#v dmc5

The dust from the cars driving along the potholed road had long since settled, but the air still smelled of burning and ozone—the aftermath of the battle, the sounds of which seemed to still echo in your ears. You sat in the passenger seat, your fingers gripping the edge of the dashboard so tightly your knuckles turned white. Your gaze was fixed on the intersection at the end of the street—the only road leading to the epicenter of this nightmare, to the neighborhood shrouded in the roots of the Qliphoth where they had gone. Nero, Dante. V.

Niko didn't stop talking. It was amazing how someone who spent all their time in the workshop, completely alone, could talk for so long. You didn't time it, but it felt like Niko had been chatting nonstop for a good couple of hours. She'd discussed everything: her new invention ideas, grumbled about the "ungrateful Nero's" bad temper, and reminisced with delight and awe about Kyrie's delicious cooking. You, however, had ignored almost everything she said, nervously tapping your toe on the floor.

It had been… how long? Half an hour? An hour? Time had lost its meaning, turning into a viscous, sticky substance. Every second of waiting echoed like a dull heartbeat in her ears.

Goldstein cracked the window, the metal lighter clanking softly in her hand. A pungent gray cloud of smoke instantly filled the cabin and evaporated just as quickly, leaving behind a barely perceptible aroma of tobacco. Unlike you, Niko was as calm as ever. She crossed her legs, leaned back in the seat, and relaxed, exhaling poison in small gray rings that immediately dissolved.

"Nervous?" she remarked mockingly, flicking her ashes onto the floor of the van.

You shrugged, but didn't take your eyes off the road.

"A little, yeah."

"Oh, come on," Niko waved her hand carelessly, flicking away the ashes. "Look at this group. Dante's a legend. Lady and Trish are absolutely scorching hot, they'll be fine. Nero might be a jerk, but with my guns, he's a killing machine now."

"Uh-huh," you mutter, continuing to gaze out at the deserted streets.

Niko fell silent. For a long, agonizing second. And then such a wide, knowing grin spread across her face that you wanted to sink into the ground.

"Ahh," Niko drawled, taking the cigarette out of her mouth. "I see. Are you waiting for your poet?"

You were about to snap back, but instead bit your lip, clenching your fist. You thought of him—the slender fingers gripping his cane. His dark, almost black hair falling over his pale face; the strange, painful grace in his movements. You remembered his slightly sad, yet still warm gaze, the one he briefly glanced at you before disappearing into the ruins; the heavy cane in his hand, the book of poetry clutched to his chest. You caught yourself thinking that every glance, every barely perceptible smile, or quiet laugh, echoed within you with a strange, piercing warmth. He didn't look strong, but there was a desperate, almost self-destructive determination about him that made your heart clench. And the thought of him right there, in the epicenter of hell, sent an icy chill through your chest. "Stop it, Niko," you muttered under your breath, which only seemed to spur your friend on even more.

"Oh, come on," she persisted, "I'm not blind. Or deaf, for that matter. When you talk to him, you forget to breathe. And when he starts quoting that… what's his name… Shakespeare?"

"William Blake," you corrected automatically, then bit your tongue. Nico burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the deserted neighborhood.

"Gotcha!" she exclaimed, slamming her palm on the steering wheel. "Okay, don't get so worked up. I don't understand a damn thing about this poetry, but you listen to it as if he's personally revealing the secrets of the universe to you. Come on, spill the beans. Do you like him?"

Your cheeks flushed with heat, your heart began to beat faster. You turned sharply, ready to launch into an angry tirade, but the words caught in your throat. "Never mind," you muttered, turning away and trying to hide your burning cheeks with your hair.

"As you say," Niko agreed easily, clearly pleased with your reaction. She flicked the cigarette butt out the window. "Just don't worry so much. Seriously. Well, that V… he didn't just show up here for no reason, right? He knows what he's doing. And he doesn't seem like the type to just die. And his familiars… hell, Shadow alone is a beast, not a cat. So, everything will be fine."

You remained silent, but the tension in your chest eased a little. Niko was right. She knew how to calm you, albeit in her own rough way. You took a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from shaking, and tiredly ran a hand over your face.

Another hour passed. The silence was broken only by the hiss of radio static and the occasional honk of a car. Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded around the corner.

Nero appeared around the corner. He looked tired, dirty, but whole, his mechanical arm shimmering in the streetlights. Your heart leaped joyfully for a moment, but you immediately tensed again, your gaze sliding past him.

Dante emerged behind him, unsteadily, but with a smirk that never left his face. Behind him, Lady loomed, adjusting her holster, and next to her, Trish walked, a slight, barely noticeable smile on her face.

You yanked the car door open so hard it almost blew off its hinges. The resounding sound of metal hitting metal echoed across the deserted street. Jumping out, you were ready to run to meet them, screaming with joy. But… The smile that had already begun to spread across your face froze, then slowly slid away, turning into a mask of confusion and anxiety. You looked past Dante and Nero, hoping that V would appear at any moment, limping, leaning on the Griffin… But there was no one else behind them. You opened your mouth, but the words stuck in your throat. Your heart, which had been pounding wildly with joy just a moment ago, skipped a beat and sank somewhere down into the icy void.

He was not among them.

"Where…" you began, but the words died on your lips.

Your gaze fell on a figure emerging from around the corner. You expected to see a black cloak, a frail figure leaning on a cane, and a shock of black hair. But before you stood a man you'd never seen before.

Tall, stately. White hair combed back, stern features, a sharp gaze, and an icy calm. He moved with the confident grace of a predator, and every feature conveyed an incredible, almost frightening power. His dark cloak, trimmed with silver embroidery, fluttered in the wind.

"…where's V?" you whispered, your voice muffled and unnatural in the stillness of the night. Your gaze slid over Nero's face, then darted to Dante, who was shaking his head. The question hung in the air, but there was no answer.

The stranger paused for a moment. His icy gaze swept over the assembled group and settled on you. Those eyes, cold and piercing, held no trace of the vulnerable, poetic melancholy that had been in V's. These were the eyes of a warrior who had lived a long and cruel life. But deep within them, behind that icy wall, something flickered that took her breath away. It was… tenderness? And a deep, aching sadness. He looked at you as if he saw something infinitely precious and irrevocable. As if you were part of his brief, half-forgotten humanity.

He held a book in his hands. It was old, the leather binding cracked in places. On the cover was a gold-embossed "V".

"He asked me to tell you," the man said. His voice was low and velvety. "And to say… that he's sorry he can't say goodbye in person."

The book fell heavily into your trembling hands. You stared at the binding, unable to utter a word. A carousel of snippets of conversations flashed through your head, his quiet laughter when you didn’t understand the next turn of the verse, his attentive, studying glances.

"Where is he?" you asked, your voice breaking. The stranger's gaze lingered on your face for a moment. A hint of regret flickered in his eyes—and then he looked away.

You opened the book at random, and the soft, age-yellowed pages rustled softly in the mournful silence. The graceful lines of his handwriting caught your eye. Carefully, as if afraid to erase them, you ran your fingers over them, touching the dark ink almost weightlessly. A single tear escaped your eyelashes and immediately spread as a dark stain on the page.

"Then if chance along this forest

Any walk in pathless way,

Thro' the gloom he'll see my shadow

I randomly thought of how humans are often portrayed as some oppressed race in fantasy worlds, but in real life we're actually an apex predator. Maybe this is because we actually envy the strength of animals, but we want to showcase something like the indomitable human spirit. As Josef Stalin said, "I believe in one thing only: the power of human will."

Also, the bird and his other companions made me surprisingly sad. The last thing that Griffon says to V is to enjoy the morning, and then they basically go on a suicide mission and get killed by Dante, since if they die, that puts an end to Vergil's nightmares.

I wish I played this game earlier. I'll do Vergil's actual campaign later. I can't believe it's 7 years old.

Edit. Seriously? It's just the same levels but playing as Vergil for all 20? Capcom sure got lazy with this one. But I'd still say the game is a good deal for just five dollars. I got it during the summer sale.

The rest of this is just some rants about how I've been recently.