Breakdown
He didn't expect to feel bad after killing a demon. He never had felt that way before, but just then, when he struck the last blow, he felt something. It was difficult for him to tell what he was feeling at that moment. He hadn't been sure as to why he felt as such when in front of his vanishing body, yet it took him a minute to realize. However, it was already too late by the time he did. Far too late.
He was obviously talking abouthim. He, the horned one, so unlike the other devils Dante had come across. No matter how brave and strong he was, Dante still defeated him in the end.
Maybe it's true what they say that the third time is the charm.
Heh. He really was a sentimentalist; of all beings in this small world, a servant of Mundus was the reason of the bad feeling in his chest. Dante couldn't help it, as someone like that shouldn't have had such a bad end. He'd wondered why such a honorable demon would bring itself to serve someone as lowly as Mundus. He was unworthy of his obedience.
The only demon who had guts and honor in that hell-hole. Demons usually didn't offer Dante a real challenge because they don't put much of a fight, but he did. The horned demon could go on for hours to the point he could tire the hunter out.
Dante had felt some sympathy for him before, and at the moment of his death, he felt almost regretful at having destroyed his existence. The demon should have saved himself because he was incredibly amazing and overwhelming, even when holding back. Dante had been giddy, for he had the feeling he had met his equal once more, but feelings were just that, feelings. Dante ignored the moment when he reacted to his amulet as if it never happened.
He shouldn't have done that.
Realization came too late and now he was beyond saving.
The demon went all out that third time, yet Alastor cut across his armor swiftly, and blood was sent flying. The demon couldn't take anymore, for his heart beat its last beat. He couldn't get away. He couldn't avoid his fate.
Dante had been so determined to destroy the annoying horned demon that was always getting in his wa, yet now that he had finally killed him, he couldn't help but feel it shouldn't have ended like that. Even if late, that demon was... he was...
Same hair color. The same facial features. The same poise. The same eyes, but his were stained in crimson, so intensely red they burnt like flames from a blaze. The white, papery skin exposed showed blue veins with alarming clarity.
I should have known.
Though he had been granted with new powers since the two other times they had met, Dante was still able to defeat him. He screamed in pain, his hands on either side of his head, as he disappeared in a torrent of blue flames. The power that emanated from his vanishing body was so intense that it made Dante recoil and cover his eyes with his arm. He stayed that way until nothing of him was left behind and disappeared in mist.
There was nothing more. The scene was breathtakingly beautiful and incredible, or it would have been if it hadn't been for the fact he was dying. It was an unavoidable finale.
When demons die, ashes are left, but Dante saw none and wondered childishly if he had really killed him. However, there was still blood on the floor, enough to destroy those thoughts.
In the place he had been standing before the moment of his death, there was a small, red thing (a pendant?) on the floor, shinning like a star. With curiosity, Dante made his way to it. He couldn't help but feel some kind of dread in him, but wasn't that illogical? There would be no tragedy, no one to mourn the loss of the black demon with the heavy armor... So why?
Dante grabbed the small, red jewel and started to inspect the object, giving it a harsh glare as he did so.
It was then when he realized it, and his heart did a flip as his face twisted in something akin to anger, sadness, guilt and desperation all at once.
He was no demon, he repeated to himself as his grip on the pendant tightened, knuckles turning white.
The perfect amulet, the other half of Dante's amulet, whose owner was his older brother whom he thought was dead.
Vergil was no demon.
Perhaps he wanted to be like a demon and emulate his father's steps, but he wasn't like father. To be honest, he was still unsure about why he would want such a thing.
He would never be like him.
Instead, Vergil was a (sometimes) funny little kid, a bossy, hyperactive, burlesque, know-it-all big brother. An annoying, stubborn boy. A boy who had lost his whole family in one go and had to be alone for all his life, researching why such a thing happened to them and why his twin left him to die along with their mother's corpse.
Vergil was a lot of things, but he wasn't a demon.
The reminiscence hurts Dante more than it should. Quite frankly, it hurt more than he wanted it to. He had missed him; teasing him light-heartedly, casting pranks on him, making fun of him, laughing with him (and at him), talking with him. His touch, he had missed his touch, too, even those brief times as kids when they would share the same bed because of the cold; that was, at least, the pretext Dante always used.
...He had wanted to see him, he still wanted to, for the last time, to put a closure to all this and, if his luck were to stop giving its back to him, remove that stick he had deep in his ass. He wanted to tell him he was sorry, tell him he had enjoyed every moment they spent together, tell him how much he loved arguing with him, as strange it may sound. The most important thing was that he wanted to tell him he didn't hate him. He wanted to tell him he didn't leave him behind, that he was there for him, that he has always been.
Touching softly the half of the perfect amulet that had been laying on the ground, Dante felt a knot in his stomach and the beginning of something humid forming in the corners of his eyes, threatening to escape.
...
No. On second thoughts, there was nothing to mourn. This line of thoughts were pointless and it was definitely a bad idea to delve into them
What's what they say? What is done is done. Dante can do nothing for him now.
A small, emotionless smile tugged at Dante's lips. It had hit him hard that he killed his other half and would never, ever, feel complete anymore, but how do you fix that? That had always been the predicted end for him and Vergil. If so, he wished to meet with the bastard who wrote this shitty ending, and he has a vague idea of where he could be.
Dante didn't expect to feel so horrible, so anguished, so dead inside, but no matter how much the situation screamed at him to do it, Dante couldn't grieve, he wouldn't, because it wouldn't change anything. He still had places to go and people to avenge. Most importantly, he, the horned demon who had once been Vergil.
Maybe, this time, he would be able to put him to sleep and, once and for all, and vanish him for his memory.
In the end, maybe, it will be true what they say; that the third time truly is the charm.