Tick…tock…
Tick…tock…
Pain… was an understatement,
To him, it was an ocean, full of unknowable depths, of monsters and demons that lurked and swayed in every corner. With every step, every single muscle movement, he felt it surging through his body and soul, piercing deeper and deeper into his core. It was an understatement indeed…to say that was like a sword or worse a lightning blade that knew of no boundaries and pushed through every old scar printed on his body, tattooed even for a lifetime, and cut without mercy, without a second of hesitance.
To him… pain wasn't just those bleeding wounds in his guts that were deep and warm as it squeezed between his intestines, pulling them out and splashing them right at his feet. It wasn't the breathe he held as he walked down the cobblestone street, when every step felt like a nail bomb exploding in his innards. It wasn't the throbbing ache in his head, the white burning light flashing before his eyes… it wasn't the gashes on his limbs. It wasn't the broken bones that had stopped healing long ago.
Pain… wasn't of his body… decaying. Slowly but rightfully so … it was of the time…
Pain was of the time ticking fast behind his ear.
Tick…tock…tick…tock…
Screaming, scratching at the walls of his head that, " Vergil…you're dying!" And he was… for the last time.
Death wasn't a new concept, for all he knew, he had been death before, he had died for a thousand times and yet came back to life. But all of them felt like mere nightmares that he would wake up from them unharmed, this time however, this time it was real. So true.
You're dying.
And there was nothing he could do about it, or perhaps there was. If he focused enough on the pain itself, not the one engulfing his body and sucking the life out of it, no… the one that was buried within his soul, he would wake up again. The one that reeked of failure reeked of weakness. The one that whispered, you are nothing but a half-breed human without strength to even protect yourself, let alone others. Maybe then he would wake up.
But…
"It hurts,"
He clutched at his heart, coughing up blood. Thick… black, ink-like blood that smelled of unforgiving rotten flesh of the very demons, he slayed in hell. Was he one of them after all? And if he was then… why he felt so human again? Like he was eight all over again, hiding in the bushes behind their house, watching it through blurry eyes as it burnt into ashes.
"Mother…" and it slipped out of his tongue unknowingly, it had been a while.
If he would have had any tear left, he would have cried right then and there. He would have fallen to the ground and screamed his heart out. The heart that felt like exploding from all the sins and secrets and… pain piled up for years and years. For too goddamn many years... Just like a lost little boy.
The night was dark, no father was there,
The child was wet with dew;
The mire was deep, and the child did weep,
And away the vapour flew.
He had mourned her though. The mother who left him behind, her screams still vivid in his head. If only he was stronger, if only he had enough power…
No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings
He would have mourned the brother too. Dante. The twin, he would have loved to destroy in the womb. But the fight they started for dominance back in the womb, had only one winner and it was the one who always yearned for more.
Vergil won. He always won. And that earned him the title of the oldest, the strongest, and the most reliable son. He was supposed to take care of the younger one, the weaker one… yet…
Failure was pain.
Losing to that younger brother was failure. Falling down the pit was failure, getting defeated by the prince of darkness and ending up in chains was failure.
Was pain.
Grimacing, his knees buckled and he fell sideways to the mud. Was this the end?
He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
Blake whispered in his ears with a comforting melody. It brought smile to his lips, really knowing that he still remembered every word of that book and perhaps it was a little too late, those words still managed to make sense. Even in death Vergil still was aware of the unfinished fight with the split image of himself.
As the clock kept on ticking and among the agonizing murmurs of unknown creatures in the dark that screamed, "Your time is up." he felt a tingling sense of power, coming from far away, calling to him, giving him enough strength to try and stand up again.
Perhaps it was the truth, that he deserved to wear his sins like the cloak covering his crumbling body but he wasn't ready to go down. Not yet. He knew the familiar warm voice that called him through the dark alleys of a cold city, buried beneath the despair and hopeless whispers of a thousand demons, of past, present and future, that clawed at him and wanted nothing for him to fall back again, through pained memories of a lost childhood, of a mother that died protecting her children and a brother that was his only reason to fight, he heard it.
Weak but clear enough to show him a path.
A path of not giving up to death. Not today.
"I can still fight. "
A/N: I'm playing Devil May Cry 5 again and I am full of Vergil's feels right now. This short one-shot is just an excuse to quote William Blake and search through Vergil's state of mind before he finds Yamato.
Hope you enjoy.
I was listening to this song called " Wear your sin" by Orpheus Omega while writing this. Thus the title...