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ohbutwheresyourheart · 12 days

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latest installment in fragments from the google docs: what if dmc characters in bloodborne?

this is one I really do want to finish, mostly for the opportunity to, by the end, put Vergil, V, Urizen, and Nelo Angelo all in the same story and make it (mostly) make sense because of Bloodborne being so fast and loose with what is real

Many years ago, long before Nero was born, Yharnam was ravaged by demons with no hope of recourse. The city screamed, and suffered, until it could only moan like a downed beast with its entrails spilled across the ground, waiting for death to slip in and close its eyes for good. The inhabitants wept behind barred doors day and night, praying that the gods would deliver them from their ordeal.

And, just as all hope seemed lost, the gods were merciful.

His name was Sparda, but he was known ever after more by his titles than his name; the Legendary Dark Knight; the Holy Blade; the First Hunter. A brave and valiant man, stronger - by the grace of the gods - than even the mightiest demons. He fought back the horde, secured Yharnam’s freedom from demonic oppression, and taught his hand-picked acolytes how to follow in his footsteps. Thus was born the Church and its Hunters.

At some point - nobody could quite pinpoint when - Sparda vanished from Yharnam, leaving his honourable warriors to keep the peace and protect the innocent in his wake.

Nero himself never set foot in the charred remnants of Old Yharnam. No Yharnamite with their wits about them would dream of it. The old hamlet is still rife with demons, though nowadays they know better than to stray from the blackened ruins they have clawed back as their own.

He’s heard stories, though, from those few gnarled hunters still enduring from that night. It takes work to get them to even speak of Old Yharnam; most veer away from the subject like fleeing hares, muttering only a few words about flames and charred flesh. The stories he does manage to tease out speak in hushed tones of Lugwig.

A hunter beyond compare; a saint, almost, in his own right; a power uncontested and a rallying point for his compatriots. Until that fateful night when Old Yharnam burned like so much dry tinder. The night when his family perished; though by demons or by the Church’s flames, opinions differ. What is known is that Ludwig quit the city that night and was never seen again, not pausing even to sift through the ashes for those belonging to his wife and twin sons.

One hunter, bolder - or just drunker - than all the rest ventures that it’s for the best, though they are all the poorer for the loss of Ludwig’s strength and skill… for say it was the flames that did for them, would that not make Ludwig an enemy of the Church?

There is not a man or woman in Yharnam who does not dream of fighting side-by-side with Ludwig, and who would not wake in the night in a sweat of terror at the thought of fighting against him.

But, back to reality: this was decades ago. Ludwig, unless he were some preternatural creature (and the rumours do not necessarily preclude that possibility), is long since dust himself.

The demons, though - the demons are always there, waiting for the slightest crack in their defences to rise up and overwhelm them.

----

Early evening: the sun begins to dip below the domes and spires, and hunters across the city ready themselves to set out.

Nero is still young but he started early; he’s seen enough hunts to be past the stomach-clenching fear of the fresh blood. Officially, the Church only inducts hunters upwards of eighteen, but the nights have been fierce in Yharnam these past years and there is nobody taking a register of who stays in and who goes out once the sun goes down. Not that he was thrown to the wolves (or allowed to throw himself); Credo was his watchdog until he found his feet.

Nowadays they rarely cross paths, especially during a hunt. Credo joined the Executioners two years ago, elevated to a sphere above mere hunters of demons. Still, the blood of brotherhood runs deep, and Credo does not forget his foster brother. Nor does Nero begrudge Credo his promotion. It helps that he is happy enough where he is; Logarius’s band brings prestige at the cost of endless hours in the chapel and a fervour of purpose that seems on occasion to be bringing new lines and a worrying pallor to Credo’s face.

Credo is here tonight, actually; stopping by to see Kyrie and reassure her they’ll both be home by morning. She’s tough, their Kyrie, but Nero knows when she’s setting her shoulders to emulate the wives of the senior Church hunters who have resigned themselves to incense-filled nights of prayer.

Nero suspects Kyrie will be sending a prayer or ten up to St Eva tonight. It is Burning Eve, after all - and what a night for a hunt - but, even without the added impetus, pious and correct Kyrie has nevertheless always had a soft spot for this particular unofficial saint.

“We’ll be fine,” Nero assures her as he hitches Red Queen over his shoulder and into the holster across his back. “It’s June, the night won’t even be that long.”

Of course, they both know that the hunt lasts as long as it lasts; it starts at dusk by tradition, but the demons won’t recoil at first light like storybook monsters. They have an agreement of such jaunty send-offs, however, to ease the worry of parting. Nero worries less than Kyrie does. As a church songbird she’ll be in the Grand Cathedral all night singing masses to strengthen the hunters and beg mercy (strictly in the afterlife) for the hunted. Surrounded by incense and no small numbers of Church soldiers, in the same building as Sanctus himself, she’ll be one of the safest people in the city.

All the same, he holds her close and breathes her in before he goes. Kyrie hums contentedly against his neck, her fingers twining into the collar of his jacket.

“Come home safe,” she whispers. “I’ll be waiting.”

“There won’t be anything out there to trouble us tonight,” Credo assures her.

As always, he looks torn between indulgence and awkwardness as Nero and Kyrie’s closeness. Nero was raised in their household, and he suspects Credo has never been quite sure whether to denounce their attachment or go down on his knees that Kyrie’s choice settled on a man he inherently approved of. He compromises by, as usual, speaking slightly to the side of them.

Kyrie lets out a huff and pulls him into a hug as well. “Of course not. My brave and valiant hunters.”

Credo smiles and pushes back Kyrie’s bangs to kiss her forehead. “Be safe. Stay in the cathedral, and close to His Holiness.”

Outside, the vespers' bells toll. The three of them tense. It is time to say goodbye.

“We must go.” Credo straightens his robes. It’s an unconscious gesture he’s picked up since his elevation, as if the heavily embroidered white garments of the Executioners - or the responsibilities they entail - sit too weightily on him for comfort.

His gaze flicks across to Nero, who can feel Credo checking off his equipment. It used to annoy him, but Nero recognises the concern for what it is now. Trying to be helpful, he tugs aside his jacket so Credo can see the gun at one hip and the prepared molotov cocktails tied to the other, and then spins a slow circle to show off the sword strapped to his back, but Credo only frowns.

“Noisy,” he remarks, nodding to the bottles. “And aren’t you worried they’ll shatter?”

“Nah, the glass is tempered.” Nero flicks the side of one bottle to demonstrate; his nail reverberates off the glass with a dull ring. “And since when have I been quiet? You know I think subtlety is overrated.”

Credo rolls his eyes; Kyrie tries to suppress a laugh but ends up snorting. Nero winks at them both. He likes to leave Kyrie laughing.

“You have blood?” By contrast, Credo is serious still; the frown lines between his eyes are becoming a permanent fixture. His hand skims over his own belt, where two dozen gleaming vials sit in their padded pockets. “I can spare some--”

Nero shakes his head. “No need, I’ve got plenty.”

Which he does, plus Nico always keeps supplies for him - though she pretends she doesn’t - and Credo will be facing stronger, wilier prey than Nero will tonight. He’ll need all his blood for himself.

“Come on, we need to get going,” he adds as the bells toll again. So many churches, so many bells, that when they ring it is a cacophony, but at least you always know what time it is in Yharnam. On nights like these, the bells can be the only thing to give a hunter hope that morning is slowly but surely clawing its way towards them.

Just so long as the demons don’t claw their way towards you first.

They pause only long enough for Kyrie to fasten her cloak and then leave the house, joining the stream of people hurrying to get to their final destination before night falls. Church folk like Kyrie and some particularly ardent - or desperate - worshippers are heading for the Grand Cathedral to join Sanctus’s prayers, while the hunters are more diverse in their paths. Old friends and new comrades greet each other, exchanging plans for the night; some will rove in bands, while the best marksmen will set up shop in one of the city’s countless high towers to pick off the demons from a distance.

Credo and Kyrie exchange quick, tense pleasantries with various acquaintances, but their eyes and words skim past Nero. An orphan and a whore-spawn, he is noted as a good hunter but that doesn’t quite make up for his origins. In the tightly-regimented, virtue-driven society of Yharnam, it is your blood that seals your fate - and Nero’s has never quite measured up to standard. If Kyrie and Credo’s parents hadn’t taken him in, he doesn’t know where he’d be now. Dead, most likely; pressed into hunting but without a guiding presence to keep him alive.

The three of them stick together down the main boulevard the house sits on, but part ways at the first crossroads. Kyrie goes north to the cathedral; Credo is due to meet with his fellow Vileblood Hunters; Nero… Nero, as usual, has his own plans.

“Be safe!” Kyrie calls out over her shoulder as she is swept away up the street. She raises a hand, pale and bright as a star in the failing light, and Nero raises his own in answer - then she’s gone, and Credo as well.

And where do Nero’s footsteps take him, on such a treacherous night? He exchanges barely a nod with the comrades he spots; for the most part, he keeps his head down, his cap of wizened feathers low over his eyes, and his bandanna pulled up over his nose and mouth. No search for compatriots… not here, at least. Few hunters can keep up with him, and the few times he’s attempted collaboration has ended in either frustration at best or disaster at worst.

That does not mean, however, that Nero is without friends and allies in Yharnam. Even now, he walks against the flow of people before ducking down a series of back-alleys and side-streets. His path takes him by a fountain near one of the city’s numerous stately bridges, then through a smaller square, down an alley, past a heavy wrought-iron gate and into the confines of Agnus’s clinic.

He’s not there for Agnus, who discomfits him at best, but for his daughter. Nicoletta is a comparatively new addition, still a novelty to insular Yharnam, and had caused a scandal on her arrival by diving headfirst into company with the heretical Powder Kegs. An inventor to rival (Nero would wager outshine) her father, she spent three months in the lofty confines of the Church workshop before turning her back on her esteemed colleagues for, as she put it, much more fun.

The Church’s loss is Nero’s gain. For the price of demonic viscera and whatever coin Nero can scrape together, Nico conjures wonders that tantalise and delight him, with his love for chaos, and - most importantly - kill demons with extreme prejudice.

Speaking of which… Nico apparently has something new up her sleeve. Nero has obeyed orders and kept clear for the past two days but Nico swore up and down that her latest creation would be ready for tonight’s hunt. While Nero doesn’t technically need any new toys… well, he’d be a fool - not to mention thanklessly incurious - to say no.

Noise burbles forth from the makeshift workshop Nico has set up in a disused room of her father’s clinic, which Nero takes as a good sign. With wisdom born out of a series of near-misses, he knocks on the door and steps to the side out of the path of any projectiles, whether intentional or otherwise.

A moment later, the door swings open and reveals Nico, grease-covered and grinning.

“About time you showed up!” she scolds him. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten where I live!”

Nero raises his eyebrows. “Weren’t you the one who told me to leave you alone to work on your new masterpiece?”

“Well--!” Nico fumbles for a moment before finding her balance on the reliable footing of brazening out her point. “You’re still late! Look at the time! Now get in here before a demon eats you.”

The Church workshop is a place Nero has set foot in only a handful of times; most of his equipment at the start came second-hand from Credo, or from what Credo and Kyrie’s father had left behind. Still, those few visits were burned into his mind: the gleaming rows of weapons, the cacophony of voices, the whirl of vestments-turned-armour, rank indicated by colour and cut.

Nico’s workshop is… not that. Poky and cluttered with seemingly no system to the storage, though Nico admittedly always does seem to know where to find what she is looking for. Nero also suspects that the chaos is at least partly intentional to better hide the materials she acquires on the black market from other hunters (Nico, having spurned the Church workshop, is now persona non grata to many merchants in the city) or simply steals from her father.Indeed, the only thing that takes Nero back to the high, hallowed rooms of the Church workshop is the smell: gunpowder, leather, oil, and incense. Tonight, it is the gunpowder that he smells most strongly. Nico takes the Powder Keg motto to heart - if a weapon ain’t got kick, what’s the point?

#fragments from the google docs #devil may cry #bloodborne #dante #vergil #nero #kyrie #credo #nico #the second most exciting thing about this fic is #well #if you're familiar with bloodborne lore #and you know kyrie is a woman of faith #i'm sure you can figure it out :)

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