A/N: Hi there! In the process of writing my other story, Primal, I felt the need to write something a little lighter. This is basically a story revolving around Vergil. It takes place after DMC1, so probably a few months after Nelo Angelo (or Nero Angelo, however you prefer) was defeated by Dante. There's a little touch of humor from time to time and a bit of heart as well.
It will be a Vergil/Lady fanfic as for no apparent reason, I just love the idea of that pairing. Dante and others will of course appear. With nothing else to say, thank you for reading and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or any of its characters.
Prime Evil: Chapter One
He'd walked around this city for days. That's all he knew. He'd walked and slept and ate. Beyond that, there was nothing.
Cold rain sprayed from an ugly sky, the sun covered over by a dull and lifeless blanket of gray. His hair was in his face, scratchy and irritating. The idea of pushing it back seemed pointless, the heavy, fat drops of rain undoubtedly just planning to put it back into his eyes anyway.
He didn't know his name. He didn't know his past. He didn't know why he resembled these creatures or why they often seemed to speak at him. He didn't know how he loosely knew their language or why he never felt compelled to answer them. He just knew by the irritation that occasionally pulsated through his guts that he didn't like them. He didn't like these creatures and he didn't like this godforsaken island they called Ireland.
The rain came more often than it went, always a dank, horrible fog concealing whatever lay beyond the sea. At first he had believed it was hell, finding himself in the belly of a stinking ship. After escaping, he was sure it was hell, wandering around aimlessly through the darkness of a city with only the catcalls and belligerent hollers of drunks to keep him company.
So for days he'd simply walked. When his stomach demanded it, he'd eat, finding quickly that these creatures responded quite negatively when you barged into their homes and sat down in front of their meals.
On his first day, a female creature had even banged him repeatedly over the head with what they called a "stereo", the awful device screaming louder than even she could. Faced with the demands of his stomach, her petulance had seemed nothing more than a fly knocking on the outside of a window, his eyes shut as he'd merely crossed his legs and aristocratically devoured her entire peach pie, one blessed bite after the other.
It was on such an occasion that it finally dawned on him that perhaps all of the attention directed his way had something to do with his choice of attire; or otherwise, lack thereof. Each creature apparently felt the need to conceal their body (however hideous they must have been) in odd pieces of cloth.
After many attempts to simply take the clothing OFF a creature and use it as his own, the man had realized it might just have been easier to walk into a room and take whatever seemed to suit him. So there he was, yet again, walking with strange pieces of cloth covering his parts, namely a tediously tight light "shirt" and thick, itchy "jeans" for his bottom half.
After a few more days, it came as a bit of a revelation to the man that he could, in fact, READ the creature's dialect, becoming increasingly disturbed when reading the cover of a piece of paper concealed in a blue, metal machine. As it seemed, the "humans" as he'd heard them call themselves, were being terrorized by a white headed, naked man carousing Dublin on a search for freshly baked pies.
A twisted creature, he'd decided to himself, were these humans and quite futile was their existence.
He'd had the displeasure of seeing their mating rituals, witnessed them first hand indeed, on some of his escapades and nearly lost his precious sustenance in the process. It seemed that the smaller, or "female", of the race would often shake her lower quarters, flick her hair and bat her eyes when signaling for a mate.
The larger, or "male", of the species would puff out his upper quarters, saying (apparently) the stupidest things that came to his mouth in order to signal his willingness to mate with the other gender. Then they would share a meal, which the man was horrified by, and saunter off to breed in the quietness of their own homes.
The man was sure it was a horrifying experience and that it was necessary to conceal the act from others. After having waltzed passed a window and seen the ritual itself, he was certain of it.
A primitive and illogical species, the humans seemed to feast mostly on liquids, at times even passing up thick, solid foods, for the dark and sometimes syrupy appeal of a "beer". It seemed that Beer was the God of the creatures as it was worshipped by nearly all. Beer was displayed on towers and on busses and nearly anywhere and everywhere a person could look.
Beer was the only thing that the humans always seemed more than willing to share, clanking their glasses of it as some sort of pointless tradition. After watching the affects of enough Beer, the man had quickly decided that it was to be blamed for the absolute insanity that the humans often displayed.
It also seemed that this idol, Beer, was to be blamed for the immense population of the humans. After drinking enough, it seemed the humans could not help but breed, dashing to one another's homes in order to do so.
The females acted stranger than ever, grabbing or groping or doing nearly anything as an attempt to find a mate. The men, undoubtedly, were even stranger, hitting other males in a display of dominance in order to win over the females.
And never was he so negatively reacted to then when in the company of those that had partaken in the worshipping of Beer. The women would stare at him, their horrible, beady eyes just gawking unapologetically. At times, they would even touch him, whispering words of appreciation meant to fool him into breeding with them.
And the men! The men would push at him, puffing out their chests and standing right up to him, apparently insulted by something that he'd done. Soon, he'd realized that it must have been his inability to make himself smaller, as the smaller of the males were usually the ones most insulted by his presence.
Finally, after enough days of traveling, the man began to understand things that had been previously unclear. He began to understand their language, though the way it was spoken made it, at times, seem unclear. He began to understand their rituals and their social means of interacting. He began to understand why they so often apologized, seeking forgiveness when they would accidentally bump into one another or other offences.
He began to understand why they said "please" and "thank you" and why they would react negatively when one would fail to use these in sentences. He began to understand their currency and the exchanges between food and "euros".
He began to realize that Beer was not their God but their incentive for GOING to God, whom they all seemed to visit quite early on Sundays and who had a few immaculately large stone homes.
He was strangely relieved to find that his observation of human females was entirely correct. They enjoyed indulging in many rituals before breeding yet always gave off signals that initialized the process. The men did not enjoy the rituals yet always gave in to receive the desired effect.
He was, however, a bit dismayed to find that his appearance always seemed to catch the females off-guard, apparently (without realizing it) signaling HIS willingness to breed with them! They would react in many different ways, coming close to him, asking him to join them in doing whatever, touching his hands and arms. Some would even touch his hair, running their little digits through the strands and always marveling.
Words like "amazing" or "beautiful" or "angel" would come and when he finally distinguished their meaning, he would stare into reflective surfaces and try to grasp why they had spoken of him so. There were just things he understood and things he did not. Some things would come to him without the need to learn and others he felt certain he would never come to know.
It did, however, dawn on him that each of these humans had something he did not: a past. They would speak of it daily to one another, and it was, in point, the mark of most of their conversations. Yet he didn't have one that could reach beyond his few days of wandering amongst them.
This perturbed the man as he would commonly be asked to recite his name and yet could never give one.
Only one day did the man's inability to give his name not deter a male human, the man staring deeply into his eyes and saying sentences that he would not forget.
"No, no," the strange creature had insisted, looking all over the man's face. "I know you! I worked with you in New York many many years ago. Don't be silly Tony!"