Mess With Me
I don't understand.
But you say that's not hard for me,
Your inferior since birth.
Even when we were small,
We'd wrestle, and, you'd win.
But then we'd laugh it off.
Mother would smile,
And laugh,
And tell us to go do our chores.
But I don't understand
Why we are the way we are today,
When, at five, we'd tackle, run, and play.
From seven on we trained,
Under our Mother's patient eye,
Until we both understood how to wield our blades.
Father we barely saw,
I may have seen him once,
At our sixth birthday.
But you worshipped him,
Followed him,
While I sat with Mother to watch.
At thirteen, we received our blades,
Young, yes, Mother had said,
But you two are ready.
I wasn't sure what to think,
And you, you stood calm,
And was excited in your own strange way.
Was that when things fell apart?
The day I stopped you from attacking that girl,
The one who had refused to look at you?
You had growled, snarled
At me your own twin
And tried to push me out of your way.
We fought then,
A real one, tried to kill each other.
One to protect, one to murder, with the whole world to watch.
Then you drowned yourself in books
On demons and power,
And of the legend of our father.
Him we didn't see again 'til seventeen,
Again, you followed him,
I stood by Mother's side to watch.
"Sparda", I had snapped that evening.
He had already gone,
And we were in the yard.
My sword was in hand,
Quivering and pointed at the ground,
And yours was still sheathed and ready.
"Sparda," I spat, "Father, you call him.
What has he done to help us? To help our family.
What has he done?"
You gestured with one hand as you began to speak.
"Great things, brother, and more,
If you read more, you'd understand."
"What do past deeds have to do with now,
With our family?" I cried,
"What excuse is that?"
Your face hardened.
"What good is family, brother, it does not bring you power,
And power is what I desire."
"What will power bring you? Make you like him?
Sorry, but not even all your books, and all you skill can do that."
I brought up my sword.
You snarled,
And readied your stance,
Against me your own twin.
We fought then, again.
All night long it seems, we raged.
At one point I think I may have seen Mother standing in the doorway.
The night finally ended with my defeat,
And you strode into the house,
Past Mother, ignoring Mother.
Since after that night,
I did as you bid,
And read every book on Sparda I could find.
And all I found was nothing,
My soul was not soothed.
And I still don't understand you.
I didn't see you again,
Until that night Mother was killed, three years later.
I could not defend her.
I was not you.
I was not Sparda.
I was not strong enough it seems.
I laid there,
With my back against the wall,
Panting, crying, at my loss and failure.
Then you strode up,
As cold as ever,
And looked down upon me.
"If you had done as I have done, Dante,
And studied the skills of our father,
She would be alive.
If you had gained power,
And followed the right path,
You would not be here, weak and useless to the world."
I glared up at you,
But I could say nothing,
I only at that moment wanted you dead.
You smiled, and turned from me.
Walked into the house,
And returned shortly with something in your hand I could not see.
"This is all I returned for, have a pleasant life, brother,"
You said over your shoulder.
But I could not let you get away.
I struggled to my feet,
Rebellion as my crutch,
And tried to speak.
With my other hand,
I fumbled with one gun,
Ivory I think it was.
Mother had helped me make it.
Not that you would know,
You had left us, like Sparda.
I raised my arm and pulled the trigger,
Shouting: "Why don't you care?"
But you blocked the bullet with a flick of your sword.
"Family is a burden which is not necessary to bear.
Maybe now, you will learn that."
You never even turned you head.
"But why not family? Together we are strong.
Vergil, you are stupid for thinkin' that way…"
I struggled for more words.
You paused again.
"Jackpot exists no longer, Dante,
Even someone like you should realize that."
And then you were gone,
And I had lost again,
Fumbling for words and weapons against you.
And now I stand before you again,
Atop this tower,
Staring you down.
Family reunions bring bad memories,
Funny how that works,
And Ivory is pointed once again at you.
I want to understand,
I really do,
Why you act the way you do?
Father was never a father to me.
Only to you,
Yet I am more like him than you.
You, you who achieve power for its sake,
In hopes of being like him.
Like his legends.
I followed, though never really meant to,
In what he was trying to be.
A demon with a heart, caring for those weaker.
But you, you exploit them,
Or kill them if it suits you,
You will never be like Father.
That is why I stand before you now,
Ivory in hand,
Ready to attack.
Ready to defend
What I believe is the right path.
Because you, you have chosen wrong,
And find every excuse to stay on.
So I will never understand.