Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry, nor do I make any money at this.

Alphabetasoup livejournal fic challenge theme: J is for Juno.


Inferno – Mundus


Her master was all, was everything to her. Her creator, her god, the rightful Dark Emperor

And he despised her.

Why would he cause something he hated to be created, she would have wondered if her purpose had not been so imprinted into her. Ensnare the last son of Sparda. Bring him to the trap and bring an end to the resistance of that line. Her face, her form, the hated humanity placed in her so she could understand and manipulate the target's human emotions, everything was for that purpose.

She utterly adored him, she dreamed of the day she would bring before him the last of his enemies in chains to join the other one and win his approval.

The day, she realized when his contempt turned to rage when she failed a test, she would die.

"How could Sparda have cared for such an insignificant being?!" One of his spears pierced her side and she cried out. "A weak human! Nothing!"

"Master…" she pleaded, though she should have known better. Mundus gave mercy to no one.

"Be silent!" He looked down on her from his throne, glaring. "I could break even this improved copy in two with the barest touch of my hand."

'This copy?' She had a name, Trish. Named out of irony, that she would cause Dante's journey into Hell: she would tempt and ensnare him while her heart, her body, mind and soul would belong to her true master.

Beatrice had been married. Trish didn't dare to dream of being Mundus' mate. Though who would not long for the position?

Sparda had rejected it, rejected Mundus. The proof of his madness. She hated him. He had been the favored servant she would never be.

Another bolt pierced her, and she gritted her teeth to stay silent. That seemed to be the wrong thing to do: another stronger one followed, Mundus satisfied when she cried out in pain.

"How could that woman have inspired her children as well to care for her? Sparda's blood should have killed such a weak one for daring try to control them!" Another bolt. "What was it?!" What did she have that I do not?

What did Eva (oh, she hated that name) have that Trish did not? Sparda had loved her. Mundus hated the sight of his servant (that hated face).

She remained silent, prostrated before him, not having the answers they both sought, wishing she could provide them. She would do anything for her master. She would succeed in the task he set her even if she would be destroyed afterward as he had promised.

Mundus was so strong, so glorious: she was nothing, modeled after nothing that had dared surpass its weakness. She should not want to rise above her place as Eva had.

Mundus shifted out of his Imperial form and strode towards her, ranting in a way that another might have thought showed madness, even though the Emperor was famed for his calm under any circumstances. He was thinking of Sparda. Sparda was the only one that moved him.

"The light in his eyes, how could that human have turned it to her?" He grabbed Trish, held her in midair and shook her. Ah, now that fabled coldness had returned, the coldness that showed when he ordered an execution of a servant that had failed, when he ordered the captive half-breed tortured even more.

"No matter. She was nothing." You are nothing. Then he smiled. "You are all that is left of that creature." And he threw her down and pounced on her.

What of her could think through the pain realized that at least she could fulfill his desire for victory in this way, his desire to utterly degrade the memory of the one they both hated.

Afterwards, he stood, still cold. "She was nothing." And returned to the dais, leaving her to crawl from the throne room.

That was all she was to him, a perverted copy of the wife and mother he envied.