Sparda- A Guest Post by Udayan Das

DISCLAIMER- The following writeup is a piece of fan fiction about the video game, manga and anime series Devil May Cry. It is set in a time before the games have taken place. All rights reserved by the  companies involved with the series.

The sun was setting in Paradise city. With its dying time, it had taken on a scarlet hue, bathing the horizon in red. As the day bled into night, a solitary figure stood at the docks watching. If one looked closely enough, one would notice the ghost of a smile on his face. If one looked even closer, one would see his eyes just a little wide, like a child who has seen the most wondrous thing in existence. Of course, the lonely figure staring at the sunset was no child. Tall and wiry, he was dressed in a slightly crinkled white shirt and dark trousers, holding a flamboyant jacket he had evidently taken off over his shoulder. His white hair was swept backwards, although a few strands stubbornly hung in front of his face. He looked to be in his thirties, but there was something in his eyes that made him look younger.

“That’s the last of it” he murmured. “Good riddance.” Without a backward glance, he walked away. He was new in these parts, and was liking them more and more with each passing day. They had a curious drink here that they called “Coffee”. It was, in his honest opinion, the best thing he had ever tasted. To this end, he found his footsteps carrying him to Elysium, the extravagantly named but charming cafe where he seemed to be spending most of his time these days.

By the time he had arrived, so had evening. He walked in through the door and headed for his favourite window booth. To his intense surprise, he found it occupied. Very quickly, he had a mental debate about whether he should take the issue up with the occupant.
Before he could come to a decision, he took his first real look at said occupant, and audibly heard his jaw drop.

It was a woman, and what a woman she was. Hair red like fire, and eyes cool as the deep. He felt his breath catch. This was not his first time seeing her. A long time ago, in a place far far away, they had met before. They had even spoken, though he doubted she would recognize him. A lot had changed with him since then.

Despite this, he found himself making his way over to her. The voice of reason in his head said something that sounded like, “She’s out of your league”.
I’m in a fine league, he argued back, with perfect accuracy.

Before he could formulate anything vaguely resembling a plan, he was already standing in front of her. She happened to be reading a book. The cover was dark purple, with gilt lettering for the title: A Devil Who Cried. She looked up when she noticed him, a questioning expression on her face.

“You’re in my booth”, said the man, before he could think. Good work, genius. Foot in mouth again. He internally shook his head at his own clumsiness.

“Your booth?” asked the woman. “That’s interesting. I can’t seem to find a name written anywhere here.”

“This is where I take my coffee every evening.” For some reason, he found himself ploughing on although he knew he was in the wrong here.

“Not this evening”, replied the scarlet haired woman suavely.

“Oh really?” said the man, not one to back away. It was at that exact moment that he felt a force about to collide with him. Years of training kicked in, and he braced himself. It was a subtle shift, and most people wouldn’t even notice what he did. Instead of standing with both feet next to each other, he put one foot back, using that leg as a support. When the force hit him, he felt his hair swept back, as though by wind, but he didn’t flinch.

It was the woman’s turn to be surprised now. How did he know? Her eyes widened when she realised that the man was emanating demonic power. Just a small amount of it, hardly enough to sense, but it was still there. She shook her head. It didn’t make sense. Someone with that little demonic power shouldn’t be able to block her spell. Then it hit her. He didn’t use magic. He blocked it with sheer physical strength.

She felt a grin tugging at her face. “It’d be a shame if we wrecked this place. How about we do this outside?”

The man brushed his hair back into place with casual elegance. His awkwardness from moments ago was gone, replaced by the calm of absolute confidence. It was almost like he was a different person in a fight.
“That’s fine. The docks are empty at this time.”

A few minutes later, they stood facing each other on the docks. The woman tied her hair behind her head and slipped on black gloves with runes on them.
“You showed some heart by agreeing to this encounter, but you should know: with your level of power, you don’t stand a chance. So I’ll give you one last opportunity to back away.” She looked him in the eyes. “Well?”

The man carefully hung his jacket on a post. “I don’t back away from a fight.”
Her eyes gleamed at that. He had heart, she’d concede that much.
“Very well then.”

Without warning, she raised her arm to cast the spell that would slow down time, thereby freezing him in place. Before she could gather her power to do so, however, a blade screamed through the air right at her face. She leapt to the side to avoid certain death.
That speed! He’s no amateur…

Before she could continue that thought, the man had already closed the distance between them.
“Think I don’t know what you are?” He said. “Umbra Witches can manipulate time. But it takes focus… and right now, that’s not something you have!”

He pushed his palm towards her, aiming to stun her with a quick attack. But the witch was no amateur either. With blinding speed, she summoned up a small barrier, stopping his strike before it could reach her. Not missing a beat, he followed up with a knee strike, which she also blocked with a barrier. The man frowned. With almost no wind up motion or tell, he launched into a barrage of strikes. With stunning precision, she blocked each of the attacks with small barrier spells, each of them the size of her palm.

“Peak human strength”, said the woman. “No, you’re actually stronger. Each of those blows would have killed an ordinary human. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to hold back?”

“You’re not an ordinary human”, he deadpanned, not to be taken in by her words.

She laughed at that. “You have some skill. However…” she said, summoning a shining straight sword, “This is where it ends!”

She leapt forward, swinging the enchanted weapon. He dodged, and the slash he avoided left a jagged crack on the wooden platform of the dock.

“I was hoping to avoid this, but you’ve left me no choice”, he said, summoning his katana. My demonic power is all but gone. I’ll put my faith in you, Yamato. I can’t lose here.

He unsheathed the blade, which glowed an eerie, angry blue, as if baring its fangs at any who would threaten its master. 

“That sword…” said the witch. “It can’t be… no, I must be mistaken.”
She charged forward with an attack that channeled her powers into her blade. The man rushed in to meet her head on. As the two swords clashed, a shockwave was unleashed. Around the two fighters, the platform cracked, almost collapsing. Several metres away, the shockwave crashed into a massive signboard, breaking its metal supports. With a horrible noise, gravity tore it free, and it rushed downwards… towards a child.

NO! All thoughts of the fight forgotten, the woman closed her eyes, summoning her power. Her focus was razor sharp, and time ground almost to a halt, slowing the signboard before it could crush the child.

Next to her, she felt a surge of demonic power unlike anything she had ever experienced. A figure, larger than human, rushed past her towards the child.

He’s moving this fast in slowed time?!

The figure reached the child just before the signboard landed on him. With a swing of his arm, he sent it flying through the air till it crashed into a car with a crunch, totalling it.

For an instant, she saw him. Leathery body glowing with the power of demons, insectoid wings stretched wide in all their glory.

Her eyes widened.

Before she knew it, the power faded. His form shrank, becoming once more the white haired man.

He sank to one knee, breathing heavily. “What are you waiting for, kid? Run for it.” The child didn’t need to be told twice. The man struggled to get to his feet. That little stunt had cost him the last remnants of his demonic power. He looked up as the woman approached.

“Well, it seems you win this one”, he said, grinning sheepishly. “As you can see, I’m in no shape to fight right now.”

She shook her head, smiling. “No. Anyone who can give away the last of his power to save a life is a winner in my book.”

That brought a smile to his face as well.
“I never did get your name”, he said.

“Eva. But you already knew that, didn’t you… Sparda?”

The Printing Press

There was a man, who built a printing press,

Out of metal, wood and ink,

He did not realise he had taught it to think,

Every day, when the man falls asleep, the press comes to life,

And prints our histories and our futures,

Our entire destiny exits, one character at a time,

What will you call this, but God speaking to man?

For the press is not a press, but the Holy Grail,

Someone made it come to life and doesn’t know it yet

The Bilge Master

Musical Thoughts

As I sit writing this, While My Guitar Gently Weeps is playing on the stereo. It was my first Beatles number and is my father’s favourite song. I prefer Simon and Garfunkel’s The Sound of Silence myself because I identify with the song almost completely.

The thing is, I’ve been listening to music since I was a baby. My mother used to croon me to sleep using songs by ABBA or Harry Belafonte. My father introduced me to Pink Floyd at the age of seven and from there I guess I never really looked back. I was off on an adventure- deciphering lyrics, making out melody and in general I was lost amidst the voices and sounds. I even wanted to be an acoustics engineer at one point of time- someone who works with different sounds and creates some of his own.

I won’t lie- I do not know the technicalities of music. Ask me about scales and I will draw a blank. Ask me about Led Zeppelin and I’ll go on for hours. I can discuss AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Dream Theater and Steven Wilson with ease, but I would fail horribly at trying to reproduce their music on an instrument.

The fact remains that music is much more than sheets or lyrics or melody. It’s a combination of these and the end result can be magical. While My Guitar Gently Weeps just finished by the way and Bohemian Rhapsody is currently playing. I pause here and I wonder- what if some kid in Japan is listening to the same song right now? It’s quite possible! Music can be used to communicate feelings, messages and thoughts. It unifies people, like the song Imagine said when it spoke of a brotherhood of man. There are thousands of other songs like Imagine such as I Just Called to Say I Love You by Stevie Wonder which spread the message of peace and harmony among us.

Music is transcendental. It has a unique way of touching your heart. It’s a combination of pulses which find their way to your ears and end up becoming food for your soul. Music is powerful- it can make you very happy, very sad or take you on a journey into someone’s mind.

I like to think that music is the language of peace, of protest and of love. What about you?

The Bilge Master

The Forgotten

We awaken with you and we use transport like you do to get to places of work or study. But, we are not like you. You see us every day, standing in line for the bus or the taxi. You see us beside you and we look just like you do. Normal. But we are not normal.

We are the people behind the scenes, the blurred faces in the background of your DSLR photograph. We are the ones who are lost in our own worlds. Although we are a part of your world, you cannot be a part of ours.

Ours is a unique world- a world of madness and sanity; of sickness and health existing hand in hand. Sometimes we find ourselves to be anomalies in your world but we are never out of place in ours. Our world is vibrant and never stagnant. It shifts and dances in motley colours. It is a world of our design, crafted from the cell level.

We wish to coexist with you, but you cannot be a part of our world and we cannot be a part of yours. We wish to live in peace with you, but we always find ourselves alienated in your world. This is our curse.

We are everywhere, hiding in plain sight. We hide behind books, cups of coffee and glasses of wine. We live and we breathe. We inhale and we exhale, all in tempo with you.

We are the ones you have forgotten. But we remember you. We remember you all too well.

The Bilge Master

Howls

I wish it had rained on the day I died. It didn’t. It snowed. I died in the middle of a snowstorm. This is how it happened.

It was the usual day at work. My boss screaming at me about one of his messes and demanding I fix it. The telephone on my desk kept buzzing every ten minutes with another caller complaining about something or the other and a huge stack of files on my desk demanding my attention.

I lived on the outskirts of town, just off the highway. It was a thirty five minute drive to my house from town. House is not exactly what it was. It was a small cabin left to me by a generous uncle. I’d tried to make it as cozy as possible with a bar and some new upholstery for the furniture. It had a large fireplace and above the mantelpiece was an air rifle which my father used to own. It was unloaded.

Back at work, someone turned on the radio. The news bulletin prophesized that a storm of significant magnitude was on the way. It went on to warn us that the snow could reach up to three to four feet in height. The storm was scheduled to hit in two hours. 

Everyone started to look anxious and one or two people went and told the boss they were going home. I was one of those people. Normally the boss man would have raised Cain but this time he just nodded.

Did I mention there was a forest near the highway? It was a little dense and there were wolves in it, hiding in the tundra. That’s why many people venturing on the highway carried flares with them- to frighten off the wolves. I’d recently purchased a few flares and a flare gun. They did a bit of work on the day I died.

I was driving slowly in town and sped up when I reached the highway. Visibility was very poor. Snow was coming down like “manna” from heaven and I couldn’t see more than three feet ahead of me. Just as I was crossing the forest, my car stalled. By then it was night. I tried to get the bloody thing to start but it was out cold.

Not knowing what to do I stepped out of the car and opened the bonnet. It seemed like the engine had gone cold and stalled. I had no idea how to warm up a car engine. I wasn’t an engineer. The snowdrift was worsening. I couldn’t see much. I could have walked the rest of the way and I tried to do that armed with my flare gun. 

Unfortunately I ended up lost in the forest.

So there I was, tired, hungry and feeling scared because the situation was worsening with each passing minute. I could not see where I was going, I was close to a forest or maybe in the forest and I was numb from the intense cold.

This is where it happens. This is when I die.

I heard howls. Wolves! I started to panic, and held out my flare gun. I couldn’t work the trigger with my numb hands. The howls started getting closer and I could see tiny pinpricks of light occasionally. Then I started to hear growls.

I was petrified. I could tell that a wolf pack was nearby, or maybe had me surrounded. I managed to get off a single flare. In the light I saw the snout of a wolf, with its teeth bared.

I saw it jump. That was the last thing I saw. I suppose I died slowly, bleeding out on the snow.

How am I telling you all this? It’s simple. I am a member of their pack now, hunting and running with them. I have been at it for a while now, and will continue maybe unto eternity!

The Bilge Master

Forgotten Stories

Do you remember the nights?

Your mother read to you

The stories of Hansel and Gretel and the Big Bad Wolf?

Do you remember the joy they brought you?

And how they turned you into a reader for good?

Do you remember wolfing down stories like they were fodder

And your eagerness to read just one more line, or chapter or page?

Where has that gone?

Has it vanished along with the urge to read?

Do you not remember the stories anymore?

The ones you wrote on the back page of your school exercise book?

Have you forgotten Mando the Dragon and Princess Heiki?

Where are they now?

Have they gone into the attic?

Do you keep them in old crates?

Waiting for the day

You’ll climb up there and liberate them?

Will you liberate them?

Will you let them come back?

All the forgotten stories that are up there

Patiently waiting for you to read them again?

Will you answer the call and go back up there

To the forgotten stories

And read them one more time?

The Bilge Master