I've been in a bit of a vicious mood lately. The warm fuzzies are distant memory. To compensate, I've started this section to sate my violent desires whenever they happen to strike. Sometimes, I believe it's a very good thing that I am able to vent using words alone.
Warnings: These are Vergil's thoughts. Innately, he is a violent creature and his musings reflect that. Don't read if you're at all squeamish about some gore.
One of the earliest memories I have is that of mother feeding Dante and myself in our highchairs. Invariably, the highchairs would be brand new or close to, as we were able to escape from them rather easily. Of course, by escape I mean destroy.
Even as toddlers, we were terribly strong. Not to mention determined little escape artists. We hated being fettered down, even for a brief time during meals. The two of us were precocious children, to put it lightly. The devil's blood that flowed through our veins must have made it incredibly difficult on the poor woman. More than once, I trust that mother wished nothing more than to pull out her own hair in frustration. And perhaps ours as well.
Brilliant, strong, willful devil-children would drive anyone mad.
I digress.
As I was saying; she would feed us side-by-side. Dante would often refuse to eat if I was not nearby; likewise for myself. I recall my favorite meal being small bloody hunks of raw meat. It didn't at all matter what sort of animal it had come from, and it was especially tasty if it was a fresh kill. Still warm and wriggling a tad? Splendid! And the younger the better.
I'd always had a preference for young flesh.
Mother would coo and smile at us while we fed.
I remember smiling back at her and waving a chubby, blood-covered hand, "Ma-ma! I eat!"
Dante would babble agreeably (Surprisingly enough, speech was not an early specialty of his; though, you'd never know it now) and cram as much meat as he could into his mouth to show her how delicious the meal was. His cheeks would bulge to twice their normal size, and bits of blood and gore would leak from the corners of his lips. Even so, he would stuff more in; attempting to demonstrate how fierce and voracious he could be.
In turn, I would do the same; chewing loudly with the sharp baby teeth we'd been born with. It would become a competition. Each of us would snarl and growl at the other while tearing apart the chunks of meat with tiny hands.
Look, mother. See how we devour the flesh of the weak. See how merciless we can be. See how we want to make the blood flow; rivers of it. See our strength. See what we will become.
Our display of ferocity was instinctive. In the demon world, it is a nestling's job to please their parents with such shows of strength. Lest the parent dismiss them as weak, and eat said offspring. Strength, above all, was revered. Might makes right; a concept I've always agreed with.
Weak spawn reflected badly upon the parents, who would then be torn apart themselves for producing wretched, worthless children.
We must have appeared absolutely horrifying. Yet, she never, never disciplined us for showing our true nature. If anything, she encouraged it. Perhaps she knew what our future held. Why not instill a sense of the importance of strength in your children? Especially if it was all but a certainty that they'd need it in the future?
We were always ravenous. Born with a savage blood lust; both figuratively and literally.
Even now I am sometimes guilty of slaughtering the livestock of farmers who frequent the countryside near my home. Sheep are my favorite. Especially little lambs that shriek and writhe in agony as I eat them alive. I often smile while doing so, for their screams are just as appetizing as their meat. Sometimes, I believe there is nothing better than the feeling of thick, hot blood running down my throat even whilst the prey is still twitching.
Stupid, bleating creatures. They deserve no better.
Unfortunately, I have to do this in secret. If my mate found out, I fear she would turn away from me in disgust. I cannot have that. Not after the bliss I've known from being with her.
Devils, unlike humans, can sustain themselves on the negative emotions of lesser creatures. Hate, despair, anger, fear, pain; all tasty tidbits to me and incredibly abundant nowadays. I would feed upon others until I burst if I was so inclined. Luckily for them, I am more than able to distract myself with other amusements.
Fighting is likely at the top of the list. Luckily, I've Dante for that. Otherwise, I'd have no worthy outlet for my savagery.
Knowledge is a close second. One can never, never know all there is to know. Change is the only constant, after all.
Sex is right behind the first two. Admittedly however, this particular activity is a new favorite of mine. She showed me how much I was missing. Alas, I cannot be as rough with her as I'd like, but with the help of some blue and gold orbs, the little woman can actually take quite a pounding. Pun intended. Moreover, her screams are some of the most delicious I've ever had. And afterwards? She does not reject nor hate nor fear me; she smiles and asks for more. She is magnificent.
Again, I digress.
Killing.
Yes.
Ultimately, killing is incredibly satisfying to me. I love murder.
In my younger, more theatrical days, it didn't make much of a difference if the victim was human or demon. I just wanted to cleave through bone and skin. I still do. I want to bite and rip and tear and shred the flesh of innocents. I want to bathe in their sorrow. I want to eat their fear. I want to break them and crush them and stomp them into the ground until they are nothing.
Frankly, they are nothing.
Luckily, I have also mastered the art of self-control. Even while triggered.
I wonder how father stood it. Being trapped, all but a fraction of his power gone, amongst the cattle who'd like nothing more than to destroy him. Even though he sacrificed so much for them.
Fools.
It still escapes me why father found so much worth in these primates.
There must be some key element that I am missing. Or, perhaps, lacking.
Perhaps I will find out one day.