a little service-work on Red Queen: it was better than watching the ravioli heat up, and he didn’t want to think about what kind of nasty rust might set in if he didn’t. It filled the visual emptiness, if not the audible one. But there was only so much he could maintenance on his sword, and eventually the task ended. So much for keeping busy.
“So is your idea of a working vacation?” Nero asked, splitting the silence. Even within this small space of light, there were still shadows, still flickers, still unsettling images lurking in the peripheral. There was no point in letting the mood be any more sinister.
“If I work on vacation, I work on vacation in Hawaii,” Dante prodded the cans of ravioli, with a slightly sour look. “This place is Jersey with fog.”
“I’ve never seen demons like the ones that are here,” The younger man stared at the propane torch, concentrating on the tiny waves in the flame’s heart. “The whole town is wrong.”
“I’ve been here for almost a month,” Dante reminded him. “I’ve noticed.”
Nero leaned forward-- this was exactly what had bothered him since he got here: Silent Hill wasn’t the sort of place Dante liked in the least, he’d probably resolved his work here, but he’d stayed. “Why are you still here? Sophia thinks the kid’s dead.”
Dante picked up one of the ravioli cans gingerly, and passed it to Nero. “Careful, that’s hot.” Nero shot him a deprecating look, and held the can without injury in his right hand. It took a little more than heat to faze him these days. “As for why I’ve stayed… could you just leave this place here?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s got a certain mystery.”
“I could do without it.”
“Silent Hill is three different places. The first is a normal town, with people, life, just any other town. The second is a place filled with fog, lurking dangers, things like that,” Dante stirred the lukewarm pasta in his own can, gesturing with the spoon as he spoke. “And the third is what the locals refer to as the ‘Otherworld.’”
Nero sat up straight as a wave of shadow passed over the cramped room, the torch and lantern’s light bucking and wavering. The curtained window behind Dante rattled, despite all obvious absence of wind. As soon as the spatial fit had started, it stopped, almost leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined it.
Dante didn’t help, continuing to talk as if nothing had happened. “I doubt the regular town exists much anymore, if it ever did. And the other two are bleeding into one another. But most of the monsters aren’t from the Otherworld-- they’ve got a different vibe.”
“Different vibe.” Nero repeated, spearing a ravioli on the tip of the plastic fork, trying not to consider it before putting it in his mouth. It was still cold at the center, but he didn’t say anything.
“Yep. A little more ‘original’.”
“Spit it out.”
“It’s Sophia.” The demon hunter caught his gaze, completely seriously. Nero made a weak scoffing noise, trying to refute the idea. But Dante didn’t change his expression, and his stomach twisted as he realized it was the truth. “Every monster in this town is here because of her.”
He swallowed the ravioli he’d been chewing, wishing he hadn’t as it hit a turbulent stomach. “Regular people don’t make monsters.”
“No, regular people are monsters,” Dante leaned back a little, eating with more interest than his counterpart. “Silent Hill is just one big messed up mirror… a kind of personal hell.”
“She seems like a good person.”
“Oh, yeah, there’s no doubt there. But she grew up in a town with a buried history of drugs, dead Indians, and cults. Not necessarily in that order, but hey. Anyone would be a little messed up.”
Nero frowned to himself. He didn’t want to think of Sophia as the center of all Silent Hill’s monsters. She was a victim, not a master. Underneath her wariness and withdrawn behavior, she was probably just a nice kid who’d had the living hell scared out of her by the aura of the town. It wasn’t fair to blame it all on her.
“Does she know?”
“Hell no,” Dante tossed the emptied can over his shoulder with a clatter, not bothering to see where it landed. Nero tried not to flinch at the thick splatter of sauce that had sprayed across the wall, but avoided looking at it all the same. “Would you want to be told you were responsible for what lives in this place?”
Nero set the half-empty ravioli can down near the propane torch, thinking as Dante flopped down on the closest of the beds, hands behind his head. “… Are you going to tell her?”
“Once we’re out of here, maybe.”
“You’re taking her with us?”
“You’d leave her here?”
He didn’t answer the question. No, of course not. He wouldn’t leave anyone alone in this place. Even if Sophia was the source for all the things he’d seen in Silent Hill-- and the things he hadn’t-- she couldn’t be left here. If she got out of here, she’d probably stop manifesting them all together. The thought cheered him up, at a discouragingly small increment.
As if somehow sensing she was the subject of conversation, Sophia apparently dropped something in her room. Nero listened as it fell to the floor and rolled out of hearing, and the subsequent patter of footsteps as she followed it.
Dante yawned, almost irritatingly unbothered by the malevolence of the world outside the motel room. “Eat your ravioli and go to bed. It’s a long day tomorrow.”
Nero frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Think of it this way: can you see it being a short day?”
“It could be just a reg--… fine. Long day tomorrow.”
“Hah. A regular day in Silent Hill. Good one.”
It was a deer.
He felt a little relieved, at first. It wasn’t a dead person. It wasn’t a face he had to be afraid to see.
It was just a deer.
Nero had returned to the patio. The gray space of the dream had condensed into fog, and for a moment he was almost irritated. Couldn’t he get away from it, even in dreams like this? He realized it had already withdrawn, as if held back by something.
With the mist gone, he could see clearly. The deer was suspended in front of him, the distant shapes of more hanging things a vague thought, rather than something he could clearly perceive. He knew they were there, even if he couldn’t drag his focus away long enough to bring them into view. Unlike this deer.
The canvas tied around the corpse had vanished, leaving the animal bare. The back legs were tied together at it’s hooves, a thick metal hook and chain holding it upside-down from it’s feet.
It was bizarre to see an animal shaped the way it was upside-down, almost leisurely, half-heartedly rotating. Nero began to feel pity for it.
The round, limpid brown eyes seemed to stare up at him, not yet glassy or clouded with death. They didn’t blame him for it’s death, but seemed more confused by it.
Puzzled.
Sorry, Nero wanted to say. You really are dead.
The way the words sounded bit at the inside of his mouth, and he regretted saying them, even though he hadn’t actually said anything at all, he could still hear it echoing. What a thoughtless thing to think.
Almost desperate to switch subjects, he looked down at his hands, as if remembering there was something he had to do with them. Inevitably, his gaze was dragged to his right hand-- and it was human again, plain and soft and human, with nails and cuticles and skin and bones…
It was like looking at an old photo of a relative. His hand, human again. What a dream to have. Curled around the thick, grimy metal handle of some kind of lever… but the lever kept going, and suddenly it wasn’t a lever at all, it was the Red Queen-- but, no, not really, he’d never let his sword get so dirty, so rusty and…
The deer twitched.
It wasn’t Red Queen at all. It was some strange, huge foreign knife. He’d never seen it before in his life, but as Nero looked back up at the carcass, he was horrified because he knew he knew that he’d killed the deer, gutted it with the knife he was still holding, even if he hadn’t meant to he had, even if it wasn’t her fault
He whirled around, the tip of the great knife dragging like metal nails on the cement underneath them. A man had appeared behind him, mourning and furious at the same time. But even as Nero received those impressions, they faded away and were forgotten, leaving a kind of cold, implacable accusation in their place, lurking and slowly circulating inside the faceless arbiter.
“No, I didn’t--” He started to sweat, his human fingers clenching tighter around the handle of the knife, only growing tighter and together as he tried to let go. “I didn’t kill it!”
The man underneath the hood didn’t answer. Nero was struck with the bone-chilling thought that he could say anything he wanted, but the man would still kill him, and the deer would still be dead.
The man raised the spear he held, leveling it at him in a smooth, practiced motion.
“You’re wrong! I didn’t kill it!”
The spear point thrust forward, and Nero felt himself carried by the motion, the blade shoving through his chest
Something landed on his face, and Nero went berserk for a moment. Devil Bringer acting on reflex, he grabbed the soft thing and ripped-- the violent motion was rewarded by a satisfying tearing sound, and he flung the thing away from himself, kicking and scrambling away as best he could.
Belatedly returning to his senses, he found himself pressed up against the cheap wooden headboard of the bed, heart racing.
One of the motel’s heavy pillows had been gutted, the case torn open, a combination of feathers and polyester surrounding it in a heap of fluffy viscera. Shreds of feathers and stuffing still floated through the air like deformed snow.
Nero looked over at Dante, only halfway aware that his mouth was still partially open. The older man looked unamused by the whole situation, flinging his remaining pillow at him. “What the hell do you dream about?”
This time, Nero caught it, and hurled it back with more venom than was necessary. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”
Dante rolled his eyes, and stuffed the pillow back under his head as he laid back down. “Easier said than done when your bunkie is going nuts.”
continued in chapter three
Also, + monster art on Skies' dA, as well as some bonus Sophia art.
Genre: Horror, survival, action/adventure.
Rating: PG-13. Language and general ickiness.
Author’s Note: If you have the time, I recommend skimming or re-reading the back half of the second chapter, just as partial background. It helps the cohesiveness, but it’s just a suggestion. I claim no knowledge of car repair. Also, I have nothing against New Jersey. I’m sure it’s a lovely place. Or at least was a lovely place. At some point.
Summary:
"He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster." -Friedrich Nietzsche
Nero was beginning to realize how bizarrely normal Silent Hill could be.
Sophia led the way through right-angle twists and turns, checking the unfamiliar street signs at every chance, and he followed closely. She moved quickly, and he couldn’t blame her. The empty store fronts, occasionally boarded doors or smashed windows betrayed the emptiness of the town, amid the faded signs and peeling paint. It was a normal town, with restaurants and stores and buildings common to all civilization, but with sinister overtones. The silence, kept at bay only by their footsteps, reminded him of a condemned neighborhood, not quite recently evacuated, but before nature reclaimed the area.
At one point in the quiet, uneasy journey, Sophia stopped at any intersection, looking both ways down the perpendicular street, and the fog beyond.
Nero frowned. He couldn’t sense any difference in the paths, but the fact that she’d suddenly stopped troubled him. “You’re sure you know where you’re going?”
“I lived here,” She replied, mildly. “The fog may be relatively recent, but everything else is the same. We go this way.” It was the street to their right.
Nero wasn’t sure whether he was startled or not. The pale, unwell look that she had made him believe her when she said she lived here. He couldn’t imagine comfortably staying here longer than a week, let alone living in a such a place. It was a wonder someone with Dante’s attention span had stayed sane inside the city limits. “So it’s not always like a bad horror flick?”
“It used to be alright,” Sophia glanced over her shoulder, but it was to look past him. “But places change before you realize. Too gradual to really notice, I guess.”
Nero looked over his own shoulder, but saw nothing but the fog they’d just passed through. Either she was paranoid, or there was something he should be looking out for. Sadly, either could be true in this place. A noise barely brushed past his ear, and he almost stopped. Could there have really been something? Or was it just his own mind, playing tricks on him?”
“The mechanic’s is just up there.” Sophia pointed down the street, shifting the weight of the canvas bag on her back.
“…phie!” called his imagination, and Nero did his best to ignore it. While he hated the idea that his own senses were working against him, that was probably all it was. Sooner or later, he’d get used to it, and it would all
“Sophie!”
She almost paused, but seemed to think better of it, keeping her attention turned squarely ahead. He put a hand on Blue Rose, walking backwards for a few paces to get a better look at the street behind them. Empty, the fog shifting in formless patterns from invisible breezes. At least he knew he wasn’t going crazy-- someone was calling Sophia’s name, or nickname, whatever.
“Nero!”
He stopped, immediately. The voice was feminine and stressed, beyond visible range, but within hearing. Searching the fog for any kind of sign, he took a few steps in the direction the call had come, listening intently.
“Nero--!”
“Wait!” Sophia appeared beside him, grabbing his arm and ineffectively trying to pull him away from the voice. But the motion caught his attention, and he looked down at her strained expression. “It’s no one! Come on, we’re almost there!”
“But--” He stopped, as the voice wailed again, this time an indistinct cry of pain that put him on a knife’s edge. “There’s someone out there, are you just going to--”
“Look! It’s the shop! See? We’re there!” Sophia gestured persistently to the grubby mechanic shop: ‘BALDWIN AUTO’ One of the large glass windows at the front had been shattered, and the OPEN sign had fallen out onto the street.
Nero looked back out into the fog, torn for a moment. Yeah, the shop was right there, that was what he’d come along for, but on the other hand, someone out there in the fog knew him, and it sounded like they needed his help, too--
But, really, what were the chances? It was more likely some kind of trick. Sophia certainly thought so, and she’d been here a much longer time than he had. Armed with this wary conviction, he let his hand drop away from Blue Rose, and left the streets in favor of the auto parts shop.
It was a dusty, crowded building lined with shelves filled with parts. Crusted-over cans of leaky oil, grimy, half-used carburetors, windshield wipers, headlights, hubcaps, batteries, jumper cables, all kinds of automobile paraphernalia had been stuffed onto the shelves, spilling out onto the floor in some places. There was a smell like far-decayed meat lingering around the back of the store, and Nero avoided it as he picked his way through the store.
Sophia, now standing guard outside, had given him the large canvas bag to carry whatever he found. He walked through the empty aisles, automatically selecting standard, mostly useable parts, only distantly thinking about actually repairing the truck. It was a common model, if not slightly outdated, so it wasn’t a great mental task. Nero’s thoughts were still outside, searching amid the banks of fog for the voices calling for them. After yesterday’s incident at the gas station, he’d all but given up on the idea that Silent Hill supported real people anymore. Clearly it had, if Sophia was being honest.
If Sophia was being honest.
He glanced over his shoulder at the blonde, who was still stationary, staring out at the fog. He didn’t want to have to be suspicious of her. She was the only proof that Silent Hill wasn’t completely evil enough to mutate all the lives within its borders.
And Dante seemed to trust her. In a place like this, Nero felt confident that the older man would let him know if there was something to look out for besides demons.
The bag filled up before he was done thinking, but he was ready to leave the store anyway. There was a pervading feeling within the cluttered shop that if he stayed too long, he’d wake something up that was better left sleeping.
Outside was colder and damper, but the air was less stagnant. Sophia avoided looking at him for a moment, expression somewhere between guilt and discomfort. Eventually, she caved in, slowly wringing the long sleeves of her sweatshirt. “Sorry. About before. It’s just…uh…”
Nero ignored the apology-- it wasn’t needed. She was just doing what she thought was best. Instead, he motioned towards the town hidden behind the layers of gauzy air. “What’s out there?”
“… Lots of things. Here,” She offered him what looked like a handheld radio, some of her apprehension diminishing. “It helps with getting around.”
Nero took it, curiously. It was a grubby, scratched thing that looked too old to really function properly. “What’s it do?”
“If you keep it turned on, the static tells you when you’re getting too close to something,” The blonde pointed to the main knob. “But the batteries wear out fast, so keeping it on all the time isn’t good. I think it’s the most useful in the mornings.”
“Not exactly a Devil Arms, is it?” He turned the knob, experimentally, and was greeting by a rising and falling hiss of faint static. Sophia tensed, and glanced around at the walls of fog, clearly ready to get going.
Taking a different approach, Nero drew Blue Rose, handing the canvas bag back to Sophia. “Hold this.”
“Sure.” She muttered, following him obediently as he entered the thicker banks of fog.
Senses on edge, Nero could hear it more clearly now-- not just one voice, but many. Like a chorus of frogs, he could hear his name, and Sophia’s, repeated and echoed in a hundred different tones, but all far away. They were drawing closer, though, that much was becoming obvious.
Nero! nero Sophie
sophie
nero! Sophie sophie Nero!
Ne
Sophie!
The only other sound was the radio, stuffed into his pocket, but hissing and spitting static incrementally louder pulses. They both stopped moving, lost at an intersection of two streets, the lack of direction emphasized by the blank fog and disorientating sounds.
“Nero!” The voice cried, too close beside him to be ignored. Blue Rose was thrust over his shoulder, and he fired, the noise giant in the reverberating mess around them. A moment later, a screeching gurgle cut off the frightened chorus of other voices, and Sophia dodged behind him as he followed the noise with a stream of gunfire, each double shot followed by a dark splatter of something within the fog. It became a game, firing wherever he heard a sound, one hand kept on Red Queen in case anything got too close-- and still, he couldn’t see what the hell it was--
“Oh--! Sh-shit--!” Sophia stumbled back a step, her bag touching his back. Nero turned, reflexively shoving her behind him again, raising his revolver to get a bead on the squat figure that had finally come into view.
Bizarrely, the first thing he thought of was a large ottoman-- it was about the same size. But he wasn’t about to put his feet on the thing, not even to kick it: like some kind of crab, it had four spindly legs supporting it, the flesh twisted to bruised points like a twirled napkin. On top of the legs sat a distended bag of flesh, the muscle overlaying pale, glistening skin interrupted by a spider web of thick, ugly purple veins.
“SOPHIE!” It shrieked, the noise emerging from the star-shaped mouth set into the top of it’s body, primitive desperation stealing some of the humanity from it’s voice. “SOPH--”
Nero cut it off with a gunshot directly into the mouth or the center or whatever the hell it was, and noted the way Sophia jumped at the sudden flare of dark blood.
Turning to his left, there was another, moving quickly and close to the ground. Firing again, he watched as it staggered and struggled to stay upright--
“Nero!” It could have been Sophia, but something in the pitch wasn’t right. Whirling around, three, no, four more monsters had crawled from the mist, and as Nero looked around, he only saw more of them, skittering and congregating around him and Sophia in a loose, undulating circle of crablike legs.
“Sophie!” “Sophie! Nero!” “Nero!” “Nero! Nero!” “Sophie!”
The genuine Sophia stayed behind Nero as he counted enemies, slowly forced to be back-to-back as the monsters hemmed them in. The Devil Bringer glowed with a kind of feisty anticipation, as Nero drew his sword with his other hand. “Well, it looks like I’m finally popular!”
He couldn’t see Sophia’s face, but could imagine the uneasy expression. “We’re kind of outnumbered here, you know!”
“And the odds are still against them!” Rushing forward with Red Queen, Nero plowed through the developing circle of monsters, flinging one high into the air as he swept his blade upwards. “Go!”
Sophia darted forwards, unexpectedly leaping over the last howling creature in a long jump that was surprisingly effective, despite the weighty canvas bag. She landed heavily, stumbling and quickly backing away from the deformed, crablike creature that had crawled forward to meet her. “Sophie! Sophie!”
Confronted with an exceptionally large variation of the monster, Nero pulled back a step, before driving the tip of Red Queen into the soft underbelly, rewarded by a gurgle of thin blood and squeal of pain.
He was only half-aware of the center of the top of the creature suddenly blossoming, a pale, fistlike shape slamming upwards. Stars exploded behind his eyes in a burst of shock and pain, and he stumbled back, almost tearing up at the abrupt pain in his face. “What the hell--!!”
“Watch out!” Sophia shouted, somewhere behind him. Her voice echoed above the cacophony of voices-- they were all calling his name, now, the crab things having lost interest in her, it was a steady rainfall of nero, nero, nero
Something hit the back of his calf, and he opened his eyes, the pain in his nose subsiding quickly. Whirling around, Nero lunged forward, spearing the trespassing monster on the tip of his sword with another gush of dark blood.
The top of it popped open, spraying saliva-like liquid as a distended neck shot out of the fleshy center, the head at the end of it bony and almost all jaw, the yellowed teeth sharp and small. Weakened by the powerful stab, the ribbed neck fell limp, and the head could only twitch on the pavement, jaw flapping uselessly as the blank white eyes rolled furiously. “NE-- NE-RO--NE--”
Nero shook himself out of the disgusted surprise, and shot the thing, vividly aware of the still frenetic scrambling of the body’s legs as the head exploded.
Throwing himself around, Red Queen’s tip caught on the leg of one creature, and dragged it in a long half-circle, bowling over the other of it’s kind that had surged forward to attack his back.
Sophia was pacing back and forth on the outside of the chaotic crowd, anxious but unharmed. Most of the monsters’ interests had focused on Nero, although the occasional one still rushed at her. “There’s too many! Come on, let’s go!”
“I’m not running!”
She made a noise of frustration, before turning and running. Nero didn’t think anything of it-- now he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping an eye on her, and could turn his attention fully to the fight. His opponents had the advantage of numbers, but he wasn’t normal prey by any means-- He drove through the thick of the crowd with a sweeping rush from Red Queen, scattering the crablike enemies in a frenzy of shrieks and limbs.
Fighting against so many, Nero quickly picked up the basic impression of the four-legged monsters, and adjusted what he could in the way he fought to remain efficient. The main body was tough, and he quickly pinpointed the actual heads as the weak point-- severing or shooting them ended the thing for good, but anything less and it would probably survive to attack him again with the sharp, claw-point legs or teeth.
Reaching forward with the Devil Bringer, the demonic arm sunk into the fleshy mouth of one of the larger screaming monsters, and his fingers closed around the hidden skull inside the slimy interior. Ripping his hand back, he drew the thing’s head out like a jack-in-the-box, jerking the entire creature around in a powerful sweep as the cartilage in the long neck snapped and splintered. Letting go, it hit a crowd of it’s kin, the force of the impact smashing legs and cracking the cement.
But there was only so much he could do at one time, and he was surrounded by enemies smaller than what he was used to. The demons he usually confronted in this line of work were almost always human-sized or larger, and having to fight something below his eye level was a difficult exercise.
“NERO--!” One screamed, the fear and desperation in the painfully loud voice incongruent with it’s sudden rush forward, spear point feet clattering on the cement.
“I heard you the first time!” Red Queen was raised up, then slammed down, messily cleaving the squat monster almost in half. The feet flailed, sharp point barely missing his leg, the force of the stabbing motion catching his pant leg and snapping the fabric taut before ripping it. A squelch from the rear signaled the full opening of one of the mouths, and he realized too late that he would be open to an attack from behind--
Following a wet, metallic thwak and following crunch, Nero whirled around, surprised to see that Sophia had returned, this time armed with some kind of pipe. She glowered at the exposed, damaged head of the crablike monster flopped over on the cement, the dent in the end of the pipe matching the messy collapse of the creature’s skull. “Only more of these things are going to show up!”
He stood still for a moment, staring in a kind of exasperation at the lead pipe. “Why can’t you carry a gun?”
“I don’t like guns, that’s why!” She answered, keeping a tight hold on the pipe as she headed back down the street, watching to make sure Nero followed her. “Come on!”
The motel was empty when they returned. Dante had left. Nero regretted running-- the monsters had been harder to kill than he’d thought, and their numbers were enough to have made it a challenge. On his own, he probably could have taken them, one way or another. But he couldn’t have done it and babysat Sophia at the same time.
He almost felt guilty, thinking of her as some kind of civilian burden. She’d left the bag, filled with his assortment of mechanical parts with him, and was just a figure in the fog, leaning against the wall of the motel. She wasn’t a burden, not really-- she ran as fast as he did, she knew her way around Silent Hill, and she’d given him the radio.
And she’d survived alone before Dante arrived.
Nero got to work on the truck, wanting to keep himself busy. Besides, any moment spent in Silent Hill was a dangerous moment. He rolled up his sleeves and lifted the truck’s rood with a rusted squeak.
He wasn’t sure when he realized that no matter how many parts he replaced, no matter how many times he tried the ignition, or how many curses he threw at it, the truck would not start.
The frustration gave way to an impulsive punch thrown at it, and a noticeable dent in the flaking hood of the piece of crap. Nero sat down on the truck’s lowered gate, imagining Dante’s reaction to the new mark of abuse-- not that he particularly cared. He was tired from a bad night’s sleep, irritable out of hunger, and seemed to be stuck in a kind of living hell because the older man wouldn’t just buy a new vehicle--
He could only stay angry for so long. Eventually, it dissolved into a kind of disappointed hopelessness. They’d have to walk out of here if they wanted to leave, and he didn’t envy camping in the woods at night in this area. His attention eventually wandered away from the mechanical layouts and adjustment tips and automotive rules of thumb, and he simply sat, staring at the puddles that had collected in the low spots of the parking lot.
The puddle didn’t reflect any rainbows, as the pools of water in most parking lots would. There was no iridescence, just constantly shifting whorls of darkness upon darkness. He watched, eyes drawn to the curling, unfurling mysteries embedded in the liquid. The motion made him uneasy, and the uneasiness opened the door to Silent Hill again.
The fear returned, but it wasn’t silent this time. Instead, it was a pounding, like a heartbeat beside his ear, the rush of blood thrust through veins, so loud and deep that it blotted out his own heart
He could hear the fog now, but knew it wasn’t hiding any scuttling, twitching creature this time. The voices wouldn’t be false, if they decided to stalk him. The air around him wasn’t as quiet as it had been. It had it’s own sound now, a kind of constant flux of movement and the smallest sound, as if the town was alive and breathing all around him, the faint stink of decay rising up from the throat of it. It had eaten all the people, and he was next. When he wasn’t on guard, when he was zoning out in the back of a pickup, when he wasn’t watching his back, it would be there, just as it always had been
Sophia’s footsteps preceded her, and she arrived at a jog. She’d wandered out of sight and mind for an undeterminable amount of time, but had returned, staring at him with anxiety, but not unkindly. “…. Who were you calling for?”
Nero shook his head, mouth dry. “No one,” He hadn’t called for anyone. “I didn’t say anything.” Shit, what had he been thinking about? Where had his mind gone, unchecked? He ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the cold sweat.
Sophia was quiet. She didn’t say she believed him-- she didn’t say ‘okay,’ or anything like ‘it’s alright,’ and he was at least distantly glad. He hated that kind of patronizing bullshit: unconsciously yelling for someone was not something ‘okay’ or ‘alright,’ but he’d learned his lesson about losing focus, so it was time to move on--
She blinked, as if remembering something significant. Nero watched her trot into her room, rummage around for a moment, before returning to the truck. “Ta-daaah.” The monotone triumph actually complimented the anticlimactic nature of the gift: the red, bizarrely cheerful bag of M&M’s seemed a pathetic defense against the weirdness of Silent Hill.
On the other hand, Nero was hungry.
Stomach already muttering in delight, he accepted the bag of candy, trying to pinpoint what kind of an expression he was supposed to give her in return. “… Thanks.”
“It’s cool,” Sophia said, sounding a little pleased with herself. Sitting down on the truck’s gate beside him-- not too close, Nero noted-- she pulled out her own bag. “Dante says he doesn’t believe chocolate is real food, but that’s coming from a guy who’s been living ravioli for a month.”
“Yeah… he’s picky about what he eats.” The chocolate was, by far, the best thing he had ever eaten. Or at least it seemed that way. He was willing to bet most of that impression was due to having not eaten since yesterday morning.
The M&M’s began to dwindle, and he was faced with the prospect of having nothing to do again. Sophia got up, causing only a very small squeak from the truck’s suspension, and walked off into the fog without another word. Nero had the feeling she would return, but kept his senses focused on her direction. This was sort of her town, so he trusted she wouldn’t get herself lost, but it wasn’t worth not taking the chance.
Crumpling the empty red wrapper up, he tossed it over his shoulder. It wasn’t a good habit to litter, but he wasn’t feeling particularly benevolent towards the truck anyway.
Sophia’s footsteps returned, and Nero saw that it was her-- but she was carrying a heaping armful of variously-sized boards, a bag of nails, and a hammer. It was a ridiculous-looking load, and he wondered how her spindly little legs hadn’t snapped under the extra weight. Still sitting on the truck’s gate, he watched her walk a little ways farther down the wall of the motel, before dumping the boards and tools onto the pavement with a relieved sigh. “Building a tree house?”
“Boarding up empty rooms.” Sophia corrected, picking up a board and measuring it’s length in relation to the door’s width.
“What for?” He asked, glancing suspiciously at the closed door.
She shuddered, although it seemed more of a physical response than a sign of conscious disgust or fear. “I think if you leave the rooms alone, things… breed in them.”
“Sounds like a normal motel to me,” Nero approached, picking up a different board and holding it against the frame. “This one fits.”
“Thanks.”
For a moment, he envied her purpose. She actually had something to do. “Want any help?”
She looked like she was running through a checklist of reasons why he might not actually want to help her, as if trying to come up with excuses for him to get out of it. “I’ve only got one hammer.”
“There’s one in the truck.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Before long, the motel complex was lit up with sound-- disjointed hammer beats bounced around like ball bearings, and being outside was infinitely more bearable. Nero liked the noisiness and the physical work. He hadn’t done anything constructive like this since Fortuna had needed help rebuilding, but that was a long time ago, in a completely different place.
It didn’t go quickly. Some of the boards were too rotten to use, and Sophia recommended at least four boards to every door, and three to every window. But having manual labor to do kept him occupied and moving, which was more productive than sitting around and willing the truck to spring to life. Or just being still and letting the fog get to him.
Conversation was made a little awkward by the constant puncture of hammering down nails, but it was still more noise. Sophia didn’t seem to mind talking too much, but she was evasive about personal details, but he wasn’t hypocritical enough to think less of her for being unwilling to talk about herself.
“Do you know where Dante went?” Nero asked, eventually. The question had been gnawing at him for a while-- the older man had just disappeared in the space of time when they’d left for the mechanic’s and when they’d gotten back, which was a relatively small window.
Sophia kept a hand on the board pressed against the doorframe as she knelt down to fish out another nail from the bag. “He leaves for most of the day, usually. Says he’s off looking for that kid he came here to find. Allie, Alec, something like that.”
“So you don’t know who it is?”
She shrugged, unconcerned with the matter. “If it’s the right person, I don’t think he’s here. His family lives in Shepherd’s Glen. But if he was here before Dante arrived, there’s no use looking for him.”
Nero stopped, hand resting on the board he’d just fixed into place. “You think he’s dead.” It wasn’t a question.
Sophia’s eyes darted away, with a certain degree of guilt. “…What am I supposed to think? I’ve been all over this place, and I didn’t see anyone,” She seemed to struggle with a slightly hopeful look. “Do you think Dante will find him, though?” That’d be nice, went unspoken behind the question.
He wasn’t sure. If it took Dante this long to look for a regular human, then chances were the kid was dead. “If anyone can find anything in this place, it’d be him.”
She nodded, ponytail bobbing. “Yeah. He’s… certainly professional.”
For the first time since arriving in Silent Hill, Nero felt like laughing, not out of irony or bitterness, but because of the way that sounded. He settled for a smile, imagining the look Sophia might have if confronted with the way Dante’s room looked. A professional didn’t usually have pizza boxes stacked in every corner, cleverly disguised as heaps of junk with skin mags and ancient vinyl records piled on top. Even the ever-persistent Patty simply ignored that room of the agency when she cleaned.
They’d finished the western side of the U-shaped complex after what Nero guessed were a few long hours. With no sun and no watch, time had ceased to really matter. It got dark, and when it got dark, you went inside. That was the only constraint.
Standing back and looked at their handiwork, it was easy to see who had done what: Nero’s boards were straight and symmetric, the nails near perfect, and it almost looked respectable. Sophia’s, on the other hand, appeared to be the work of a frenzied quarantine rush, the boards crooked and overlapping, the nails hammered in too much vengeance.
“Not too shabby.” Nero remarked, with a mild sense of pride. Nothing would be getting in or out of those rooms without at least making a racket.
Arriving with a customary smirk and vague creak of leather, Dante folded his arms over his chest as he stopped beside Nero. “Yeah, you’re a regular carpenter. How is it you never want to replace shingles at Devil May Cry?”
The younger man made a sour face. When had he become resident handyman? “You don’t need new shingles, you need a new roof. It’s full of bullet holes, that’s why there are so many leaks.”
“I lead a dangerous life.”
“I noticed.”
The demon hunter stepped forward, rapping a knuckle against one of the skewed boards. “Who was drinking?”
Sophia flushed, or at least some pink appeared near her cheeks. “It works, so who cares.”
“Well, don’t quit your day job.”
She didn’t have a comeback for that, settling for shoving her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt and wandering away, kicking an empty can into the fog as she came to it.
“So,” Dante turned back to the truck, suddenly all business. “Did you fix it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Nero answered, bad mood returning. “I looked it over, and there’s nothing else I can do. I replaced all the parts that might be malfunctioning, but it still won’t start.”
Going in for a second opinion, Dante lifted the hood with a painful protest from the truck, looking in at the engine himself. “Solenoids?”
“What?”
“Did you replace the solenoids?”
“What good would that do?”
“I bet it’d help.”
“You couldn’t put batteries into a flashlight the right way, and you’re giving me advice?”
“You guys,” Sophia called, now somewhere nearby the motel, in a patient tone. “It’s getting dark again.”
Nero started to wonder how she could even tell, but decided it was better not to ask. Dante left the truck, and joked with Sophia about zombies or something-- Nero wasn’t paying attention. He took a last look at the truck, before putting the hood back down. He’d go find some solenoids in another car or something, and at least try the suggestion.
Returning to the motel room’s door, he noticed that Sophia had turned on her light and closed her door again. It seemed almost rude how quickly she shut them both out at night, but it was none of his business anyway. She probably just preferred to eat alone, or something.
Meanwhile, in his room, Dante had set up a propane torch on the floor, for some reason, and seemed to be trying to cook with it. Nero held in a snide remark about failing the Boy Scouts, and glanced at the two cans balanced precariously on the metal crown above the torch. Ravioli. Nero made the mistake of thinking about real ravioli, and instantly the cans seemed less appealing. Better than just M&M’s, anyway.
He sat down nearby the lantern, also placed on the floor, and proceeded to do a little service-work on Red Queen: it was better than watching the ravioli heat up, and he didn’t want to think about what kind of nasty rust might set in if he didn’t. It filled the visual emptiness, if not the audible one. But there was only so much he could maintenance on his sword, and eventually the task ended. So much for keeping busy.
“So is your idea of a working vacation?” Nero asked, splitting the silence. Even within this small space of light, there were still shadows, still flickers, still unsettling images lurking in the peripheral. There was no point in letting the mood be any more sinister.
“If I work on vacation, I work on vacation in Hawaii,” Dante prodded the cans of ravioli, with a slightly sour look. “This place is Jersey with fog.”
“I’ve never seen demons like the ones that are here,” The younger man stared at the propane torch, concentrating on the tiny waves in the flame’s heart. “The whole town is wrong.”
“I’ve been here for almost a month,” Dante reminded him. “I’ve noticed.”
Nero leaned forward-- this was exactly what had bothered him since he got here: Silent Hill wasn’t the sort of place Dante liked in the least, he’d probably resolved his work here, but he’d stayed. “Why are you still here? Sophia thinks the kid’s dead.”
Dante picked up one of the ravioli cans gingerly, and passed it to Nero. “Careful, that’s hot.” Nero shot him a deprecating look, and held the can without injury in his right hand. It took a little more than heat to faze him these days. “As for why I’ve stayed… could you just leave this place here?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s got a certain mystery.”
“I could do without it.”
“Silent Hill is three different places. The first is a normal town, with people, life, just any other town. The second is a place filled with fog, lurking dangers, things like that,” Dante stirred the lukewarm pasta in his own can, gesturing with the spoon as he spoke. “And the third is what the locals refer to as the ‘Otherworld.’”
Nero sat up straight as a wave of shadow passed over the cramped room, the torch and lantern’s light bucking and wavering. The curtained window behind Dante rattled, despite all obvious absence of wind. As soon as the spatial fit had started, it stopped, almost leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined it.
Dante didn’t help, continuing to talk as if nothing had happened. “I doubt the regular town exists much anymore, if it ever did. And the other two are bleeding into one another. But most of the monsters aren’t from the Otherworld-- they’ve got a different vibe.”
“Different vibe.” Nero repeated, spearing a ravioli on the tip of the plastic fork, trying not to consider it before putting it in his mouth. It was still cold at the center, but he didn’t say anything.
“Yep. A little more ‘original’.”
“Spit it out.”
“It’s Sophia.” The demon hunter caught his gaze, completely seriously. Nero made a weak scoffing noise, trying to refute the idea. But Dante didn’t change his expression, and his stomach twisted as he realized it was the truth. “Every monster in this town is here because of her.”
He swallowed the ravioli he’d been chewing, wishing he hadn’t as it hit a turbulent stomach. “Regular people don’t make monsters.”
“No, regular people are monsters,” Dante leaned back a little, eating with more interest than his counterpart. “Silent Hill is just one big messed up mirror… a kind of personal hell.”
“She seems like a good person.”
“Oh, yeah, there’s no doubt there. But she grew up in a town with a buried history of drugs, dead Indians, and cults. Not necessarily in that order, but hey. Anyone would be a little messed up.”
Nero frowned to himself. He didn’t want to think of Sophia as the center of all Silent Hill’s monsters. She was a victim, not a master. Underneath her wariness and withdrawn behavior, she was probably just a nice kid who’d had the living hell scared out of her by the aura of the town. It wasn’t fair to blame it all on her.
“Does she know?”
“Hell no,” Dante tossed the emptied can over his shoulder with a clatter, not bothering to see where it landed. Nero tried not to flinch at the thick splatter of sauce that had sprayed across the wall, but avoided looking at it all the same. “Would you want to be told you were responsible for what lives in this place?”
Nero set the half-empty ravioli can down near the propane torch, thinking as Dante flopped down on the closest of the beds, hands behind his head. “… Are you going to tell her?”
“Once we’re out of here, maybe.”
“You’re taking her with us?”
“You’d leave her here?”
He didn’t answer the question. No, of course not. He wouldn’t leave anyone alone in this place. Even if Sophia was the source for all the things he’d seen in Silent Hill-- and the things he hadn’t-- she couldn’t be left here. If she got out of here, she’d probably stop manifesting them all together. The thought cheered him up, at a discouragingly small increment.
As if somehow sensing she was the subject of conversation, Sophia apparently dropped something in her room. Nero listened as it fell to the floor and rolled out of hearing, and the subsequent patter of footsteps as she followed it.
Dante yawned, almost irritatingly unbothered by the malevolence of the world outside the motel room. “Eat your ravioli and go to bed. It’s a long day tomorrow.”
Nero frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Think of it this way: can you see it being a short day?”
“It could be just a reg--… fine. Long day tomorrow.”
“Hah. A regular day in Silent Hill. Good one.”
It was a deer.
He felt a little relieved, at first. It wasn’t a dead person. It wasn’t a face he had to be afraid to see.
It was just a deer.
Nero had returned to the patio. The gray space of the dream had condensed into fog, and for a moment he was almost irritated. Couldn’t he get away from it, even in dreams like this? He realized it had already withdrawn, as if held back by something.
With the mist gone, he could see clearly. The deer was suspended in front of him, the distant shapes of more hanging things a vague thought, rather than something he could clearly perceive. He knew they were there, even if he couldn’t drag his focus away long enough to bring them into view. Unlike this deer.
The canvas tied around the corpse had vanished, leaving the animal bare. The back legs were tied together at it’s hooves, a thick metal hook and chain holding it upside-down from it’s feet.
It was bizarre to see an animal shaped the way it was upside-down, almost leisurely, half-heartedly rotating. Nero began to feel pity for it.
The round, limpid brown eyes seemed to stare up at him, not yet glassy or clouded with death. They didn’t blame him for it’s death, but seemed more confused by it.
Puzzled.
Sorry, Nero wanted to say. You really are dead.
The way the words sounded bit at the inside of his mouth, and he regretted saying them, even though he hadn’t actually said anything at all, he could still hear it echoing. What a thoughtless thing to think.
Almost desperate to switch subjects, he looked down at his hands, as if remembering there was something he had to do with them. Inevitably, his gaze was dragged to his right hand-- and it was human again, plain and soft and human, with nails and cuticles and skin and bones…
It was like looking at an old photo of a relative. His hand, human again. What a dream to have. Curled around the thick, grimy metal handle of some kind of lever… but the lever kept going, and suddenly it wasn’t a lever at all, it was the Red Queen-- but, no, not really, he’d never let his sword get so dirty, so rusty and…
The deer twitched.
It wasn’t Red Queen at all. It was some strange, huge foreign knife. He’d never seen it before in his life, but as Nero looked back up at the carcass, he was horrified because he knew he knew that he’d killed the deer, gutted it with the knife he was still holding, even if he hadn’t meant to he had, even if it wasn’t her fault
He whirled around, the tip of the great knife dragging like metal nails on the cement underneath them. A man had appeared behind him, mourning and furious at the same time. But even as Nero received those impressions, they faded away and were forgotten, leaving a kind of cold, implacable accusation in their place, lurking and slowly circulating inside the faceless arbiter.
“No, I didn’t--” He started to sweat, his human fingers clenching tighter around the handle of the knife, only growing tighter and together as he tried to let go. “I didn’t kill it!”
The man underneath the hood didn’t answer. Nero was struck with the bone-chilling thought that he could say anything he wanted, but the man would still kill him, and the deer would still be dead.
The man raised the spear he held, leveling it at him in a smooth, practiced motion.
“You’re wrong! I didn’t kill it!”
The spear point thrust forward, and Nero felt himself carried by the motion, the blade shoving through his chest
Something landed on his face, and Nero went berserk for a moment. Devil Bringer acting on reflex, he grabbed the soft thing and ripped-- the violent motion was rewarded by a satisfying tearing sound, and he flung the thing away from himself, kicking and scrambling away as best he could.
Belatedly returning to his senses, he found himself pressed up against the cheap wooden headboard of the bed, heart racing.
One of the motel’s heavy pillows had been gutted, the case torn open, a combination of feathers and polyester surrounding it in a heap of fluffy viscera. Shreds of feathers and stuffing still floated through the air like deformed snow.
Nero looked over at Dante, only halfway aware that his mouth was still partially open. The older man looked unamused by the whole situation, flinging his remaining pillow at him. “What the hell do you dream about?”
This time, Nero caught it, and hurled it back with more venom than was necessary. “Shut up and go back to sleep.”
Dante rolled his eyes, and stuffed the pillow back under his head as he laid back down. “Easier said than done when your bunkie is going nuts.”
continued in chapter three
Also, + monster art on Skies' dA, as well as some bonus Sophia art.