Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry.

This is AU of everything else I've written: this fic centers on the idea that Sparda's loss of most of his power did indeed render him human for all practical purposes except the traits passed down to his children.

O is for Olokun – alphabetasoup challenge fic.

Given Mary, Maria seems a reasonable name for the priestess, it being the Roman version of the name.


He'd half expected to die.

The sheer amount of energy required to hold two worlds as far apart as possible was astronomical.

As it was, he managed to push himself to his knees after a moment and found he was gasping for breath. How amazing. He'd actually managed to shapeshift into a good enough replica of a human body it was working without any magic to sustain it (he was utterly, utterly, drained dry).

In a few days, he should be able to start replacing his reserves of magical energy.

Now, however, he was as magically helpless as he was physically.

"We have to get out of here. Hurry up," Maria said impatiently.

He grit his teeth and managed to stand. He had to hide how weak he was. Maria might have promised not to kill him, but the other humans hadn't. He was the hated enemy even if he had done this: he had to flee as soon as he could, before someone attacked him and discovered his defenselessness.

"Be careful," he told her. "We don't want to attract attention." Walking silently meant walking slowly. It should take awhile for anyone to tell the lesser demons to hunt him down: Beowulf would have to figure out what had just happened first. They should have plenty of time to escape, but the pretense of the need to secrecy covered the fact he was not capable of running, as she clearly wished to.

She scowled, having to acknowledge he was right, or so she thought, and slowed her pace, thank the darkness.

The weight of the bottles of holy water the God of Time sold was comforting. Normally, he'd regard poison as beneath him, but what was one more dishonorable act?

At the base of the tower waited, under a shielding spell he had given them, the people who had escorted Maria here. When they became visible, their demeanor had completely changed since the last time he saw them.

Gone was the look of despairing desperation: now they looked up at the blue sky, dark clouds and infernal portal gone with wonder, and a few at him with gratitude. How amazing.

"It is done," he told them, and sat on a convenient rock to catch his breath. His eyes closed for a moment, and when he opened them the commander of the group was examining him.

The sorcerer might be able to discern his condition despite the spells he had cast earlier to hide it… But he did nothing, turning away to address Maria.

Another walk, then, to where the horses were waiting, and he had absolutely no idea how to mount, let alone ride. As a demon, he had terrified horses. Now, however, this one seemed to sense his ineptitude. At least it followed the others when he didn't try to control it.

When they made camp, he was tossed a bedroll: an unexpected courtesy.

He couldn't sleep.

There were all these aches and pains that should have healed instantly: he could tolerate pain of course, but this was an entirely new experience.

It was the thoughts that truly did it.

Thoughts of what he had done.


He lay unmoving even when the earth shook as the seals he had helped create forcefully buried Temen ni Gru.

Finally, a sandal caught him in the stomach (he had rolled onto his side attempting to find the least painful position possible). "Come on, get up, or do you want us to leave you here?"

Maria. Of course someone who had fought him so many times would be able to detect his condition. Not to mention her newly-acquired half-devil nature gave her senses the others didn't have: his power had flowed through her into the seal.

Right now, he wanted to be left here. Or killed. He would just go into the sword and this discomfort would cease. Pain was nothing. This wore at him.

"You don't want to be here when the slaves we let out of the pens start traveling back to their homes. Even if you look human, you know what being captive of your kind does to people." He could almost hear her smile. "But then, you're not exactly your kind anymore." She knelt down beside him, and his instincts were screaming at him to displace away (no energy) or run (the same reason why not), or move, at least. He heard her knife being drawn and managed to open his eyes.

She was smiling down at him, the blade pointed at the underside of his chin, ready to be driven up into his brain.

He wondered if she would do it or not. After all, he had killed her first. Among many other people. And humans, let alone human women, were unfathomable.

Then, briefly, sudden pain.

Ah, he thought as the gold orb brought him back to life. He had thought so.

Thanks to the orb, he felt much better now.

She wiped the knife clean on the grass, careless of the onlookers.

He deserved that.

Still, it was not a very auspicious beginning to his new existence.