Oh, well... where do I begin? I'm not sure, but I'll give it my best shot.

I abandoned the fandom, years ago. I kind of abandoned this site, too, but for reasons I can't explain I'm posting a fic here. All because my friend, Lucía, made me interested in DMC, again, and this time I set my eyes on Vergil. As a matter of fact, I'm writing this story with her invaluable help and support. She has collaborated with me endlessly throughout many of my other works (which I haven't posted here, I admit) reading my headcanons and sharing her own with me. Had it not been for her, I would have discarded this fic long ago and forgot about it... something I tend to do often. At this point, she has to be my co-author I swear since we've spent a lot of time talking about this fic ever since we began planning it, six months ago.

This is still a work in progress, of course, and it's been a very long time ever since I wrote something for DMC. The title was inspired for the most part in Pergolesi's Stabat Mater, specifically Stabat Mater Dolorosa, an hymn to the Lady of Sorrows— a beautiful and inspiring piece, in my opinion. So, without further ado, on with the chapter and I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Devil May Cry or its characters; they all belong to Capcom. No copyright infringement intended. All I'm trying to do is provide entertainment to the readers and by no means do I have lucrative purposes.

Warnings:

Unbetaed. Work in progress. English is not my first language. OCs.

Cover art made by tumblr user reyeslala. If you wish to see a high quality version, visit the following link:

reyeslala (d o t ) Tumblr ( d o t ) com/private/153477858528/tumblr_oh0478PBVH1qlw77g

Prologue

A soft otherworldly chant echoes within the halls of Fortuna Castle, and the last rays of the sun slip through the horizon before the black veil of darkness shrouds the sky. Night has fallen with the first snow of winter, and there is a somber foreshadowing in the woeful melody that drifts in the air.

Many of the clerics are reunited in the grand hall, dressed in ceremonial purple garments, and they pray on their knees to their Savior— the lord of justice and mercy. They plead for a soul at her deathbed, an old woman who has been living on borrowed time but now her time to depart from this world has come. In her chambers she lies with eyes closed, surrendered to her fate as though she has nothing to fear even now. It's almost appeasing to see her so at peace and, for a moment, Kyrie doesn't dare break the solemn silence that has settled in the lavish bedroom— the one that had once belonged to Sparda himself, according to old tales— as ministers around her recite mantras in Latin in preparation for the imminent journey.

They have brought Kyrie here so suddenly and she still doesn't understand why the Holy Mother would want to see her, of all people. Certainly, she's a pretty adept songstress and musician who has been hired by the congregation on several opportunities, given her talent to sing and musical skills, but she doesn't see a reason why her presence would be specifically required now. Still, she didn't question the Holy Knights when they went looking for her at her dwelling, before sunset, and broke the news that Her Holiness was dying.

Though Nero had been concerned for his wife's safety and offered to accompany her, she simply assured him that everything would be fine and that there was nothing to fear. With the reputation her husband has made for himself as a fearless and capable devil hunter, who has defeated countless enemies throughout his life, Kyrie doubted anyone would dare touch their family at this point. Also, despite people's initial caginess, the white-haired man had become something like a local hero in Fortuna and there were lots of stories on how he defeated the Heretic Pope and his False Savior many years ago. It was true he had some help, but to her it was clear that this was no mere feat any person could ever hope to achieve.

She understood Nero's distrust, of course, and the reasons why he still had his doubts about their religious leaders, even after the reform that took place in the aftermath of the Tribulation. But it was only an act of piety to fulfill the dying wish of a woman who had done nothing but good to the people of Fortuna when everything seemed lost. Kyrie couldn't ignore such a serious request, much any less when the Knight Captain dropped to one knee and implored for her grace since she'd taken too long to provide an answer, no doubt overcome with surprise. With a promise to see Her Holiness, the knights waited for her outside and she prepared to leave, unable to answer her children's endless questions while hoping to get some answers herself.

Kyrie has never been to this place before though Nero had given her some details of the castle years ago, when he fought against the forces of evil. Those memories still bring pain to her heart, after so many years, and she wishes she could forget those dark days when the world seemed to be close to an end. Younger generations don't know of the horrors their elders had to endure then and, by the grace of the Savior, they'll never have to experience the grief that comes with destruction and death.

After the immeasurable suffering that the Heretic Pope had caused, many people had resented the Order of the Sword and even she had been hesitant to return to the faith, still in grief over the death of her elder brother Credo. The beginnings of the reformed order were difficult at best in a time of crisis and endless conflict at the conclave, when Fortuna was being overcome by chaos and terror. People were trying to survive day by day and the threat of demons still remained. Nero tried to keep them at bay to the best of his abilities but more hands were severely needed. Many of the Holy Knights had died during the fight; those who lingered faced a serious stigma due to their past serving Sanctus, and their demonic nature that presented a danger too. It had been a risky move but there hadn't been many options left in the face of an onslaught of invaders that hurt innocent people.

They were men of honor, however, and sought to expiate for the wrong they'd done. Their greatest flaw had been to serve without question but, after an inquisitor was appointed and extensive investigation shed light on the matter, it was decided that they were clear of guilt given that they and their fallen comrades had fought to protect the citizens. Sanctus and his henchmen used them and discarded them as though their lives meant nothing, feeding them lies to manipulate them to do their bidding. Credo was a clear example of that. More importantly, Sparda himself was a demon that fought against his own race for the sake of mankind so it would have been a disservice to condemn those knights just for what they'd been forced to become. The ceremony of ascension was abolished, nonetheless, for all it stood in the past and the torture the knights had been put through to acquire demonic powers. Those who hadn't been strong of body and mind had died because of it, so needless to say it was a practiced that had to end.

It had been a herculean task the one the Holy Mother faced to rebuild Fortuna from shambles but, unbelievably, it was restored and prospered under her administration. When Sanctus was killed and there was no one to lead, it was difficult to find worthy candidates to wear the papal crown. Seeing as most of the men of the clergy had perished or had been influenced by Sanctus, one way or the other— which posed a risk—, and the knights had turned into demons, something unexpected took place. The conclave for the first time turned to the order of nuns that had been ignored for many years for the most part, due to the former Mother Superior's disagreements with Sanctus, when they remembered that the only requirement to occupy the post was to be a practitioner of the faith. As it was, technically anyone could be Pope, or Popess, but only men had been chosen…

Until now.

Kyrie removes the hood from her ginger head, which has become streaked with locks of silver over the years, and the young captain that accompanies her approaches the bed with a solemn disposition. He salutes the Holy Mother and bows ever so slightly to whisper something in the old woman's ear— more likely announcing her arrival. As he steps away, awaiting further instructions, the Holy Mother open her eyes, their color faded, and she turns to look at the songstress with a gentle smile.

"Dear Kyrie, you have come to see me after all… thank you," the woman rasps with a weakened but kind voice, and Kyrie feels a tug at her heart when her wrinkled hand reaches out to her.

"Your Holiness," she says as she approaches the bed and drops with difficulty to one knee, holding the hand to her temple as her hazel eyes look down. The years have taken their toll on her body, no doubt, and Kyrie doesn't feel like a young girl anymore.

She stays in that position for a few minutes, unsure of what to do as the Popess begins to dismiss the rest of the people in the room. By the time Kyrie realizes what's happening, there is no one else in sight and it's only her who remains in attendance of the Most Holy, much to her bewilderment.

"Please, arise. There is no need for such formalities between us. Call me by my name, like you used to when you were a little girl. Do you remember?"

With a warm smile, Kyrie nods and gets to her feet. "Sister Osanna."

"Ah, it feels like ages have passed since the last time I heard that name." She sighs with contentment, a look of nostalgia settling in her gray gaze. It's not a strange statement the one she's made, for her name had been changed to that of Gratia upon her ascension as pontiff several decades ago. "But where are my manners? Please, have a seat."

"You have called and here I am. Is there anything I can do for you?" Her words are tentative, but when she sees the pleased expression on Osanna's elder features, Kyrie grows at ease as she takes a seat in one of the armchairs conveniently placed nearby.

"I can see the years have not dulled the shine in your eyes, despite all the hardships you have endured. To me it feels as if it was yesterday when you were playing in the backyard of the children's home with Nero. Now look at you; the little girl has become a woman blessed with virtue, a loving family, and still many years ahead of her life." There is a melancholic smile on the elder woman's lips and she divert her eyes to the fireplace, at the flames crackling with steadiness. "When your time comes, there will be no regrets for you…" Although Kyrie doesn't understand very well what those words meant, she is expectant all the same. "I am sure you find it surprising that I have summoned you at my last hour. To tell the truth, I will depart this world soon. I can feel it."

"I wish it wouldn't have to be this way." An unwanted sob escapes her lips and Kyrie finds herself lamenting the imminent demise, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

"Do not fear, my dear. Death is only… another beginning," Osanna breathes with a gentle smile. "I find comfort knowing that I will go back to the arms of the Savior."

"How can we not mourn for you, the one who brought peace and order after the darkness? You, our light. Who will guide us when you're gone?"

"You are too kind to me, but you need not worry about tomorrow; I have made arrangements and Fortuna will be in good hands. As for me, I am nothing but a light that fades into oblivion. This earthly body is tired and sick and only wishes to rest for eternity. However, my reason to request your presence is not to cause any more grief than you are already in."

"Then what is it that you need from me? Anything that you wish, if it is in my power, I'll do my best to grant," Kyrie urges, uncertainty and uneasiness growing in the pit of her stomach.

"I only ask you to listen and try to understand— to look at me as a woman made of flesh and bones, a human being, and not the Holy Mother everyone believes me to be. Will you be so kind so as to do that for me?" Kyrie is shocked to hear the old woman's voice crack, as though sorrow is shaking her to the very core suddenly, and wonders what torments her so. In an attempt to provide comfort, she takes Osanna's hand between hers and leans closer, nodding as she swallows the knot in her throat. "There is a secret I have kept for many years and it has been the cause of both my joy and endless suffering. I thought I could endure until my last breath, but now that my time has come I can no longer find the strength to be silent about it. Despite my better judgment, deep down I do not wish to die with this weight that lies heavy on my heart and the pain of unfulfilled dreams. I have committed a sin too great and though I know I do not deserve forgiveness, I still hope he will find it in his heart to pardon my faults one day."

"What… what do you mean?"

"Listen to me, Kyrie. Listen carefully to my words because I am speaking truth." For the first time, she sees fear in those stern eyes— the ache and despair swelling in them as Osanna clutches her hand. "Your husband, your descendants… the blood of the Savior runs in their veins."

For a moment she is afraid to speak. Afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Her jaw drops while she blinks in disbelief and awe, unable to recover from her stupor. Nero and their children… descendants of Sparda? How is that even possible? It cannot be… but then again, Nero's powers, his might. She had seen it when he defeated Sanctus, when he destroyed the False Savior.

And there was Dante…

She might have had her suspicions seeing as Nero was his spitting image, but never had she imagined that it could actually be true! If that's the case, then how can Osanna know about her husband's ancestry when the matter was a mystery even to her, his wife? No one knew where Nero came from, or who his parents were for that matter. Unlike most children at the orphanage, who had lost their families to demon attacks, he was a newborn left at the gates of the shelter in the dead of a cold night, wrapped in a thick black blanket.

Kyrie and her parents usually visited the children's home because they firmly believed in helping those who were most vulnerable, like Sparda did, and they met Nero. She'd quickly befriended him and they used to play together when she dropped by. Since they were close, it was impossible for her not to notice how cruel other kids were to him and mocked him for not knowing who his parents were. On several occasions she'd witnessed those spiteful episodes when she was with him, and heard them say that his mother must have been a prostitute that abandoned him. She'd been only a child back then, so Kyrie didn't understand what they meant and didn't have the courage to ask by the aggravated look in Nero's eyes.

Years later, she learned why those words hurt him so much. Her husband was most likely the son of an illegitimate union, which was a scandalous matter. Still, prostitution wasn't unheard of in Fortuna and more often than not this was the usual motive why children were forsaken at orphanages— something that made Nero stand out like a sore thumb, despite the fact he wasn't the first child born out of wedlock neither would he be the last. But even if by any chance they found about his biological parents, he'd said he wouldn't even be bothered to know who they were. They had forgotten about him so he would do the same.

"How would you know about that?" How can this woman be so sure of her allegations and, more importantly, why is she so convinced of them? That's a kind of certainty only a mother would show when it comes to her child—

At those thoughts, Kyrie covers her mouth with a hand and muffles a brusque gasp that leaves her breathless. Impossible, she thinks and shakes her head, watching as tears stain Osanna's wrinkled face and the elderly woman closes her gray eyes with a pained sigh. Kyrie knows it in her heart, even before the words leave those trembling lips, that it's her… she's the one who carried Nero in her womb and brought him into this world.

It happened many decades ago, when a foreign white-haired man appeared in the island. And from the moment they crossed paths, life could never be the same.

A/N: Well, what can I say? I admit I wasn't too keen on the idea of Nero being Vergil's son years ago. Then I saw that picture from the artbook, which states that our salty boy in blue is Nero's father, and I was speechless to say the least (though I'm not sure if it's canon or not... is it? I'm sorry for the stupid question.). Either way, I think in time I accepted it and it also gave me the excuse to write a story, in hopes to do something decent.

Well, hope you liked it and please review!