//------------------------------// // Lurking in the Fog // Story: Quiet Valley // by Nightmare_0mega //------------------------------// The gate creaked as its frame slowly swung open wide enough for the Son of Sparda to step through. Out of courtesy, he shut the cemetery gate behind him, and continued his quest. Unsurprisingly, the gate beyond the cemetery Vergil pushed through lead to more dirt roads that stretched ever longer into the fog, which only made him sigh in irritation. How long and tedious was this journey going to be, he asked himself. As he continued to ponder questions born from annoyance and audacity, he kept pace and traveled down the lonely road, passing by more trees barely visible through the fog, and even some wooden fencing. His irritated stream of consciousness began to wane as his ears picked up on strange sounds in the fog. Specifically, the sound of snapping twigs and squelching paces. He stopped for a moment, touching the tip of his hilt once again, and gazed about. For a moment, it felt like someone, or something, was following him. However, the moment his thoughts drifted in that direction, the offending sounds stopped, and all that could be heard was the wind and the leaves of the trees. He took the time to gaze about his surroundings, to the best of his abilities due to the limits provided by the thick fog, and sensed nothing of note. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed himself ever so slightly, and continued moving forward. It took a fair amount of time, but Vergil found himself finally encountering signs of life. Or at least what was there once. It was a carriage, haphazardly parked off to the side of the road, seemingly abandoned, but no worse for wear. There were no signs of damage, no skid marks that could denote an accident, not even traces of hoofprints at the sides or the front of the transport. It was as if it had always been here from the beginning, and something about that made the half-devil feel a little uneasy. Never the less, he pulled himself away from the oddity, and soon found himself coming towards a strange building with no defining features, save for an opening missing its door. To the left and right, fencing blocked off possible routes, leaving Vergil with the only option. Stepping forth, he found himself in a walkway that had its windows blocked off by fencing, with newspapers scattered about the ground, damp, likely from the constant fog. He pressed forward, ignoring the papers abound and the caution signs that peppered the surroundings, coming up to a gate at the end of the walkway with one more danger sign. He pressed against the gate, and found that it swung open easily, albeit with a loud, squeaking protest from the rusted metal. Passing through, he found himself in a less natural setting, and noticed that wherever he ended up was at what seemed to be a cliff-side. Over the edge, he could hear the faint sound of a creek, and could smell the surprisingly unpleasant scent of dirty water and rust. Snorting to clear his nostrils of the offending sensation, Vergil backed away and continued along the newly discovered cobblestone road, feeling he must be close to the town. The road in question, peppered with bush and untamed vegetation growing off its side, had further signs of neglect with some cobblestones either cracked, or entirely up-heaved from their resting spots. The only other objects Vergil noted along the way where safety railings whenever there was a turn at any degree, and the lamp posts that stood tall, normally set up with the railings. After reaching the end of the winding, twisting cliff-side road, Vergil came to a split in the path, however one direction was blocked off with a fence, fastened with a warning sign. He considered slicing apart the fencing and pressing forward, but felt whatever reason the route was blocked off for would hinder him more than he would like. Instead, he opted to take the alternate route, keeping his eyes peeled for any stray clues that may help in his search for the missing mare. Unsurprisingly, along the way all he found was overgrowth, the odd abandoned carriage, and more fencing to the sides, as if to discourage him from leaving the path set before him. Eventually, after walking down the lonely path, with nothing but the wind, the trees, and the mist as his companions, his trek took him to what seemed to be the first real street of the town proper, emerging to what seemed like a "T" junction. For a moment, he wondered if he had passed by a sign indicating the town's entrance but failed to notice it, wondering where exactly Quite Valley's borders started. Shaking his head of the useless thought, he crossed over the streetway, approaching a flower shop that slowly emerged from the fog. A large banner extended across the front, indicating a grand opening, however the shabby visage it gave made it seem like the place was left to fester for years. Empty pots, damaged windows, and a distinct smell of rotting wood and rust could be picked up upon approaching the establishment. Placing a hoof upon the door, he pushed gently, only to find it locked tight. Peering through the windows, all he saw within were nearly empty shelves, dead or dying overgrowth poking through the floors, and the few pots that could be seen had nothing but soil in them. It was a sorry excuse of a flower shop, and he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach because of it. Stepping back, taking in the quiet, dead, abandoned nature thus far, he couldn't help but wonder something foreboding. Why would Fluttershy ever come here? To be fair, the rest of the town could be vastly different from what he found so far, but he wasn't going to get his hopes up. Besides, this land of ponies had given him one constant in his new life, and that was if there was any sign of life, any pony present would waste no time in greeting him, whether he wanted it or not. Never the less, he decided it would be best to begin his search properly, and comb the town. To the right, he could just barely make out the shapes of buildings, but only barely. To the left, he couldn't see much, but as sparse and mist covered as it was, there was a possibility that going left would lead to what blocked him earlier. Perhaps even lead to clues as to what was going on in this town. Vergil was no stranger to investigating strange locations after all, ever since that fateful day... Deciding it would be prudent to act on his instinct, Vergil cantered to the left, following the street for a while, before he found himself at a cliff-side wall. There was another fence with warning signs attached at the mouth of a back-road exit, seemingly leading to where he had just come from through the trail. He attempted to gaze beyond said fence, but due to the fog, couldn't find anything of note that would give any satisfactory information. Instead, he turned his gaze to the opposite direction, and noticed a short alley surrounded by more fencing, with an abandoned carriage tucked into it. Strangely, the door to cab had been completely separated from the main body. Curious, he stepped forward the get a closer look, and took note of a few points of interest. The first was that the hinges of the door were actually torn. Whatever happened, the removal was a lot more deliberate. A saner individual would reason it was probably a repair job turning sour, with the door being ripped off in a fit of irritation. The distinct lack of any other signs of life, be it struggle or repair, ensured he discarded the more reasonable thought. Something was definitely going on here, just as that other pony had mentioned. The other point of interest was what seemed to be a map sitting haphazardly on the seat of the carriage. Stepping in, he picked up the map, and studied it for a moment. It was a map of Quiet Valley, more specifically, the north-west portion of the town. The town, at least indicated on the map itself, seemed to be much more organized than other pony towns he had encountered, but not to the extent of places like Canterlot. If anything, it had similar planning structure to Manehatten. At least given his past as an involuntary nomad, he had some experience with urban navigation, so seeing typical indications of places of interest, such as the park, local bar, or clock-tower, weren't new to him. What was interesting were a few scribbles marked in red ink. He looked about the cab, and found the offending red pen that was used. Picking it up and pocketing it along with the map, he decided it would be best to keep both around for convenience's sake. Exiting the cab, he decided to go what was decidedly eastward to the town proper, down what was known as Strong Avenue, and check out one of the nearby scribbles he noticed, which was a question mark that sat in a thin alleyway two blocks down. Passing Ball Street, he got a better look around the town within the thick fog. Every now and again he could find another carriage, either simply parked or somewhat roughed up, altogether abandoned just like the last few he saw. Some buildings looked like they could still be opened and explored, while others were very clearly locked off. Everything around him, from signs to painted walls, had a slight diluted tinge to it, as if the color had been slowly eroding away for quite some time now. He could see signs of a once thriving and probably joyful town here, but the facts before him stated this was a long time ago. Stranger still, he found one place, ironically named Joy's Pub, that had the inside of the window absolutely covered in news clippings, blocking the view of the inside. Upon inspecting it out of sheer curiosity, he found the door to be unlocked. He let his curiosity end there however. Dallying about and checking every odd location would ultimately waste time in his eyes, and he was here on a mission, not to site-see. If it was important enough, he'd come back to it. For the time being, he decided to continue marching eastward toward... He then suddenly saw something he never thought he'd see in the land of Equestria, nevermind a lifeless location like this. A thick trail of blood leading forward along the very road he was taking. Passing St. Germane Street, he briefly saw some hard to identify figure crawl into an alleyway, making a heavy scraping sound before disappearing from his view entirely. Vergil touched the edge of his pommel once again, watching and listening for any further sensory information before he took cautious, determined steps forward. He reached the mouth of the alley, only seeing the trail of blood lead further in, but no other sign of the figure he had barely witnessed. It was as if it just disappeared, or was never really there to begin with. Vergil gave an exasperated sigh as he made his way down the alley. He had every intention on investigating the odd clue pointed out on the map, but this small mystery gave him all the more reason to do so with trepidation. The further he wandered in, the more he saw trails and splatters of blood, either along the ground or occasionally against the wall. More than that, he began to hear a strange, but not unfamiliar sound; the sound of radio static, drawing ever louder the further he went in, following the blood. This was, until, he came across quite the grizzly sight. The corpse of a pony laid at the very end of the alley, covered in seemingly its own blood, looking like it was ripped open by... something. There, near the cadaver's foreleg, was the source of the offending noise; a small, portable radio, buzzing and squealing away. The devil pony was about to investigate it, however another sound swiftly caught his attention. A loud metallic bang was heard, causing him to whip around and press his hoof against his blade, ready to draw. His eyes focused upon a dumpster, and out from behind came quite a ghastly thing. It looked like a pony, but all of its facial features were missing, save for the outline of a screaming mouth. Curled horns adorned its head, with one being broken. Short, thick claws, tipped in dried blood, punctuated its lanky forelegs. As it crawled slowly towards Vergil, he noticed chains around its neck that linked up to... something dragging behind it, tightly wound in the same chains. Its hind legs were nowhere to be found, as was most of the lower half of the creature. Vergil smirked. It was obvious this creature's movement was very slow and limited, and whatever damage it could do with its claws were no more of a threat to him than a simple knife, but it was clear as day as to what this thing was. While appearing VASTLY different to the denizens of Tartarus he had to dispatch as part of his parole agreement, this was no doubt a demonic entity. A hostile, animalistic one at that, which currently made a disturbing, muffled, choking scream at him. And so, approaching with pure confidence, Vergil lunged forward and drew his sword quick as lightning, and slashed downward at the creature. With a sigh, he prepared for the spray of blood that would follow, hoping that this excursion in town would eventually yield a place to clean himself from what he'd likely be doing while searching for Fluttershy. However, no blood followed his attack, and instead of the scream of agony, there was one of anger as the thing before him lunged in retaliation and slashed at his arm. Vergil dashed back, managing to avoid the hit, but now grew in trepidation. The blade should have hit, and that should have been the end of it. But there it was, crawling towards him with slow, painful, unholy, determined gait. Still having a speed advantage, Vergil dashed around the side and attempted to skewer the thing through the back. As he did, though, there was no press of flesh that could be felt when blade met skin. The only thing he felt was the tip of Yamato clacking against the hard ground below. "What in the-?" was all he could utter before the creature turned around, as if the blade wasn't even pierced inside of it, and swiped at Vergil's hind leg. He dodged, but one claw managed to nick him in the cannon of his leg, drawing a bit of blood from him. The Son of Sparda stepped back, gazing upon Yamato with confusion and fury, noting the distinct lack of demon blood coating the still pristine metal. The creature howled its awful, muffled noise, and slowly crawled towards the hunter, having unexpectedly turned the tables. Vergil slipped Yamato back into its sheath, trying to figure out some way to dispatch this seemingly invincible monster. He could just leave, as a sane individual would probably point out, but the damnable vice of pride kept him planted to the spot. How dare this pathetic thing lay a claw upon him. The thing, now close enough to Vergil while he was internally wrestling with his own emotions and injured pride, took another swipe at the devil pony. Instinctively, Vergil swung his sheathed blade in an attempt to parry the attack. For the briefest of moments, Vergil suddenly felt like a fool, for if the blade seemingly phased right through the creature, what could the scabbard possibly do? Then, the sheath clacked against the claw of the monster, successfully driving the attack away. Time stood still for a moment, and Vergil swiftly realized he was still properly armed. Moving quickly with the opportunity set, he dashed to its side and swung downward across the creature's head. A loud "THWACK" could be heard reverberating around the walls of the alley. Pulling back for a moment, he noticed he did significant damage to its head, having been slightly caved in at this point, leaking black ichor. The creature attempted to turn for another swipe along with a harrowing bellow, but Vergil moved faster and sliced upward with his sheathed blade, smacking the monster's entire body away into a wall. It collided against the surface with a sickening crunch, following the chained lump making a similar, if more metallic, sound, Wasting no more time, Vergil rushed forward, raised Yamato above his head, and stabbed downward upon its already damaged skull, piercing it with the blunt foot of the scabbard. The thing twitched violently for a moment, before it suddenly stopped moving in an unnerving fashion. The static from the radio, which at the time had been very prevalent during the encounter, slowly subsided as the black ichor that seemed to be the creature's blood seeped from the wounds and began to pool around the thing. Vergil took a step back, and realized something. This was not a demon. Blood and viscera aside, demons tend to die cleanly, normally not leaving an entire body behind once deceased, which would either rapidly break down into the components that was used to summon it or burst into flames and dissolve the creature's body that way. Never the less, whatever this creature was, it was dead. Static picked up again, but something was poking through the white noise this time. "V---il...--e-- --- y--..." The Son of Sparda turned toward and approached the pocket radio, picking it up from its resting ground, and as soon as he did, the static ceased. Looking it over, he fiddled with the volume and tuner. It was unresponsive at the moment, but he had a gut feeling that due to whatever was around here, he felt it may come in handy. Pocketing the device, Vergil then began to make his way out of the alleyway, only to feel a slight twinge in his leg. Curiously, it was the leg that was cut during the encounter. Upon closer inspection, the small wound hadn't healed yet. "What trickery is this?" he muttered in disgust. Demons, including half-breeds such as himself, tended to be gifted with physical abilities that far outpace most mortal beings, one such feat including high regenerative capabilities. Wounds closing nigh instantly as soon they were opened. It was one of the few things that made survival against stronger monsters that much more plausible. The cut he sustained, however, posed a new, ominous idea to him that he dare not say out loud: Am I powerless here? In an attempt to prove it wrong, Vergil focused upon the demonic power within himself, and begun to call it forth to take his true form. Try as he might, nothing came of it. "Why isn't this working?" he slowly uttered, seething at every word. Something was severely wrong with this town, and each new revelation made it so much worse that it initially seemed. There was no more time for intrusive thoughts. No more room to sooth his pride. The situation had changed, and he could no longer afford actions of hubris. He needed to find her before it got any more out of hand.