Disclaimer: I don't own Devil may cry nor it's characters. Capcom does. This is purely a work of fiction.
Author's note: The story is set in the alternate universe and has almost nothing to do with the original dmc settings.
Reviews appreciated ^^
I will put enmity between you and the woman and between your offspring and hers;
he will strike your head, and you will strike his heel.
It was on the nights like these that Erika sensed and embraced trouble; the moon was covered with thick, dark clouds so the streets reminded her of a closed, isolated box. However, she persistently followed a suspicious shadow, carefully pacing down the wet concrete. The air was heavy and it was getting harder to breathe but she was almost there – the shadow slowed down and then finally stopped in front of Victorian-style house.
Erika waited until the shadow went in and then followed.
The darkness of the narrow corridor engulfed her immediately and it took her a few seconds to adjust her eyes. When she could just barely make out the outline of the walls, she moved forward until she heard what seemed like a slurp coming from the room up ahead. As she was getting closer, she could also smell liquor and blood that caused stirring in her stomach.
She traced the dagger, from underneath her coat, and softly placed her fingers on the cold hilt. She shuddered slightly – all this adrenaline was getting her excited; especially when she knew she shouldn't be doing this.
Upon entering an enormous living room, she was tackled down the shadow itself despite the fact that she thought her target tracking was perfect and undetectable. To her dismay, now she could get a better look at her target; thanks to the, all of a sudden, fully uncovered moon its skin shone brightly and looked smooth and on its grinning, bald face was a disturbing pair of red eyes – a demon at its best.
"Don't you have a bad breath," she mumbled and pushed him off surprised at how light he was. Pulling out her dagger, she lunged at him.
As expected, he was fast. No matter how swift her attacks were, he always managed to escape by a thread. It was almost like he was a puppet on a string of a very skilled puppet master – a puppet master who could almost predict the opponents' movement and avoid it in that short second.
Moreover, he was as good as she when it came to attacking; he counter parted every one of her attacks and it seemed like this fight will never end.
One of his attacks, meant for her head, finally struck her in the stomach and she went flying toward the east wall. She landed on something semi-soft that produced painful, muffled moan. Whatever it was, it was in a long black garbage bag. Curiosity got the best of her and she untied the bag only to find a scared face of a girl.
She had no time to say anything for the demon closed in on her and was about to bite her head off. With that, she had no other choice but to put her right between her head and the demons teeth.
When the sharp teeth dug into her skin, she screamed in pain. She has never been bitten by a demon before and she made a mental note to herself: Don't ever put your hand in demons mouth. It was as simple as the good-old-one: Don't put your fingers in the socket.
The demon seemed satisfied with her taste and let his guard down a little – almost like he was savoring the taste of alleged victory – what gave Erika enough time to stab the demon in the neck with the dagger in her left hand. She didn't count on the hardness of his skin and the fact she stabbed him with her left hand – which she didn't use regularly and especially not for fighting - but somehow she managed to shove the dagger deep enough to kill the demon.
When he dissolved in the air – in the form of bright yellow sparkles – she sank to her knees desperately trying to stop her tears. Her right hand was aching and the blood was violently rushing out of the freshly-opened wound. Quickly, she tore her t-shirt – leaving her navel bare from beneath the coat – and wrapped it around the wound. She had someone else to take care of before she could tend to her own mistakes.
She crawled to the girl and whispered: "I'm sorry; my hand's a little messy so I'll get you bloodied a bit. But it's over now, it will be okay." She felt the need to say those comforting words seeing how scared the girl was. Bits of moonlight shone on her sweaty, pale face and some of her long bangs were glued to it.
The girl nodded slowly at her words and silently waited until Erika got her out of the bag and untied her – all with one hand.
"What's your name?" Erika asked as she was fully observing the girl; she was wearing nothing but a thin nightgown and small socks. God knows how cold it must've been in this house – even for a day.
"Leila," the girl answered in shaking voice.
Erika stood up and picked Leila, tossing her arm across her shoulder. Leila's weight seemed doubled, as she started walking, but Erika knew that she was feeling like that because of the demon's bite.
"You have a pretty name." Said Erika trying to distract herself for she had a feeling she could lose her strength soon. "Tell me where you live and I'll take you home."
Leila seemed to hesitate for a second. They were already out of the house and in the lonely streets. It was past midnight definitely and someone will be very mad for many reasons as soon as Erika comes home.
"But," Leila stuttered "you hand is bleeding." Erika was almost touched by the sincerity of a scared girl but she had no time for sympathy – nor a need to be sympathized.
Instead of throwing an evil comment, she smiled. "Don't worry about me. I've had it worse."
And that was the truth.
Vergil was angry; so angry that the word 'angry' didn't cut it anymore. He was PISSED.
You could see the lightning in his sky-blue eyes and feel the earthquake as he stomped down the Sfire mansion. For the first time in his life, he cursed the length of the corridors and amount of turns he had to take before finally arriving at his destination.
He was made out of blind rage – destruction; a death god with spiky white hair and neat, expensive clothes - at least for now.
When he touched the door handle of the infirmary, he had to try his best not to break it. As he entered, he was greeted by complete darkness until he switched on the light.
The infirmary was empty at the first sight; plain white walls, a black couch, few chairs and lots of cupboards created a dull and forlorn atmosphere. Any ordinary human would be fooled by this sight but Vergil knew better – or at least his senses did. By focusing his ears just a little, he could hear slow breathing which led him behind the counter where he found the only source of his headaches – Erika.
She was sitting on the marble floor, her back on the counter, with her legs sprawled and spread and in between them was a first aid kid. She was in the middle of wrapping a bandage over her right arm when she noticed him and grinned widely.
"Hey, Verge, what's up?" he wanted to punch her for this fake friendly behavior. He knew, as well as she did, that they were after each others throats. Therefore, she was only pulling this act when she knew was in big trouble.
And she was.
Vergil crouched and roughly pulled her chin up with his index finger. "Imagine my surprise when I came to a house, where a demon was keeping a kidnapped girl, only to find a small pool of blood which smelled like a certain brat I know. And THEN, imagine even a bigger surprise when I came back to the mansion and heard from Richard that MY mission was already taken care of by the already-mentioned brat. Should I mention that the brat isn't allowed to hunt or kill demons before completing its training? Should I mention that Richard is blaming me for not disciplining the brat properly?"
It was even worse than he managed to put in words. Erika, who was only aged 16 and had only a moderate amount of training, apparently overheard the conversation between Richard – the owner of the Sfire mansion and the head of one of the three representing families – and Vergil and decided to prove her worthiness by executing a mission she wasn't allowed to.
And mine, on top of all.
When he finished his outer and inner monologue, Erika blinked. "Dude, those were hell of long sentences."
Irritated, Vergil started massaging his eyelids. Usually, he would reply with some sarcastic, insulting comment but he already wasted all of his inspiration on the monologue – and it wasn't even that good.
He could tolerate anything but two things: Erika and Erika meddling into his business. I guess those two actually count as one, he thought.
He noticed that she finished with wrapping and was about to put the first aid kit back into cupboard. Before she could get up, however, he stepped in between her legs. Then, he took a long glance at her dark brown hair, tied in a messy ponytail; trembling light-pink lips that looked dry and needed refreshing from her tongue every few seconds; her bloodied clothes and finally stared in her green eyes. They were so deep, so thoughtful that he almost felt sorry for them – they needed a better owner.
"This is the last time you've done something like this. As a punishment, you'll be suspended from the school for a week and you'll be training with me and doing twice as homework than necessary – all that I can teach and give. Also, all field training is canceled until I notice improvement in your behavior."
Erika sneered. "Am I supposed to be scared? Or angry, perhaps? All I did was prove how good I am. It was originally your mission, right? Just like the first time. "
That's right; this wasn't the first time Erika took out his mission. However, first time she managed to get away with it because a lot of civilians were saved thanks to her involvement but that time she was accidentally in his way (or so he hoped). But this time was a completely different story. She did it knowingly.
"Are you aware of the fact that you just broke the moral code of all Dextra?"
The resolve in her eyes seemed to strengthen. "What are codes to those who blew up my whole family?" She raised her voice just a little and already hit a certain bundle of nerves in Vergil. She was right – to some extent at least.
"I understand what you mean but you shouldn't use that as an excuse to act selfish. Think about Eanthe a little." He tried to reason her for once hoping that it would work. He knew very well that she wasn't always like this – vile and rash.
Ever since her family residence was blown during a family gathering, she had her eyes set exclusively on the demons whom she blamed for death of the – almost – entire Valentine clan. Well, as much as she blamed herself for not being there and being the only living Valentine.
She never expressed her guilt or remorse verbally but he could see it on her face and it almost made him want to taunt her more – just to break her, to see her cry all wounded and torn. He felt that way about her and he just couldn't help it.
"Listen, I'm not in a mood for one of your moral lessons. They're self-centered and superficial – just like you. And more than them, I need a shower. So," she got up fast, almost knocking him down on his butt, and went for the doors, "you'll have to excuse me."
Vergil sighed.
He had yet to learn how to tame a raging fire.
Erika felt much better after a hot shower; the water made her skin burn until it got red but the after-effect was priceless. She wrapped a soft towel around her body and looked at her face in the blurred mirror before wiping it off with her left arm. She touched her chin – she could still feel Vergil's fingers on it.
He was always such a strong man. When she was little, she thought of him as her older brother, someone who would always protect her. When she got in her teen years, they relationship watered down a little. And now, after the murder of her family, she hated him for his coldness and the distance he put between them.
How could he possibly understand what she was going through?
She loved her family; her hard-working father who spent days, months training her patiently for her future as a Dextra; her gentle and pure mother who nurtured her wounds; her little brother who had yet to learn of the world; her always smiling grandparents, aunt, uncles, cousins – all prestige members of society.
And they all disappeared with a 'bang'.
So, how could she not want to be ready to fight now? Isn't life about all the now's she could get?
She gently placed her wrapped hand, noticing that the cloth was getting wet and stained, on the cold mirror glass and then leaned her head on it.
She will have her revenge.
She will.