Characters do not belong to me, but to Capcom (I think). Written for the Yuletide Secret Santa for obscure fandoms. Enjoy! amaretto

Vengeance

The echoes of his footsteps were the only sound in the broken down castle, ringing off the stones and traveling down empty hallways, up and down the stairways as he walked.

His armor was heavy even for him, a demon. His cape fluttered behind him, occasionally brushing against the metal of his armor as he paused at an intersection.

Only a few days had he been here, summoned from the hell where he'd been kept until his master required his services.

Nelo Angelo paused as his gaze lighted on something tucked neatly in an alcove. He'd not been to this portion of the castle before, kept busy controlling the lesser beasts summoned by the master.

He'd only taken to exploring because of a faint but persistent whispering, like a voice just too far away for him to hear. And now, as he gazed at the sword, the whispering grew stronger, almost a humming of strength and power in his mind.

"What are you?"

Vengeance.

"Vengeance?" Nelo Angelo asked, voice rough with disuse.

Do you not seek it?

Nelo Angelo was silent, in response to the question. "Vengeance for what?"

The sword - rather, he sensed that there was something sealed within the sword - was silent.

The demon knight frowned, hand straying to his chest, where he could sense more than feel the heavy pendant that hung there. What it represented, he didn't know. He knew only that he'd never been without it - or he sensed it rather.

His memories were few and faint - hazy, sleepy images that taunted him as he did his master's bidding, or bided his time in hell. Occasionally, if he focused, he felt something that was much like pain.

Especially when he could summon the image of a young man with white hair and a reckless smirk, clothed in bright red. Something about the image always made his chest ache, until the shadows snatched the memory - he assumed that's what it was - away again and soothed him instead with the strange dark warmth of his fellow demons.

But that word. Vengeance. Brought the image of the white-haired man to the fore, and for once he could make out details - the choppy cut of his hair, the flash of his teeth, the blue of his eyes - and the happiness that was in them.

Somehow, he didn't think they'd be happy, if he were to see them again.

Vengeance could be yours.

"I…" Nelo Angelo frowned.

The sword pulsed with an eerie blue-white light.

More images fluttered like moths through the demon's mind.

The white-haired man talked to his mirror image. He frowned, confused by the pictures in his mind.

Both men wore the pendant that Nelo Angelo wore around his own neck. Nelo Angelo pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and willing away the whisperings that were becoming shouts in his mind.

The man and his mirror embracing, a heated kiss the likes of which he didn't think he had ever seen. Such things were a matter of control in hell, a tool of manipulation and a demonstration of power. He couldn't recall ever seeing this mutual, heated and hungry exchange.

And he realized - it wasn't a man and his mirror image, some obscure riddle offered by the sword. The two men were twins, brothers.

It made the ache in his hollow chest greater, as broken pieces of his mind began to reassemble. The armor he wore felt heavier than ever; even the fabric of his cloak seemed to be made of some terrible, cumbersome material.

Dante.

How he could forget his brother? His other half? Lost to him so long ago. His life, his memories, his will, taken from him for purposes of revenge. And his mother - he couldn't bear the pain that thinking of her brought.

But oh, Dante. How many times had he held his brother close? Stolen his breath and made him scream? Laughed and fought and taken their mother's anger when in their eagerness they got a bit carried away in their tasks. Sent to their room, there to comfort and soothe each other in the dark.

Vergil stared miserably at the sword, even as he felt the warm shadows crawl over him once more, soft soundless footsteps pattering across his mind, lulling the memories to sleep with their dark comfort.

Vengeance could be yours.

In vain, Vergil fought the shadows, willed them to let him be just a moment longer. "Too many things…" He'd committed too many wrongs, had in so many ways gone astray. And with every passing day, he was less inclined to fight the lulling promise of the whispering shadows.

The sword crackled.

A thing of light, that sword. The piercing blue of lightning, bolts meant to tear and destroy and rip apart the dark, pay back the pain full measure.

He was long past any such thing. The dark was where he belonged now, another dark voice to call out and entice.

Do you want it?

"Vengeance is not something one should be asked to take, Spirit." Vergil's voice was a soft and sad, still rough. "I am beyond such things, and this I think you know."

You could have it, if you but have the will to take it.

"Will is what I lack. I lost my battle long ago. The only fate for me is to serve my master." Vergil sighed, "And it is what I want. I am weary of this fighting, of revenge leading only to more revenge." He reached up to touch the place where pendant pressed against armor, "Let Vengeance instead strike me down, and begin to put an end to this weary cycle. I would not have Dante suffer my fate - if you seek to serve Vengeance, then hope that someday he comes. My brother was always stronger than I, and if he lives he will gladly take you to exact his Vengeance."

With that, Vergil fell back amongst the welcoming shadow, instantly, secretly relieved to be himself again, and not the half-human man he once had been. It was a time and a place and a life long lost to him.

And he had, in the end, proven too weak to overcome the darkness that pulled at him, tugged him down to join them.

In the back of his mind, Nelo Angelo could hear the voices of his comrades, Phantom and Griffon and Nightmare, as they responded to the summons of their master.

He turned away from the now silent sword, sending his own reply to his brethren and leader. As the sword vanished from Nelo Angelo's view and interest, in the back of his mind the hazy shred of Vergil that remained whispered a quiet, fervent prayer that someday he would face his brother, and that the Sword of Vengeance would help Dante to strike him down.

And that he would never know who it was he was striking down, because he would do anything to spare his precious brother further pain.