Existentialism
Disclaimer: I own nothing but a hoard of occult books, some sketchy plants, and vast quantities of Satanic literature. And while I realize that possessions are fleeting (haha), I'd rather not have to sell mine to pay legal fees.
Rated M for angst, twincest, blasphemy, language, violence, slash (m/m relationships), sexual themes, sad attempts at humour, mutilation of both poetry and literature, and dubious consent. For starters. This takes place after all the games and the anime. Feedback is always appreciated, although my hatred of this story knows no bounds, haha.
To reiterate, this is Dante x Vergil, with implied Vergil x Dante. If you don't like the pairing, please don't bother reading.
Revised 09/11.
Prologue
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found that I was in a dusky wood;
for the right path, whence I had strayed,
was lost.
- From the Inferno Canto One, lines 1-3. The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri, as translated by Lawrence Grant White.
Looking at the swirling sky made him sick, and dizzy. He ignored it, head down, watching his leather boots trudge through the ochre-coloured dust. The motorcycle hadn't taken well to this part of Hell's rust-flecked winds and all-pervasive desert, and the engine had died with a few choked sputters some time ago. Dante couldn't pinpoint when, exactly, but that was what made this Hell, after all.
He wasn't tired, so he couldn't have been walking all that long. With each footstep, he settled a bit deeper into the burning sands. The razor wind whipped through his snowy hair and stung his eyes, making him wish that he'd given this venture a bit more thought. Explore Hell, what a great fucking idea, he thought, and then stopped, because analyzing his actions wasn't something he did. Ever. I guess here you get to think about things until you go crazy. Awesome.
Dante shoved the thoughts away and glanced around, hoping to find something to kill. He wanted to get lost in the haze of bloodlust; to find a messy piece of violence to soothe himself with. A bit of demonic ass-kicking would clear his head, and give him time to figure out what to do. His best plans always came to him while he wallowed knee-deep in blood. It was his nature. Much of his happiness was dependent upon the suffering of other beings. Even if there were a few bottom-feeders lurking about, that would be all he needed.
There was nothing. Just sky above him and sand beneath him, both writhing in the wind. No sun to give direction, no landmarks to point the way. Dante pulled his red coat closer around him and turned slowly in a complete circle. Each compass point held the same view; there was no way to differentiate them. His footprints behind him were lost in the swirling dust. Fuck, thought Dante. He kept walking.
Vergil was dreaming.
He stood in front of his childhood home, holding a knife in his hands. It had been a gift from Dante, unasked for and thoughtless. He couldn't find his twin, couldn't find anyone, really, but being alone had never bothered Vergil. His gaze swept over the large manor house, covered in ivy and flowing wisteria. The empty windows stared back at him like the blank eyes of the dead.
The afternoon sun gave an ethereal quality of light to this moment. It was softly golden, flitting through the leaves of the many stately trees surrounding the yard. A light breeze stirred the flowers that had been carefully planted and lovingly tended, and their heady scent filled the air. Birds fluttered everywhere, eating small berries and insects, and chirping happily. Bees droned loudly, humming contentedly in the late summer heat.
In the forest surrounding the house, just out of sight, his mother died, slowly. He couldn't hear her screams for all the birds that sang, joyfully, in the garden. He couldn't prevent her blood from spilling onto the earth, greedily absorbed by thirsty trees. He didn't begin to look for her until that evening, when the house was still dark, and void of life.
The dream faded and another began.
He hadn't meant to, really. They'd been playing, fighting, and Dante, clumsy oaf that he was, had tripped at just the wrong moment. Vergil had reacted without meaning to, stepping sideways and dipping the sword, offering it to his brother's heart. A wet crunch and a sound like silk tearing and he nearly let go of the hilt. He stared as blood poured down the katana onto his hands, warm and slick. The smell of it made him dizzy. He yanked the blade out of his little twin brother, who keened in pain and fell forward into Vergil's waiting arms.
"You're mean," Dante whined, despite the fact that he was barely able to breathe. "I'm telling Mom."
The last dream was the worst.
As he pulled Yamato out of Dante (all grown up now, and not half so clumsy), he stepped away and let him fall.
It got easier each time.
Dante hated walking. And deserts. And he sure wasn't too fond of Hell either, for that matter. He stopped struggling through the sand and glared at the sky, wishing it would change. It didn't. He slowly circled around, looking in every direction for some way of distinguishing it from the others. Nothing. Next time, a trail of breadcrumbs, or a ball of string, or something. None of this 'lost in Hell' shit. Fuck fuck fuck...
The devil-hunter sighed and wiped his burning eyes. He shut them tightly and counted silently to sixty. He looked around again. Nothing. Red sky, red ground. No rocks, no trees, no demons. An endless, hazy horizon stretched as far as he could see. He pulled Ebony from her holster and fired into the distance. The shots barely echoed, seemingly absorbed by the landscape. Dante reached for Alastor, his companion for this mission, but the sword slid quietly from its sheath, razor sharp and lifeless.
It was around this time that something began to nag at the edges of the half-devil's consciousness. Worry. Not a lot, but a hint, here and there. That Lady and Trish wouldn't know where to start looking, even if they decided to look at all. That Nero, who might have come after Dante if only he knew, had no more chance of getting into Hell than his little girlfriend Kyrie. And V- Nope. Not even gonna go there.
Dante shook his head to clear it, something his older twin had always mocked him for. No. I will not think about Vergil. Oh. Damn. He scratched his head with the barrel of Ebony, and set off in a new direction. Or, what he thought might possibly be a new direction, barring the fact that all paths seemed to be the same path here.
And then something. A lump on the ground, just barely within his field of vision. Great. Now the hallucinations begin. I hope it's pizza. Dante set off towards the thing, not caring what it was as long as it existed, if only in his head. The thing did not move away from him as he headed towards it, which made him hopeful. Maybe it's luring me in so it can try to kill me. Maybe it has beer. I hope it has beer, I'm thirsty...
As he got closer, the thing's shape became clearer, roughly humanoid. It lay on its side, wrapped in what appeared to be a funeral shroud, half buried in the sand. It was easily as large as Dante, and its cloth-covered wrists were bound tightly together with silver wire. Lovely, thought Dante, this is the last poor fuck that got lost here. At least someone thought to bury him. Or try to.
Dante jogged the last few steps to the body, kneeling beside it. It filled the shroud, not at all desiccated by the burning sands. Freshly dead then, Dante decided, examining the body's wrists. The silver wire cut deeply into the flesh, and dried blood stained the shroud. So it was still alive when it was prepared for burial. That would suck. He reached down with deft fingers to pull the greying wrapping away from the face. Let's see who we have here.
Oh shit.
The body below him, pale but without decay, wore his own features. Frost-coloured hair framed high cheekbones, a strong jaw line and full lips.
"Vergil?" he wondered aloud, a frisson of horror passing through him. Or me?
Review if you like, or correct my spelling/grammar, or something.