Author: Moiranna
Title: Never Again
Theme: #16 - Weakness
Rating: PG
Realm: Devil May Cry
Pairing: None
Characters: Dante, Vergil
Genre: tragedy, family
Warnings: Vergil is a bit of a megalomaniac?
Word-count: 394
Summary: Vergil and Dante were separated after the attack that killed their mother. These are pieces of Vergil's life leading up to DMC3 Vergil-centric
Notes: One of my readers (Arya May if I remember correctly) requested that I should write about Vergil and his life after the demon attack when the boys were… 7-12 (you never really can tell what age they are in the manga, but I'm guessing here and saying that they were eight years old).
I wasn't strong enough to defeat them. They came in a horde in the middle of the night, almost fifty full-blooded demons against the three of us. To say the least we were entirely unprepared, and could only run in blind panic, mother's panicked screams of "run!" echoing through my head.
I couldn't protect mother or Dante. Couldn't keep them from being hurt. Dante ran, thank God for that the idiot for once in his life actually listened and did something sensible. Mother however…
I keep seeing her bloodied form whenever I close my eyes. One arm stretched out in front of her as if reaching for me, her body face-down except her face which had turned to the side. Blue eyes open – empty and staring at me. Mocking me for my weakness.
I can't stay like this. I need power. I need to be stronger.
I need father's power.
There is nobody that can help me. I've scoured every tome relating to demonic power that I've been able to put my hands on, but still I draw a blank. Those who are known to possess knowledge either deny it or are dead.
It is essentially making me start to believe that the only way that I can attain knowledge how to properly harness the demonic powers locked away in my blood is to enter hell and learn straight from the proverbial source.
I know what it will cost me. Not that it really matters because that is the weaker side of me. Still. It shouldn't bother me as much as it does, even after all these years. I should be rejoicing in that finally I can get rid of that which makes me a lesser being. The reason why it bothers me is because I have to "sacrifice" – because I wasn't born perfect. This shell is weak, fragile. Incomplete. Like a puzzle where only half of the pieces match up.
It is almost ten years since that day. I've found someone who can undo the seal on hell so that I can travel there. With all probability it will lead to that the world is overthrown by demonic forces and humanity will fall to pieces. Yet I find myself calm at the thought. The cattle will be prey, as should be. And I will rise above all and never lack power.
AN: If you haven't already noticed it I like writing little snippets – slice of life pieces, kind of. Most of the time I feel that if I over-write things they lose the essence which first made me pick up the pen and write in the first place (yes, I actually sit with my little notebook and write my stories before I sit down by the computer). Thus a lot of them are shorter, many below 500 words. Already I feel like the story has lost some of its poignance, because the initial stanza is prolonged and more… grown-up. I don't really feel like Vergil is 7-8 something, but more 12-13. Original was like this:
I wasn't strong enough to protect them. To protect mother and Dante. I couldn't keep them from being hurt. Dante ran; thank God that the idiot did something sensible for once in his life. But mother- I keep seeing her bloodied form whenever I close my eyes. They're mocking me. Those empty blue eyes stare at me, mocking me for my weakness. I can't stay like this. This humanity is too fragile. I need power. I need father's power.
You see the difference? It's blunt. Child-like. But it lacks some of what I wanted to say, so it was changed –shrugs shoulders- just thought I'd share both versions. Let me know what you think =)