Darkness.
A suffocating, endless void, like death itself.
Nero was lost in that blackness, until a faint beam of light pierced her eyes.
A memory, clawing its way up from the depths of oblivion—something she'd long forgotten.
"Let her go!"
"You little punk, you're dead!"
"Argh!!!"
Nero's eyes snapped open. A blinding surgical light hung above her, its sterile glow burning her retinas. The sharp sting of disinfectant filled her nose. Nearby, a Black man in a pristine white Order of the Sword uniform rummaged through something, muttering to himself.
Demons, angels, saviors… a jumble of cryptic nonsense spilled from his lips. In a flash, Nero pieced it together. This hunched-over creep with greasy hair and a monocle wasn't just some random guy.
He was an Order researcher. The Pope's lapdog. One of those lunatics obsessed with harnessing demon power to rule the world.
This was stuff the old Nero wouldn't have known. But she remembered now. She remembered everything.
A transmigrator—or more accurately, a reincarnator. In her past life, Ni Lu died in a reckless act of heroism. By some twist of fate, she'd been reborn as Nero, the protagonist of Devil May Cry.
Yup… a female Nero.
She vaguely recalled a demon's blade piercing her chest, just like in her previous life. But hey, you don't get to be the star of Devil May Cry without surviving a few mortal wounds, right?
Was that why she'd become Nero?
And since she wasn't dead, the demonic blood of her grandfather, Sparda, must've awakened. That made every second she spent here more dangerous. The Order's colossal demon statue, the "Savior," was likely complete by now. All it needed was a Sparda family member to serve as its core.
That could mean her deadbeat dad, wherever he was; her strawberry-sundae-loving, unlucky uncle; or Nero herself—an ordinary orphan from Fortuna.
But Nero didn't make a move. Not yet. She subtly turned her head, scanning the room. She knew this creep wasn't alone. As an Order researcher messing with demon power, he'd have demonic minions nearby.
Even with her caution, the guy noticed she was awake.
"You… you're up? That's… remarkable."
"Who the hell are you?"
Nero scowled as the greasy dude leaned in too close for comfort, her voice raspy but sharp. She genuinely didn't know his name—Devil May Cry's story was never big on details.
"Agnus," he said with a mock bow, straightening up. "A doctor… for now, at least."
Doctor? Nero almost laughed. But then it clicked. Credo, using his authority as the Holy Knights' leader, must've pulled strings. For someone with a fatal chest wound, the Order's "Ascension Ceremony"—turning humans into demons—was the only shot at survival.
Not that Nero needed it. Sparda's blood, the strongest demonic lineage, already flowed through her veins. Even if it was just waking up, it was enough to—
She tugged at her wrists. Strapped to the operating table. Great.
Okay, fine. She had to admit it. She had no clue how to tap into her demonic power or trigger a Devil Trigger. Right now, this greasy weirdo could probably take her in a fight.
Unless she could get her hands on her dad's weapon: Yamato.
One of Sparda's legendary blades, capable of slicing through dimensions and separating the human world from the demon realm. A demon-slaying katana that could cut anything.
Good news? Yamato was in this room. Nero could see it.
Bad news? It was broken, and she had no idea how to fix it. In the game, it just… magically repaired itself when Nero grabbed it.
Worth a shot?
A cold swab touched the crook of her left arm. She glanced up to see Agnus dabbing iodine on her skin.
Catching her gaze, he flashed a sleazy grin. "Relax, just a routine check."
Acting like a real doctor, he disinfected the spot and started chatting to distract her. "Do you remember how you got hurt?"
But he wasn't prepping an IV. The vacuum tube in his hand meant one thing: he was drawing her blood.
Nero didn't resist or respond. She let the needle pierce her arm.
She was waiting for her moment.
A minute later, Agnus pressed a cotton ball to the puncture and taped it down. Under the surgical light, he studied the blood sample, his eyes drifting to Nero's chest with a creepy, obsessive glint. "So beautiful… truly…"
In that moment, Nero got what people meant by "gross." A wave of goosebumps prickled her arm.
Realizing she was strapped to a table by this creep made it worse. A shiver ran from her arm to her spine, and she shuddered.
"Ahem, my apologies," Agnus said, noticing her obvious disgust and fear. He plastered on a gentlemanly smile. "I startled you. But surely you must know what's happening to your body by now, yes?"
"What're you talking about?"
"You don't remember?"
Agnus set down the blood sample and held up a mirror, angling it to reflect Nero's chest.
Beneath her bloodstained white cleric's robe, her pale skin had sprouted a hard, golden growth. It looked like a vertical eye, wrapped in feathers, stretching from her collarbone to the center of her chest, about three fingers wide. A eerie blue glow pulsed between the feathers, syncing with her heartbeat.
Nero wasn't shocked. She knew her near-death injury had triggered her Devil Trigger, causing this kind of mutation. But it also meant the story was kicking into gear.
The Order planned to use demon power to dominate the world. Nero had to stop them.
And then there was Credo. Her adoptive brother, who'd been half a father to her since her foster parents died. He'd die for her sake. Nero was determined to prevent that.
Step one: get Yamato.
And her chance was here.
In a flash, she surged up, channeling every ounce of strength to snap the straps binding her torso. Before Agnus could react, she slammed a fist into his nose.
Caught off guard, Agnus flipped backward, crashing to the floor. He chucked the mirror and shrieked, "P-Protect me!"
Nero ripped the remaining straps free and rolled off the table.
"Wait, hold on!"
Agnus, hunched and cowering, threw his hands up, looking pathetic. "I'm t-trying to help you!"
Yeah, right.
Nero shot him a silent glare, her eyes locking onto the floating swords hovering behind him—, ready to strike.
They were Agnus's creations: small demons that shifted between insect and blade forms, called Gladius.
Agnus kept babbling, trying to talk her down. "Haven't you noticed? You're powerful now. So strong, so… b-b-beautiful—"
His voice cut off, choked in his throat.