[
the power has already flickered on and off numerous times due to the heavy rain of the monsoon. once again the lights dull as one last brown-out sweeps through the New Moore apartments before the Dark Hour begins and all power goes out. the blank screens of dozens of television sets flicker to life. for a moment, all it's static, and then a picture begins to form.
the camera, cocked at an awkward angle, looks like it's being held by an amateur. while the rain pours down heavily in the distance, the dark clouds here huddle beneath a low-hanging moon and only threatening to storm. beneath the ominous-looking sky, there is the outline of two familiar figures against a foreign backdrop. on all sides they're surrounded by high slopes, and the cliffs tapering into the darkness behind them. the unsteady terrain, which curves to a point, is covered in deep graves surrounded in stone blocks. upon closer inspection the tombs are moving, as if the people inside are trying to lift the stone blocks from their graves. it isn't apparent through the grainy imagery until the camera pans out that the mud and rock is mixed with blood.
there are two men fighting. they both have suspiciously similar looking swords. at first, it's hard to tell them apart, but the more you look, the more obvious it becomes. it's Dante, his usual red leather jacket is black, and fades into the dirt and shadows dancing across the ground. and there's another Dante, who's wearing the same outfit as he was last seen in, a tattered heavy metal t-shirt and a pair of leather pants, neither of which is in very good shape. it looks like he's been stabbed numerous times through the middle, and he's already stained and matted with his own blood. the wide swings of the two swords and deafening clash of metal as they meet is so quick and offensive to the senses that it's difficult to figure out who has the upper hand.
then the shadow skewers Dante through the middle. pinned to a grave with his own six-foot blade through his chest, the white-haired man in what was once a raggedy heavy metal t-shirt puts his hands to the sword, trying to remove it from his chest. the blood begins to puddle around him.
leaning the on the hilt of the sword with his foot, the shadow puts his weight onto the hilt of the sword, digging it further into his owner's chest. the camera catches his attention and he looks up casually, his eyes a vivid gold.]
Hey there, aren't you guys lucky? The two of us have got quite the show planned.
[
the shadow makes a mock bow, and continues speaking, strolling a few steps away from his victim before he draws a gun from beneath his jacket and starts shooting him repeatedly, the flash from the .45 in his hand lighting up the dull imagery.]
It seems like some people need a little help dying, and I have a feeling the genius over there doesn't quite get it, so I'll spell it out so everyone understands.
[
the shadow reloads the gun, pulling the slide between his teeth. he begins to pace back and forth across the screen like a wild cat in silence, before turning back to the man pinned at the grave, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back. the's a low growl that rolls from Dante's throat. the shadow grins widely, showing his teeth. His voice gets deliberately low.]
This guy is resisting God's irresistible will. That's why I'm here, to set things straight. It's just
so sad. Do you think if the demons knew that he couldn't protect himself that they would put him out of his misery? Instead he makes an effort of moving forward like it'll make a difference. "Hey, look at me. Look at all the reasons I have to live." [
he sputters, ending it with a cackle.] So, what is it? A traitor to humanity, or a traitor to the demons? Take your pick, it'll all end us all in the same place. Don't kid yourself, we should've followed in our father's footsteps when we had the chance.
[
he holds up his hands suddenly.]
Would it be easier to ignore it? Change the subject?
I'll tell you what we're going to do. The answer is easy. You can all come down one by one and take a blow at him yourself before he commits his own suicide. Don't be shy, with this guy it's going to happen eventually.
[
it's not long before the shadows begin to move in, crawling up from the graves and forming out of thin air. they move as if they're ill, limping and fumbling like marionettes on strings. the shadow turns, and grabbing the hilt of the six-foot sword on his back, swings it in a wide arc, enough to slice them all clean in half, leaving nothing but a fragment of what they were. as more begin to form, he moves close to the camera, lifts a hand, and phantom-mimes a gun at the screen with a sick grin.]
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