A/N, As of 9/10/13: For any new readers, this story ended up having seven chapters, despite what the older note below says. I had thought the story complete when I started posting, but my dissatisfaction with part of it, as well as much observations from my beta ended up expanding the story by adding two chapters in the middle. At the end of chapter 4, there is an Author's Note which reflects this then-fresh information.

I am doing minor edits to my stories, correcting some structural errors I learned of only after posting, and when I came to this one, I considered deleting the previous note in favor of a fresh one. In the end, I felt it unnecessary. Feel free to read the notes on each chapter, as they are the original ones, but do keep in mind that they are old.

Do make sure you read the various chapter warnings in each of them, as I don't intend to have a new note for each chapter, also feel free to comment on the question I posed at chapter four, if you like.

Jimli :)

A/N: Yet another submission for your approval. This one has five chapters, I believe. Again, it is completely written, without yaoi, and with adult language, like my other stories. This one, however, has some lemon, and violence. It is more dramatic in tone, although I've tried to keep some humor here and there. Please let me know what you think. ;D

For anyone who actually speaks Italian, please overlook any mistakes in pronunciation or meaning; my only defense is that I do internet research, and try to get it right.

For everyone else, Sgraziata means 'graceless', and is said 's-graht-see-ah-tah'; Grazia means 'grace', and is said 'graht-see-uh'; Azzurra means 'blue', and is said 'aht-zoor-uh'.

Of course, I don't own any of the Devil May Cry properties.

Jimli ;P

Chapter 1

Blood spattered the brick wall, bright crimson ropes of it dripping downward. There were no screams, no cries, no begging, just mute looks of shock, and who could blame them? What sane person in the real modern world expected to see death carried out with a blade, not a cheap knife or shiv, but a real blade, fully five feet of cold steel? The three of them simply died, silently and swiftly, bodies hewn like cheap wood, scarlet sprays of blood on the walls. The singing of the sword as it was swirled to remove the offensive liquid from its blade was sound enough to unlock my frozen feet, even as I watched the flashing dance through the air. He hadn't noticed me, hadn't been facing me, I could still slip away with my own life.

My foot scuffed the ground as I turned. The sword snicked into its saya, but the owner heard the scuffle over it. He half-turned, catching sight of me. I saw his face, recognized it with dawning horror. Dawning horror? Hell, it had to be evening by now. He turned fully towards me, cold death in his eyes. Not murder, that would make assumptions of worth and value, no, this was mere death. He took the first step towards me, and I bolted like the prey I was. No courage in facing that down, no "death before dishonor" mentality. This was survival. Fight or flight, and "fight" wasn't an option.

Scrambling down the alley, into narrow and absurdly empty cross streets, I fled, no doubt leaving a palpable stench of fear in my wake. Always behind me I heard the sure and steady clicks of boots. I raced around corners, trying to put the world between him and me. The footsteps stopped, and I chanced a look behind myself to find him abruptly not there. I ran into something rather unforgiving, slamming my hands against it to push away. My hands were fluidly and firmly grabbed in a single move by a single hand. I looked up, animal instincts snarling at the obstruction just to see that same face staring down. All rage and irritation fled, leaving me temporarily emotionless, just before fear forcibly reclaimed me, bringing tears to my eyes.

"Oh, gods." My voice sounded watery and feeble even to my ears.

"You saw me in the alley," his cold voice came.

It wasn't a question, I couldn't deny it or play dumb.

"You reek of fear, woman."

His mouth twisted into a humorless half-grin. "Why did you run?"

Jesus-on-a-pogo-stick. Really? Why run? This callous demon posing as a man wanted to know why I ran?

"You, you just killed three dudes with barely a warning, brutally, coldly, and you seriously want to know why I ran? I'm crazy, but I'm not that crazy. I know exactly what you are, and I want no part of it."

He frowned, then gave that smile again.

"And just what am I?"

"The Grim Reaper, thinly disguised as a handsome man. A very handsome man, bearing a strong resemblance to a very dangerous, very fictitious devil. That's how I know that you're really just death, because the man you resemble is not real."

He grimaced, clearly impatient. I winced and ducked my head. He let my hands go, with an almost disgusted sound.

"Sgraziata, I'm tired of this game already. Why do you reek of fear? Did those humans hurt you?"

I looked up sharply at him, wondering at what he'd called me, well, why, really, 'graceless'? Why he'd let me go? What in the blue fuck he was talking about? 'Game'? Why be afraid? Did they hurt me?

"Wha-, no, why did you call me that? What game? Why shouldn't I be afraid? Hurt me? Really? I must have hit that rock-hard torso a little too hard, or do you always not make sense to future victims?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, growling in his throat.

"Sgraziata, you are pushing my rather limited patience for your foolishness. I have been gone longer than I thought I should have, and I will apologize and do penance, yes, but this ridiculous ploy at vengeance is not amusing."

He snatched my left hand, pressed it against his chest, and pinned it there with his own hand. He smiled again, a softer expression that lifted some of the chill from his icy blue eyes.

"Can we not go home, and play a different game? Preferably one with less clothes."

The last sentence was so suggestive in tone alone as to make me look down and blush, despite my confusion. He stroked my hand, then grabbed it roughly, picking it up to examine it. I snapped my face upwards again, only to catch his face twist with thinly veiled anger.

"Have I angered you? Displeased you, perhaps?" his voice dripped with a mockery of submissive concern.

He gripped my hand hard enough to cause pain, then released it, throwing it from himself in disgust. My fear, which had retreated slightly in the confusion, returned full blown.

"Where is my ring, Sgraziata, and why do you reek of fear?"

I shook my head, not sure what exactly I was trying to negate, perhaps this whole absurd situation. The tears finally fell, and my mouth just started running.

"I'm sorry, I just don't know what you're going on about. I get it, right? You're one of those real nuts, the ones with some sort of skewed view of reality, and I'm just not going to live through this, right? Look, I'm really, really sorry, I, I don't know where the ring is, or even what ring it is, and I'm sorry that I'm scared, but it really can't be helped because you're scaring the shit out of me! If you're gonna kill me, just fuckin' do it, 'cause I am not sure my poor brain can keep up with all the swinging emotions here, and this fear is starting to hurt, okay? Or let me go, just please, I can't keep up with the nonsense anymore!"

I fell against him, then, crying, emotionally spent. The absurdity meter cranked up again when I felt his arms come around me as he pulled me closer to himself.

Great. A homicidal whacko cosplaying fanboy comforting the distraught girl whose life he himself is threatening. Bloody buzzard balls, what a world.

"I'm not sure what's wrong with you, Grazia, but I am sorry for scaring you. Although, I admit, it was rather arousing to smell fear on you again, until it became overwhelming. Nostalgia, I suppose. Are you merely upset because of the hormones? You were like that with our son, as well. I know carrying a child is a little hard on you, more so because of the devil blood."

He pulled me gently away, lifting my face to look into it. I blinked at him, rather stupidly. He smiled again, that softer look coming into his face.

"I will take you home, Grazia. We can take a bath if you like."

With that look on his face, and tone to his voice, I hated bursting his bubble.

"Why are you calling me Grazia? Especially when you were calling me Sgraziata before? Who exactly am I supposed to be to you? Please, just help me get this, okay?"

I cocked my head in confusion, still looking steeply upwards at him, considering the foot-plus difference in our heights. He opened his mouth, then caught sight of something. He pushed my hair from the left side of my neck and turned my face away, exposing that side fully.

Great, now we're shifting into vampire mode, wonderful. He turned my face back to his, growling again, rage contorting his features, his eyes growing as cold as I'd seen them. I was too frightened to even be frightened anymore.

"Who are you? What do you want? What did you do with my wife?"

Again my mouth just unhinged.

"My name is Grace, like you've been calling me. I don't want anything, I mean, I want things, of course, but I don't particularly want anything from you, except my life, which you obviously control right now. I don't know your wife, although I can only feel sorry for her if she puts up with this shit all the time, 'cause I sure as hell don't know how anyone could. I suppose I shouldn't have said that, but hey, why not? I'm not going to survive this anyways, right? Maybe I'll do better in the next go around, huh? You know, handsome rich guy who totally loves me, nice car, house, kids, cat, happiness, instead of being an over 30 virgin dying at the hands of a fucking nut in a goddamned backstreet alleyway."

He growled again, and I found myself shoved painfully against the wall with his katana's edge against my throat.

"I can tell you're human. Someone paid you, created you, perhaps. To what purpose? Seduction? Surely not, you would not have run, you would have played the part of my wife, as I supposed you to be. Revenge? You're human, what could you possibly do? A distraction, perhaps? Keep me from my home? Small hope, there. My brother will have been protecting my family while I have been gone. Let's find out."

He flicked his wrist, sheathing the sword, and then grabbed my wrist, dragging me in his wake as he navigated through various alleyways. Obviously frustrated after a few wrong turns, he grabbed me into his arms, bridal style, triggered, and took flight, finally confirming to me his identity as Vergil, really real Vergil, not some homicidal whacko cosplaying fanboy Vergil.

We landed in front of a small, dilapidated house. He resumed his human form and all but dropped me. He stalked up to the house, kicking the door open. Must be a family trait. Instead of taking the opportunity to run, however, my perverse curiosity got the better of me. I followed him into the house. I found him in an upstairs room, sitting on a stained mattress on a rust-spotted frame. He looked at me almost piteously.

"Where are my family? What is this? Nero and Azzurra are missing. My house has obviously been unoccupied for years. My possessions are nowhere. My brother's number does not exist."

I noticed a small phone in his hand.

"And you: Grazia, yet not. You have her face, her mannerisms, her dialect, but you don't bear her scars, nor do you carry my child. You reek of fear and your own purity. You are obviously as confused as I, meaning you are not responsible for this."

His eyes narrowed. "You were not shocked by my devil. Why?"

I blinked.

"You, you look like Vergil. I guess after seeing you cut down a few guys in the alley, I kind of assumed you weren't human."

"I am Vergil, foolish girl."

"Well, then, I guess there's your answer."

"That answers nothing. How is it you know me without knowing that you resemble my wife? You are not some former client."

"The games. Vergil is in them, but he's not married, or at least, not explicitly so. And if he has progeny, only one is known, but really, it's not even really clear if he's Vergil's or not. And what do you mean about me looking like your wife?"

"Her name is James Grace Lee Black. I call her Grazia, or Sgraziata, when she irritates me. She has chocolate brown hair, jade green eyes, pale complexion, a natural blush, many blemishes and scars. She is a small woman, though of medium build, with large breasts. Her nose, feet, and fingers are long, and her mouth is on autopilot. She smells of spice and me."

"I don't suppose you'd believe that that is my name, huh?"

"I may. What games?"

"Devil May Cry. They're mostly about Dante, not Vergil, but there are four games in the original canon. The first has to do with meeting a woman named Trish, who takes him to an island where he encounters and defeats the demon emperor responsible for his mother's and brother's deaths. Not a lot of back story is fleshed out, but he finds out his twin isn't dead, exactly, until he himself kills him, or at least a possessed puppet version of him.

"In two, he teams up with this woman named Lucia, who's supposed to be descended from a long line of half-devil warriors with a history with his father, the legendary knight Sparda, who betrayed his devil kind for the sake of humans. They are fighting against some lame-ass sorcerer who's trying to resurrect this demon Sparda sealed.

"Three is a prequel, about Vergil and his bid for their father's sealed power, as well as Dante's awakening of his devil. It ends with Vergil falling into hell, by choice, and losing a fight to the emperor. An animated series picks up a little time after one, mostly dealing with Dante's 'normal' life, little missions, things like that. In it, Lady, from three, and Trish, from one, meet, and Dante ends up partially responsible for an unrelated little girl.

"Four is set after the anime, and mostly deals with Nero, a 'descendant of Sparda' living on an island whose residents worship Sparda. It tells about his involvement in stopping a plot by the religious order to create a demonic 'god' to be their new Sparda. Dante gets involved because his twin's sword is there, although he ends up gifting it to the kid. It's kind of implied that Nero is Vergil's, but never explained, and left questionable.

"Two is technically set after four. The timeline is left vague, and a lot of backstory is missing, or only implied. As I said, you look like Vergil, although not an eighteen-year-old Vergil, and your trigger is more defined, obviously more mature. You carry Yamato, though, and you yourself have referred to a 'Nero'." I shrugged.

"Nero is my son. He is five. My daughter, Azzurra, is barely three. My wife, Grazia, is carrying our third, eight weeks in utero."

"Is Nero a cute little boy? White hair like yours? Cobalt blue eyes instead of icy blue? Perhaps something special about his right arm?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes. No, he is actually left-handed by nature."

"Sounds kind of like Nero, except he's like 17, 18, 19, something like that, in four. And yeah, left-handed, sort of, but his right arm is, special. Demonic. It's unclear if it's always been like that, or if something, er, triggered its transformation. No one seemed to have known about it, though, so, that kind of implies its change is just prior to the events of the game. Nero knew it looked like that, but he also made effort to hide it from people in-game."

"But you said my daughter doesn't exist in your games."

"Nope. Not even a whiff. I always had theories about Nero's origin, but they don't really matter at this point. So, any of it real for you? The game stuff, I mean."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"Parts, I suppose, but your retelling was vague, and ultimately unimportant. It seems as though this is not my world. I need to leave this place and return to my family."

"Well, I'll help. Would you like a place to stay tonight?"

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"If I find that this is some sort of deliberate trap that you are part of, I will take pleasure in killing you."

I shrugged. "Of course, I don't blame you. But I'm not; in fact, now that I'm assured you're not going to gratuitously cut me down, rape me, eat me, whatever, I'm just glad to help. I like love stories, in a way, and it would be my pleasure to return you to yours."

I sighed inwardly, wondering about my own love story. Que sera, right?

Vergil followed me to my apartment, a quasi-nice place provided by my employer, the owner of the antique bookstore I lived above. Vergil quirked an eyebrow when I opened the shop to cut through it. The store was not in a nice neighborhood, and I had seen the drug dealer under the stairs to the back. Nice enough fellow, in ways, but we had a sort of arrangement to avoid one another. I relocked the door after we were through it, and went towards the binding room. Vergil stopped in the aisle, looking at the books. I smiled.

"Kind of cool, huh? He's got some good ones, way too expensive for me, but I've looked through some of them. Here, check this aisle over here. He bought these off of the church when they tore down a little chapel a few months back."

"These are ritual books."

"Yeah, neat, huh? I tried looking through them, but they're Latin. I only read English, Bad English, Texting, and Really, Really Bad Forum Messages."

Vergil removed one of the books and starting scanning the contents.

"I would read it to you, but it's a summoning spell."

I shrugged. "Eh, what do I need some demon for anyway? They're useless, temperamental, violent, and either gay or married to boot."

He chuckled darkly.

"Indeed."

"Maybe one of these can help you get home, though. You're welcome to browse, but don't take them from the store, okay? Not even to my apartment."

He nodded, reshelving the book.

"I shall perhaps look later."

He caught up to me, and I took him through the binding room to the steep staircase which led to my "back door".

"You can crash on the couch, if you like. Hell, I'd offer you my bed, but I figure you'd refuse, right?"

He frowned.

I shrugged. "It's yours if you like, you're the guest. With respect to your wife, I won't share it with you, of course. If you were single, I'd offer to share."

He quirked an eyebrow at me.

"What can I say? You're hot, I'm lonely, you're staying here. It's just good math."

"You are too like Grazia. Perhaps I shouldn't stay."

"Nonsense, Vergil. You're not going to cheat on your wife, especially not with me. There have got to be better choices for cheating than I am."