Summary: Sequal to "Sins of the Father." Anjelo grows up angry because he never knew his father, and his mother, Natasha, would never tell him about him. At last she breaks down and tells him, and begins researching a way to get back into the Human World to meet his father. Meanwhile, Dante and Vergil, living with Heather and their children, must deal with an incursion of demons attacking the city.
Disclaimer: Don't own DMC, don't own Forgotten Realms. Not recieving financial benefit from this in any sort of way. Very sad. Do own Anjelo, Natasha, Tlane, Ssalinisthiira, Heather, Michael, and Aeva. Happy about this.
The Truth
Anjelo watched as Razmira, the little girl across the street, was lifted into the air and swung around by her father, screaming with joy. The half-elf sat beneath the tree and felt the old anger rise, the old resentment. He had no idea who his father was. His mother, the famous Lady Natasha Nightsinger, would never tell him anything about his sire.
He hated her for that.
"I take it she still hasn't told you?"
Anjelo looked up to see Tusie, Razmira's older sister, leaning against the rough bark and regarding him with solemn eyes. "Of course not. Mother has never told me anything about him, and she never will. I'm a bastard child; that's all I know."
"Hey, at least you have your mother, and she loves you. Unlike our mother." Tusie came around the tree and sat down beside him, watching her little sister play with their father. "Sometimes I wish Razmira and I were as oblivious about her as you are about your father."
"Yeah, I know." Anjelo had been friends with Tusie for years; he remembered full well the day her mother had run away with one of the apprentice blacksmiths. What a scandal that had been.
They watched the interaction between father and daughter for a while, not speaking.
"How old are you now, Anjelo?" Tusie asked suddenly.
He looked at her, surprise in his gold-flecked sapphire eyes. "Eighteen. Why?"
"Among we humans, eighteen is considered the boundary between adolescence and adulthood. Aye, you are a half-elf, but wouldn't it make sense if your mother told you about your father now? Far as humans are concerned, you are an adult now. You have a right to know."
Anjelo looked away. He had been mulling that over for a few weeks now, ever since his birthday. That, and the strange power he had been sensing growing within his body in that time...
"Just ask her. The worst she can tell you is 'no.' Besides, I'm sure your mother would like to tell you. I could see the pain in her eyes when last you asked her." Tusie stood up, brushing grass and dirt from her breeches. "I'm sure there's a story there. All you must do is convince her to tell you."
"I suppose so. Maybe I will ask her." He gave his human friend a dirty look. "But don't expect me to tell you about it."
"I hardly expect you to. This is your scandal, not mine." She flipped her brown hair at him and sashayed back to her house, where her father was calling for her to come inside.
Anjelo watched her go, and noticed several other of the village boys hanging around, watching the female with interest or him with jealousy. Tusie was one of the prettiest girls in Beregost, and the other young men of the town resented him for being her friend, for being what they thought of as her favorite.
He wasn't about to tell them it was nothing like that. He and Tusie were friends, but nothing more than that. She hadn't been interested in him romantically since she had learned exactly how different he was from other men his age.
With a small sigh, Anjelo got up and headed for the house he shared with his mother, unheeding of the deepening night painting the sky with lurid, swirling rainbows. His mother would have dinner on the table by now, and he suddenly found himself craving his mother's homemade stew.
"Hey Anjie!"
The voice was all too familiar. Wishing they would just leave him alone, Anjelo turned around. One of the village bullies, Neeber, stood at the mouth of an alley, his arms crossed and a nasty smirk on his ugly face. "You and Tusie were gettin' right friendly there a moment ago, weren't ya Anjie?"
Anjelo was silent, trying to rein in his temper. It wouldn't do to lose it now.
"Hey, I'm talkin' to you, punk!" Neeber approached him, getting so close that Anjelo could smell his disgusting breath. "You deaf or somethin'?"
"No. However, I must admit that I despise your atrocious usage of proper grammer."
Neeber scowled. Anjelo knew he hated it when he used big words around him. "I said that you and Tusie were gettin' right friendly a moment ago. You plannin' on stealin' my girl, Anjie?"
"First of all, Tusie is not 'your girl.' She is not romantically involved with anyone at the moment, especially not a oversized gibberling such as yourself. Secondly, we are just friends. There are other girls I find more attractive than Tusie in Beregost." Actually, no there wasn't, but he wasn't about to tell this idiot that.
"You think Tusie's ugly!" Neeber roared, balling his fists.
Anjelo knew what Neeber was doing. The should-be ogrillion was trying to pick a fight so he could beat up on him as he had when Anjelo was younger, weaker. There was no way he could get out of this; the foolish human wouldn't let him. "No, I never said that. I just..."
Neeber's fist came flying for his face. Anjelo ducked it, and drove his own fist into Neeber's stomach, putting all of his strength behind the blow.
The bully went flying backward to smash into a wagon full of wooden barrels, making kindling out of the entire arrangement. Stunned, Anjelo looked at Neeber, than his fist, and back again. What in Corellon's name... I've never been able to do that before!
"White-haired freak!" Neeber spat, scrambling out of the smashed wood. "You're gonna pay for that!"
The next few minutes were nothing but pure fist-fighting, with both boys ducking and weaving around each other, swinging at regular intervals. Insults flew like arrows, and soon blood and teeth had joined them, scattering across the ground like precious rubies and ivory beads. Neeber landed a hit on his opponent that knocked the wind out of him, and smashed his knee into Anjelo's face. Anjelo fought through the pain like a madman, and head-butted Neeber. The human staggered backwards, blood pouring from the ruin of his nose in a crimson waterfall.
"Ya broke ma nobe, ya freak!" he accused, sounding as if he had the world's worst cold.
"That's the least you deserve, you barbaric imbecile." Anjelo couldn't believe how cold his voice sounded then. It sounded as if he didn't care if Neeber was hurt.
There was something in the back of his mind whispering to him, telling him that this boy was lesser than he was, and that because he had raised a hand against the perfection that was he, the human deserved to be destroyed. Anjelo fought against this voice too; he was no murderer.
"Get...out of...my...head!" he growled, clutching at his skull. What's happening to me?
You have come of age, Son of Vergil, Firstborn of Sparda.
"What?" He looked up just in time to see Neeber charging him again, and sidestepped the human at the last moment, sending Neeber barreling straight into a wall. As he watched Neeber writhing on the ground, groaning and clutching at his head, he looked down at his hands...
He thought he saw claws where his fingers should be.
"No!!!" he screamed. Leaving Neeber behind, he raced for the city wall and out into the night, running away from the fight, trying to leave behind the thing inside his body, inside his head.
He didn't realize until much later that he had jumped over a ten-foot wall as if it wasn't even there.
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Natasha paced carefully through the forest, her swords ready in their sheaths in case she found something other than her missing son. Anjelo hadn't come home for dinner, but while that wasn't exactly normal, she was used to it. Her son was a very angry half-elf, especially because she would never tell him the truth about his father. She had long since gotten used to him running off somewhere to be alone for a few hours. Faerun was a dangerous place, but her son could take care of himself.
What had convinced her to come out looking for him was a couple of visitors she had gotten an hour ago. Neeber, one of the town bullies, and his father Bresher had come to see her. Neeber had been an absolute mess, bloody with a broken nose, and missing most of his front teeth. He had glared at her from only one eye, the other so swollen he couldn't open it. Bresher had angrily told her that her 'freak-of-a-son' had done this to his boy, and then disappeared over the city wall like some kind of giant flea. Natasha had apologized profusely, and fixed up the human boy with one of her healing potions before going out to find Anjelo.
She knew she should have expected this. Considering Anjelo's bloodlines, sooner or later the demon would show up. And of course, it would be when he was involved in some kind of violence. She hadn't really known what she should have been expecting, but this wasn't it. Your son is descended from an entirely different set of demonic bloodlines than other tieflings of this world, she told herself. Of course his blood would manifest differently than Haer'Dalis' or Vernifia's.
There was a soft noise from ahead. She squinted slightly, trying to focus her infravison so she could see what had made it. She was close to the area Anjelo usually ran to when he wanted to be alone; could that be him?
A rabbit raced out from beneath the foilage, away from her. She relaxed slightly, loosening her grip upon Foebane and Answerer. The rabbit had been running from her, not from something she should be wary off.
A short ways farther, and she was at the waterfall. This was not the same one she and her companions had found so many years ago; this waterfall was the result of a spell-battle between rival mages that had completely changed the landscape, carving a river where before there had been none, and a canyon where before had been rolling hills. The waterfall spilled down the side of the canyon and back up the other side, completely defying gravity in its bid to continue on its way to the ocean. Natasha couldn't explain that part - just some consequence of the magics that the two idiots had been throwing at each other that day - but she did accept it. Finding the trail down to the canyon's floor, she began to make her way downwards with extreme care. People had died trying to get down this trail before.
Reaching the bottom without incident, the elf-woman edged behind the spilling curtain of water into the cave network the spell-battle had opened. This was Anjelo's private thinking place, the sanctuary he went to when he needed to be alone. She was the only other person who knew about this cave, and the only person he would allow to come here. Natasha understood his need for privacy, and so she rarely came here.
But she needed to talk to him now. She had to know what had happened, from his point of view.
"Anjelo?" she called. She knew which cave he favored, but she wanted confirmation. She was asking permission to see him now, when he was at his most vulnerable, his most volatile.
"In here, Mother." He gave the permission, understanding what she was asking.
She approached the cave slowly, making sure he heard her coming. Anjelo was sitting in the middle of the cavern, obscured by the darkness that enveloped the cave. Like his mother, he was blessed with elven infravision; he needed no light to see. He lifted his head from his knees as she approached, and sat down beside him.
"Care to talk about it?" she queried softly.
"Mother, I just...I don't know what happened."
She put an arm around him, offering comfort as she had for so many years when he was in pain. He leaned against her, the actions of a frightened child rather than the man he was.
"When Neeber started fighting me, it felt like...there was something else... in my head. Telling me what to do, telling me I had to kill him. That he was... a mere insect compared to me, unworthy to even lick the mud from my boots. And such strength... Mother, I've always been strong, but never like that. Never like that." He closed his eyes, and she saw the warmth of a tear roll down his cheek. "I could have killed him..."
"But you didn't. Neeber is still alive. You are not a murderer."
"Mother, you didn't see what I saw. My hands..."
"What about your hands, tha nasthar, my son?"
"They turned into claws."
"What kind of claws?" Her tone was gentle; she had to know.
"Like no animal I've ever seen." He nuzzled his head more firmly against his mother's chest, wrapping his arms about himself as if he were cold. She knew that he was scared, terrified of what had happened. "What's happening to me, Mother? Is this what you spoke of when you told me about your time as a Bhaalspawn? The power growing until the Slayer took over your body and turned you into a blood-thirsty monster?"
"No. That power is sealed away forever, tha nasthar. You will not turn into the Slayer; Bhaal's blood does not run in your veins."
"Then what is this? What are these voices in my head, calling me the Son of Vergil, Firstborn of Sparda?" He shuddered lightly; the fear rolled off him in waves. "What's happening to me?"
Natasha was silent for a long time. She had known this day would come. She couldn't keep the truth of Anjelo's conception from him forever. "Anjelo... They tell you this because... It's true."
"What?" He lifted his head from her side, gazed at her with wide blue-and-gold eyes.
"I was planning on waiting until you were twenty to tell you, but if your blood is awakening now, I cannot keep it from you any longer. You must know the truth of your conception, of your bloodlines."
"'The truth of my bloodlines?' Mother, what else is there? I'm a half-elf; there is nothing more than that, is there?"
Natasha sighed, and looked at her right hand. A fingerless glove of soft brown leather covered the flesh of her hand; Anjelo had never seen her without it. "Yes, you do have both human and elven blood mingling in your veins. However, this is one more bloodline you carry, which I have never told you about. It has lain quiet until now, as far as I can tell." She stood up and went to the cave wall, where she knew a vein of quartz crystal traversed the stone like a frozen river. Not meeting her son's eyes, she continued. "You see, Anjelo, your father was no mere human adventurer. He is a proud warrior, the son of a mighty knight of powerful lineage. After I was separated from him and his brother, I used my magic to uncover the truth of their parentage, so I would know what I had been dealing with. What I found out is, to say the least, remarkable."
"Mother, you are dodging the question." Anjelo got up and went to his mother, stood behind her with crossed arms. "What is the third bloodline in my veins? Who was my father? And what does all this have to do with what's happening to me?"
"I was getting to that, tha nasthar." Finding strength in the glove covering her hand, the glove he had given her, Natasha turned to face her son. "You know already of the human and elven elements that make you you. However, the third element is...very different from those two. You see, your father was only half-human as well. But his other half was not elven. It was demon."
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Queen: I told you I would make a sequal to "Sins of the Father!" This fic will tie in with my other fics, so Heather and the others will be making appearances as well. But the main view will be on Anjelo, Vergil, and Dante. Haven't decided if Natasha will stay in the fic or not.
Vergil: Queen, your muse really needs to take a vacation.
Dante: C'mon, bro. You know she can't sit still unless she's written something.
Queen (throwing back head in 'halleluiah' gesture): Finally, someone who understands me!
Vergil: You've got three fics in progress now. Don't you think that's a bit more than you can chew? Especially with all those accusations of Mary-Sueness you've been getting lately...
Queen: Vergil, you know I don't give a damn about what flamers will say. I find it amusing that they find Heather and the kids so objectionable, but they find nothing wrong with Natasha, who is, despite her lack of OCness, basically the stereotypical Mary Sue. Yes, I created her, but she was a character in the Baldur's Gate games. She's not the traditional OC.
Dante: You're right. It is kinda strange that they hate Heather, but don't comment on Natasha.
Vergil: You realize that you've provoked them now, right?
Queen (reaching out to turn off transmission for the night): Do I really look like I care?
(transmission ended)