First chalice _ Tear
Vergil returned to his dream more often than a hunter should. More than once, instead of walking in the streets of Fortuna to kill the abominations sprouted from humanity’s foolishness, he indulged in the sinister silence of his own mind for no reason. He was strong and didn’t need to be healed often in the other dimension, and yet, he was there whenever his soul told him to. And his soul was quite the chit-chatter.
He would probably soon be unable to go back to the real world if he kept trapping himself inside that unworldly place even when his body wasn’t injured. The idea of being denied forever the entrance to the world of normal humans grew pleasant in Vergil’s mind, and yet, he kept going back to save who didn’t fall in madness. There was nothing in Fortuna, nor in another place on Earth that was worth living for, but only there Vergil could find the blood he needed to achieve his purpose.
The desire of seeing him again was stronger than his reluctance of staying among the humans. Vergil returned to the human world for him only, and only for him he found difficult leaving his dream. If his subconscious hadn’t stabbed him in the back like in a classic tragedy and didn’t give him his empty presence, Vergil wouldn’t risk what he had chased for his whole life to indulge in a sweet delusion.
He was in the corner of the little garden, hidden among the bushes, empty of life and so still that Vergil didn’t notice his presence until the third time he got in the dream, with his guts almost gushing out from his stomach. His blood lit the lantern of a crimson light, and the doll moved and talked, pretending to be a living being. Pretending to be him. The doll healed his injuries and went back to its dreamless sleep.
Vergil hated that porcelain face with all his strength. For some time, he felt more comfortable in the real world, where he didn’t feel those lifeless eyes on him and didn’t spend useless minutes staring at the familiar features coming from an ancient time. Even if many years passed since the last time he saw him, Vergil recognized the face at the first glance, and the desire of disfiguring it moved his blade, but stopped right before he could hurt the Doll.
The face of his young brother, Dante, lived in that Doll in the shape of the last time they met. That Doll would function even without the nose, the eyes, the mouth, because its purpose was to enhance Vergil’s powers through the blood he gathered from his enemies and heal his injuries. That face was useless. And yet, Vergil couldn’t bring himself to destroy those features and reduce them to crumbles to reveal whatever skeleton lied inside that fake flesh.
He was old, his battle and sufferance carved in the wrinkles of his skin; the Doll’s face had no sign to taint the smooth surface, it was a memory frozen in time. Vergil couldn’t allow a fake memory to hinder his personal crusade to retrieve his true brother from the hell humans created for him. But he always did.
Vergil returned to his dream just to see the fake Dante awakening at his order and obediently follow his lead. His Doll body was cold and seemed to suck in all of Vergil’s warmth without being able to keep it inside him, and no matter how much Vergil held him into his arms, that Dante never gave him back the sensation of being alive. However, it didn’t matter.
Without the frilly Victorian dress, the Doll lost the little impression of humanity it tried to give. The mechanical joints gave it away, and the thin body was nothing compared to the muscles Vergil groped and squeezed in the heat of youth. But it was better than nothing, Vergil thought leaning on the fake Dante to kiss his cold lips. The Doll put both hand around his neck and opened his legs, as always; he repeated the moves Vergil taught him with violence. The first time, he raised his skirt and spread his legs without waiting for whatever reaction may come from the Doll, but the fake Dante probably didn’t know how to handle such an unusual situation – or maybe he did too well and decided to stay still while the hunter devoured the vital life with rude thrusts which almost broke the doll’s hips.
Vergil didn’t know why he kept kissing the doll, when all he received was a cold pressure of lips against his mouth and an empty confused stare. His face never flinched, nor when he yelled at him, nor when he raped him. The fake Dante just looked at him with his sad blue eyes.
“Do you pity me?” Vergil grunted and clenched a hand around his throat. “Do you?” He slammed his head on the ground. “You won’t anymore when you will see the real one!” Deep inside, he knew the doll couldn’t feel pity, nor pain; the doll couldn’t feel anything, yet Vergil tightened his grip and wanted to believe it was choking and about to cough out its please to spare its life. “I will bring him back!”
The fake Dante’s head slightly tilted on side because of Vergil’s bringing the other hand around the throat, but it didn’t flinch at the increased violence, nor reacted when Vergil came inside it with a desperate cry.
There was no need to adjust the Doll back in position, because next time Vergil would be back, the fake Dante would wait for him in the same spot, with the same clean clothes, with no sign of any injury on the porcelain skin and the lantern ready to be lit by his blood.
Vergil checked his own clothes still dirtied in the blood of his enemies. With a disgusted grimace he shook his right arm and went retrieving his weapons to leave behind his dream for now. Some drops fell on the lantern without activating it, some others dirtied the white skin of the doll.
One drop of blood landed on the corner of his right eye and slowly slid down on the cheek, tracing a reddish line. If Vergil looked back, he would see it seemed like a tear. But he didn’t and left the dream.
Second chalice _ Blood
When Nero set his mind to become a hunter, he should have asked for some instructions manual or someone who actually knew what he would be up to. All he knew was that he would acquire enough strength to kill the abominations coming from Hell and therefore protect his hometown, Fortuna. However, there were more side effects to his new status that he didn’t know about, and they were more than he expected – he wasn’t an idiot, he knew he had to expect some downsides, but, on the other hand, his imagination had never been his strong point, so he didn’t picture what he could expect. Just something.
Of course, he didn’t expect that at his first mission he would be stabbed in the chest by multiple flying armors and, instead of dying, wake up in a sort of sad-looking heaven with skeleton. Maybe it wasn’t Heaven (he became a hunter and wasn’t directly affiliated with the Church, thus Heaven’s doors were closed to him), but the anteroom to Hell: nice flowers, a floating mist around his feet, a nice cottage house and skeletons sprouting from the ground.
“What the hell…?”
“It’s not Hell. Very close to it though.”
An unexpected voice from behind was enough to make Nero turn around in surprise and raise his guard. A young man wearing a dress and with a large shawl covering his shoulders and back; he had a crimson red ribbon tied around his neck and his hair were white. If he hadn’t talked with his deep voice first, Nero would have believed he was a woman, after a first glance.
“What is this place?”
“Ah, they keep sending hunters without telling them the basic stuff.” The young man complained moving around without the gentle composure that usually women in that attired showed. “This is your dream, the place you’ll return to whenever you die.” He got closer, and Nero took a step back but didn’t avoid the contact of his finger against his chest. “There is no such thing as death for you hunters, only an endless nightmare.”
“What does that mean?” Nero slapped his hand away. “And who are you? My subconscious?” If he was, then he had to change one or two habits, Nero thought: he wasn’t sure he liked him.
“Yeah, you wish.” He chuckled. “I’m Dante, the Doll assigned to your dream.”
Dante snorted from his nose. He would rather cut to chase and fulfill his duty, but it looked like from the other side they kept assigning him hunters who didn’t think of carefully investigate all the sides of becoming a hunter before taking on the role. He massaged the back of his head, covered by a bonnet, and sighed. “There is no other way, I guess I’ll give you a quick explanation.” He leaped gracefully from the stairs to a tombstone, and Nero had to admit he knew how to move in those bulky clothes. “Whenever your body dies, you come here, in your dream. Using this little tombstone, you can go back somewhere in the other world.”
“Somewhere? Can’t you be a bit more specific?” Nero tried to close the distance between him and Dante, but he climbed the stairs walking backwards and smirked at him.
“There are some of these little dudes who like to visit the other world.” He extended his arm to point at the little skeletons carving their ways out from the ground when Nero walked close to them. “They are the messengers, and they will also help you coming here if you need new weapons or an… how did Vergil call it? Oh, upgrade.” Nero didn’t know who this Vergil was and didn’t ask; he didn’t care. “You will recognize them, they always bring a lantern with them to illuminate their path and yours.” Dante turned around and hopped on the last three stairs to enter the house. “But of course, nothing comes without a price.”
Nero clicked his tongue. “Sending demons back to Hell isn’t enough?”
“For humans, maybe. But here you will pay with the blood of your enemies.”
It sounded like a fair exchange and, the more demons he killed, the stronger he would become. After all, chasing them back from where they came from was his goal.
Nero looked at the hoard of books piled everywhere in that little room, then at the candles and at the weapon hanging on the wall. “What’s in here?”
“Here, you will upgrade your weapons.”
“Nice. And who will upgrade me?”
Dante turned around: his long skirt waved graciously, and he united his hands on his lap in a posture which was meant to reassure him. But his sly smirk was telling another story. “I will.” He replied. “Dolls are the ones who will give hunters enough strength to beat the most vicious opponents.” His smile widened, and he resembled the cat of an illustration in a book Nero loved to read when he was a child. “I suppose you encountered your first blank wall.”
Nero gritted his teeth but couldn’t deny that truth: after cleaning the streets of Fortuna from many small fries, he encountered death by the hands of a bunch of knight armor filled with demonic power. He believed his short career as Hunter was over as well as his life, but then woke up in that bizarre place, meaning his life apparently wasn’t over yet.
Dante walked past him and descended the stone stairs back to the little corner surrounded by flowers where he usually sat, motionless until a Hunter with enough intuition to awaken him arrived. Nero was behind him, following his steps like a duckling used to do with his mother.
“How are you going to make me stronger?” He asked without hiding his skepticism: Dante was shorter than him and the clothes couldn’t fully hide his built was thinner than Nero. If they engaged a fight, unless the Doll hid some special characteristics, Nero would probably obtain an easy win.
Dante exhaled a laugh. “You are thinking about fighting to become stronger, aren’t you?” Nero wasn’t able to hide his emotions, it showed on his face, and Dante chuckled. “It’s nothing so human. As a human you are strong already. You must become strong as a Hunter.”
Nero took one step back when Dante adjusted his skirt and knelt in front of him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m preparing to receive all the blood you shared and convert it in the energy you need to become a stronger Hunter. Or maybe…” He teases him. “…do you want to go back and use another strategy?”
If he wasn’t such a short fuse, Nero would try putting his brain at use and find a strategy to kill the beast which wasn’t hitting it stronger than it did with him. However, he was short in patience and he’d rather seek for strength than for a strategy.
“…okay, I’ll use the blood.” He gave up. “But I haven’t gathered it from my enemies. I didn’t know”
“Oh, you did, my dear Hunter.” Dante looked up at him, his fake eyes were shining of something which made Nero’s blood rush to his face. “The rush of adrenaline at each kill, didn’t you feel it? You just weren’t aware of it yet.”
Nero thought back of his first kills and was sure what he felt was satisfaction for killing demons and enthusiasm that he finally was strong enough to protect who he held dear. Or so that was what his humanity led him to believe?
Dante smirked. “I guess it’s time to begin.”
Of all the things Nero could expect, he wasn’t prepared for the doll grabbing the hem of his trousers and ripping the fabric to uncover his groin. He stepped back, surprised by his strength and that gesture. “What the hell?!”
Dante tilted his head. “I must gather the blood of those you’ve slayed. Their blood is echoing through your body, and I will suck it out and give it back in a new shape of energy.” He was still wearing the mocking smile which made Nero’s blood boil in irritation and something else which rushed all his energies from the brain to his crotch.
“This is the only way to get it out.” Dante stood up and approached him to kneel again. “But you can leave and go back to the other world, if this is what you desire. I will see you again soon though.”
Nero was torn: he wanted to defeat the beast and make sure to continue his journey to free Fortuna from the beasts roaming and raping his town, and his body was definitely telling him he desired with all his might doing what it was needed to increase his strength. But the teachings which signed his childhood, for how weren’t enough to shape him into a pious clerical man like his brother Credo, knocked at the back of his mind, reminding him he should do such things only in private and with a woman who would love him back for the rest of his life (after the marriage, of course). And he was now standing in a garden, surrounded by countless small white creatures who were looking at them, and with his dick few centimeters from the mouth of a Doll shaped like a young man, but dressed with women clothes.
“…you are breathing.” Nero felt the warm breath on his skin and was trembling.
“As you are.” Dante touched him: his hands were cold. “Give me your blood echoes in exchange for a renewed strength, my dear Hunter.” It sounded like a sweet and intimate pact between two lovers, but the Doll’s eyes were tainted in mischief. He looked at Nero and undisclosed his reddish lips which stood out from the pale skin; the lips were cold, but the mouth was so warm that Nero thought he could stay like this forever.
The hands leaned on Nero’s hips, Dante sucked out from him the blood of the enemies he slayed, tasting every drop of him drenched in the stinging taste of blood echoes. He licked Nero’s dick, sucked and fondled it to force out all the energy he gathered but didn’t know how to use at his advantage. The Hunter was stubborn and resisted the stimulus with his teeth gritted and the fists clenched so hard, Dante almost heard his knuckles cracking.
Then, Dante opened his mouth wide and gave Nero the view of his hard dick leaning on his tongue. Nero grabbed his head and muttered a curse because he surrendered to his instinct: the desire of feeling his soft tongue and the warmth of his mouth won over the old teachings which haunted him into the decency of the Church. His cock slid down the tongue, and when reached the throat, Nero dragged his hips back. He kept doing it again and again, until the orgasm freed him from the weight of the embarrassment and from the blood of his enemies.
Dante drank all of it, tasted his semen with a satisfied face and stood up. “This is not bad, for the first time.” He teased Nero, receiving the exact reaction he expected: he blushed and glanced away with an angered look. “You have killed more enemies than I expected.” Dante licked his lips.
“Don’t you figure it you?”
Dante sat on the stone corner of the garden, where his lantern was lit; all those flowers behind him, made him look like a figure from some painting. Nero didn’t divert his eyes from him slowly raising the hem of his skirt, showing his slightly ruined brown boots, the white legs and, at last, the uncovered entrance to his body.
Nero didn’t know a man or a Doll could have a pussy, but his world was turned upside down, and he had to learn fast that anything in that world wretched by the curse of demons could be surprising, if he kept thinking with a human mindset. However, he couldn’t help it, because his base was human after all. He gulped down, even if his mouth was dry, and knelt in front of him.
Dante tilted his head; now he was the one looking at Nero without understanding the meaning of his actions. “Hunter.” He called him when Nero grabbed his thighs and put his head between them. “It’s not like this. I–”
In his sincere naivety, Nero believed that what was given should be taken back in the same way. Dante didn’t want that, he wanted him to retrieve his energy through the same channel it was handed out, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop him, and Nero licked the slit of his body to take back what belonged to him. The gush of pleasure was enough to make Dante lean down, and his Doll body was overtaken by shivers. Nero’s tongue explored his insides and caught one by one the liquid echoes flowing outside Dante and returning to him; the more he licked and sucked, the stronger he felt.
“Hunter.” Dante panted and grabbed his hair. “You’re better than I imagined.” His voice cracked again, Nero kept eating him. “But if you want all the energy back to you…” He tugged his hair and forced him to stop. Nero glanced at the eyes wet in pleasure. “…it must flow back where it flew out.” Dante sighed and leaned down. “Come to me, Hunter.” He spread his slit with the fingers. “Let me enhance your strength.”
Nero almost stumbled as he crawled over Dante, who gently welcomed into his arms.
“Yes, like this. Ah!” Dante bit his lower lip: Nero was hard and big enough to make his body spread more than he was used to, giving him sensations he hadn’t been feeling for many years. He rocked his hips and slammed inside chasing the peak of pleasure more like a beast than a human.
Nero hugged Dante tightly, his entire body tense because of the new energy flooding like a violent river. Dante was panting and he sounded so human that Nero only wanted to thrust deeper into his him, until he would collapse into his arms without any strength left. And so he did. Nero enjoyed Dante’s body clamping around him in the moment he finally took back his renewed energy and nourished both his hunter nature and human need. The way Dante’s voice broke and he went limp into his arms, made him so similar to a human being, that Nero had to remind to himself he was a Doll.
Renovated by the blood of his enemies, Nero looked at Dante who was giving him back a languid stare. His fresh hand on the cheek felt good.
“How do you feel, my dear Hunter?”
Now that the excitement and the instinct faded away, the realization of what happened struck Nero with the intensity of a punch, and he couldn’t help but look at his semen dripping from Dante and feel ashamed.
“What’s wrong?” Dante stood up and kept his skirt raised to show Nero what he was praising only a little time ago. “You have finished your echoes, but I still can refresh your spirit.” He smirked and chuckled when Nero jolted at his offering.
“I have to go!” Nero stated aloud, but his voice faltered in the last words. “I must payback those assholes!”
“I see.” Dante let the skirt fall on his legs, and Nero took a sigh of relief. “I hope you will find what you are looking for.”
The messengers were crawling on the gravestone, and Nero, after a quick change of trousers, bent one knee in front of it to go back where he was needed. Dante watched him disappearing to the world of the awaken.
“See you soon, my dear Hunter.”