Rotten Inside
Father? I don't have a father. I just don't like you, that's all.
He winced at the nonchalant words that were supposed to sound cocky. He knew that was just a facade. Humans wouldn't be able to hear it (even his twin wouldn't even hear it if he didn't put enough attention), but there was a bitter undertone in his voice.
I don't have a father.
It sounded disgusted. Annoyed. The words (that tone of voice) repeated on his mind over and over again, constantly. Like a mantra.
If he was the loving father the stories in your books claim he was, then where is he? Where was he when everything crashed? Why didn't he come back?
Why didn't you come back, dad? Why didn't you try to look for us?
Hahahaha...
So that's how Dante sees him?
Even the memory he still retains of him as a child accuses him, face, arms, legs, all covered in blood, looking at him like he was a murderer.
That was it. Dante thought he was a murderer, and maybe he really was.
Where is he? What happened to him? Why?
No one would ever know.
It was well known by him that the seal of the demon world was weakening, and the fact that Mundus would break free and would claim the human world as his was inevitable; it was just a matter of time.
Falling in love with Eva wasn't planned, but it happened. Mundus would find out -no, it's not a probability; he will.
The demon emperor's first targets would be he, his newborn children and his wife, and he couldn't let him out. He won't.
So he left, giving her a peck on the lips, holding her tightly against his chest. Eva didn't ask him what was happening. She knew. If the seal is weak, that means that half of his power wasn't enough to close the underworld...
No one knew what happened then. Not even Eva could imagine what happened to her husband, or what he did to the seal or... whatever was the thing he mentioned when he thought aloud in his study.
Where is he?
Unknown.
What happened?
... ... He doesn't feel quite attached to you to confide you that. Perhaps the wandering demons who followed him after the sealing were his demise, or maybe not... But the scowl in his face seems to say it wasn't anything of the two possibilities (even though he might as well be lying).
He was trapped inside a place -a distorted limbo- he didn't know what it was, and that was his fault. Sparda would drift back and forth, and he would get lost, and he would never know where he was because that place was endless. No matter where you went, you would not escape.
Anger. Uncertainty. Loneliness.
Did the soul of that priestess he sacrificed years and years and years and years ago feel that way too when she was sealed away, unable to cross the Styx river and find peace?
Would he meet her tortured soul here?
He though he was doing that for the best (it actually was for the best), but it didn't quite turn like that in the end.
All for nothing. Did she also have those regrets?
...
His son's life had turned hell.
Sparda couldn't stand to look at his eyes anymore, even if it was from the distance. He wasn't able to do so. The intensity of his azure orbs was too strong for him to handle. His stare burned his skin like fire (like an imperishable fire, because Dante would never stop hating him). Maybe it would subside over the years, but just a little, not much, and it would still be there.
Those hate-filled eyes that were once cheerful would always look at him like that, and he would see them even in his sleep.
It shouldn't have ended like this. He hadn't wanted him to become like him. His sons didn't deserve a future like that.
Sparda thought of the annoying little kid who begged him to read bedtime stories to him, and he couldn't find a trace of it in Dante's voice, eyes and appearance anymore.
That was because Dante wasn't a kid anymore. He was someone else, but not a kid -his kid. He changed (for the better? For the worse?)
And Sparda… wasn't his dad. Not anymore.
Instead, he was 'that old bastard'.
That old bastard who abandoned him and his brother and his mother. The old bastard who left their mother to die. That old bastard who never returned to take care of them, and instead, they were separated and had to live in the streets or in an orphanage. The old bastard whom everyone think was a honorable knight, capable of love (but he left his sons to die, abandoning them like stray cats). The old bastard with the good names who didn't even say goodbye. The old bastard who never had the balls to track them down.
Vergil had always shown interest in all of his doings. His story, his powers, the demons he fought against in the past, the legend... He would beg him to read him books from his library, the ones that were written in that strange language Dante nor Vergil understood (but Vergil at least tried to learn it despite Dante's odd looks). Vergil would also toy with his swords (especially Yamato, which had taken a liking to him, much to his displeasure), and he would have to chase him throughout the house while Eva looked at the pair in the distance, giggling and shaking her head. Then, Dante would join him, and that was when hell unleashed.
It was a wonder how their home didn't fall apart from all that on that day.
He laughed unpleasently and then sighed.
They both changed.
They changed so much.
And he was afraid -no, terrified.
If he were to leave the limbo he was trapped in, how could he raise his head and look at his sons' eyes? How could he, after all that's happened?
What would he say? What if... they don't believe him?
What if Dante doesn't want him to come back?
What if… … Sparda never saw his annoying, bratty, lovely child again?
He'd tried his best to reach out to Dante, he really had. But…
Maybe it wasn't enough.
Dante hated him, and Vergil wasn't very far from thinking the same.
The first time he had seen his sons cry (cry in anger, betrayal and sadness) he felt his heart break, and when he saw them laying on top of their deceased mother, covered in blood, he felt his stomach turn.
When he saw them wandering through the streets (lost, lonely children with no one to trust), he felt pathetic.
Both of them settled in the house -no, he had to correct himself; it wasn't a house, but the burned ruins that had once been their home. Memories kept the place alive. Dante wanted to go back. He missed his mother, father, brother... His family. He wanted a family. But Vergil was wiser. He knew that wouldn't happen. Revenge was what reminded. Pain and sadness. And power.
And eventually, they were discovered. And eventually, they got separated.
"It was you the one who wanted a family, not me."
Sparda would have liked to appear before him, hug him and say he was sorry, but that would be useless. He can't.
The feeling of uselessness is overwhelming.
In the end, Dante had been taken home by a foster family. Vergil, however, just escaped before he was caught, not minding Dante's pleas. Again, Vergil was wiser; somehow, the small kid found Dante's family after some time. When night came, Vergil would come and visit him. When Dante first saw him after a year of absence... Vergil almost died from asphyxia.
Sparda felt a glimmer of hope at that... only to be crushed five years later.
Vergil began to visit Dante less and less. One month, three months, five months, one year... Dante always felt at the edge of his seat because he never was certain if his older brother was fine or not. Sparda would have liked to tell him everything was fine, that Vergil was fine, but he couldn't.
Actually, Vergil wasn't quite alright. He would have liked to reach a hand to touch him, to comfort him and make it up to him -his six-year absence-.
...But it was too late.
Maybe he wouldn't even have accepted his hand, neither his words. Nothing at all.
Vergil already knew what being a demon meant. He knew it all too well- because he had to achieve his title by cutting out all the human weakness from his heart. That way, he would have nothing to grief, demons nor humans would hurt him anymore, power would remain, and then he would be able to protect himself and his brother -the only thing that still lived and mattered to him.
Sparda knows that, too, what being a demon means.
Being a 'demon' meant being alone; giving up your humanity while you desperately search for something to latch onto. Something to live for.
In Vergil's case, it was power. Power to protect and to devastate those who dared to cross paths with him.
The trauma of seeing his mother die and be unable to move a finger for her materialized in loneliness and hatred. Almost all of his childhood was spent in researching a way to prevent that from happening again.
To protect yourself and the ones you cherish, you need a certain something. That was power.
Power.
Power.
Power.
When he was younger, when he witnessed the attack that killed his mother, Vergil had nearly gone mad searching for answers. Dante wouldn't have the stomach to do that, so he left him apart from that at that moment and let him live with that fake family that found him.
Why?
He had wondered just what his purpose was, why the devils had come for them, and lots of other things. He searched them. Vergil had also met too many corrupted, selfish and self-destructive humans. The creatures that had been with him, around him... were nothing more than demons, demons who covered their true selves under false pretenses. It's disgusting Vergil has the same blood as those creatures. Not even the memories of Eva could stop him from feeling the horrible stench of humanity.
It's overpowering. Does that mean he was as pathetic as them? Hatred filled his blood. He had to do something. It's interfering with his quest of power. The human blood is weakening him. He can't protect anything with a weak body.
With that and with his father's inexplicable disappearance during the attack, Vergil not only lost faith in him (he won't come back for us), but also began to create a hatred towards most living beings over the years.
The fact his father wasn't even able to protect them left Vergil with the absolute conclusion that the legendary dark knight was pitiful and weak.
Pathetic.
Sparda winced at that, since he, more or less, broke his heart. What should he say if he could? What should he do if he could? Even now, the dark knight can still feel the knife created by words in his chest, twisting whenever he remembers the memory of Vergil. His older son's hatred is too strong to push away.
Just like Dante's.
Vergil didn't want him. He didn't love him anymore. He just wanted his power.
He and his brohter wouldn't have to grieve anymore, then.
Haha... Hahahaha...
Was he really such a terrible father?
A part of him thought Vergil was right. It was his fault, after all. He could make excuses all he liked, but they were lies. Another part of him liked to think that not all of Vergil's and Dante's hatred was aimed just at him (probably that was just wishful thinking).
With that power, Vergil could put humanity in place. Restoring the tower would end the lies and the pain.
Power to protect.
The're nothing more unsatisfactory than unfulfilled revenge.
Happiness had drained away and pain was the only thing that remained.
Sparda doesn't want that for his child, but is unable to stop him. He can't say anything to him.
No matter how loud he screams, his sons can't hear him. The worst part of it is that maybe they would not listen. Not at him, at least.
Pathetic, huh? So Vergil also sees him like that...?
Vergil had already accepted his fate. There was no turning back. He, unlike Dante, hadn't grown up with a family (not that he wanted to, anyway), he hadn't grown up with the lies, he had lived with the anger, the fear, the truth, surrounded by the same creatures that killed his mother, that destroyed his family, and surrounded by humans that were as twisted as the ones he killed on a daily basis. With no one to trust. No one to love except of the brother he could only see sporadically, because he was far away from him, and Vergil had to train himself to not be harmed.
He didn't always come at night since he began his "research".
He couldn't forget, and he knew he wasn't normal, that he would never be normal. Dante preferred to lie to himself with lovely lies. He convinced himself that those people were, indeed, his family -mom and dad. He couldn't follow his brother's steps.
One day, Vergil came to visit him. He noticed it, and cringed at him in disgust. He had came to offer him to spar with him, together. To get prepared for what was to come. To leave with him and never come back.
Vergil had thought Dante would understand. He though he would have the courage. He thought he changed.
But he didn't. He hid, hid himself in lies.
We will be an unstoppable team one day!
But that proved to be just another lie.
Vergil knew they had to grow strong; they had to become strong, because there would be no one to protect them; only themselves. They had to grow up and avenge their mother. Make justice and make clear the difference between black and white. Not let the hands of humanity to crush them like insignificant butterflies. Be strong, protect each other and undo their father's mistakes. He knew it better than anyone.
Dante refused.
His parents wouldn't let him to go out with Vergil to do that. Dante was worried about them. Vergil hated his lies. He hated the fact his brother lived oblivious to the truth.
His parents.
Vergil scoffed at that and yelled at him afterward.
"Those aren't our parents, Dante! Don't you get it?" He screamed, grabbing his brother by his shoulders.
"I never said that... But they treated me so well for all these years, I just can't...-"
Vergil didn't have the patience to keep on listening to Dante. Dante didn't understand.
Not yet, at least (but Vergil has waited too much, and he was becoming tired of it all. It's been too many years. He can't waste more time).
All his efforts for nothing. He, growing strong day by day, killing demons on a daily basis and for what? For Dante to do absolutely nothing while he risked his life? For him to do everything while Dante just watched, unharmed? For him to do all the dirty work? Was he the only one who cared about his family?
Vergil punched his face and knocked him down. Dante lost consciousness and his brother left without saying a word.
Vergil decided his little brother was a coward, unworthy of their father's power. That factor, perhaps more than any others, had been the definitive detonator to Vergil's desperate search for power and burning, livid hatred towards his family.
All of them; Dante being the first, followed by their father, Sparda.
When Dante woke up, Vergil wasn't there anymore.
Sparda had felt rage -so much rage-, rage like he had never felt before. Towards himself.
But he couldn't leave. There was nothing he could do. He knew what would happen next.
Dante eventually began to disobey that family and began to accept jobs from mercenaries he met in some lairs -until he finally left them, his fake parents, to never come back. Slowly, Dante was beginning to understand what Vergil told him.
When Dante completed his first extermination -he, covered in blood and demon gore, two guns in both his hands, a wild look in his blue, almost gray, eyes-, Sparda knew he had failed. Dante didn't want to, but he was -indirectly- accepting his legacy. He will accept it.
He will come to terms with it, more or less.
But...
He didn't want that, not for him, not for them.
Dante didn't see it coming, but Sparda had.
His older son had been corrupted by the anger, by the thirst of vengeance. The loneliness. The maddness of having no one to trust -not even your family (or what little was left of it). His human side couldn't bare so many negative emotions. Being alone for so much time can break your mind, it really can.
And Dante... ... Dante had become a bitter teenager since Vergil left. After so many years, he thought he had died.
But that was a lie. ...Dante should have been happy, but...
When Dante's eyes locked with his older twin's ones for the first time after so much time, Dante shuddered and felt a bit of panic. Vergil had never looked like that. He had never seen it, the look in his eyes.
Hatred.
The bright stare Vergil had when he was young wasn't there anymore. Dante noticed the dull color his azure eyes had gained, and so did Sparda.
Vergil had changed. More than before. ...Bitter and cold and twisted. Insane- because he was a human once, but the world where he had to live didn't let him remain that way.
How do you create a monster?
You abuse someone without giving them a break. Then you stop abruptly, and then you give them power, creating the illusion they are still being abused, and that they need that power to punish the tormenting flies*.
His weakness did this to us.
Dante tried to hide his fear, but Vergil noticed it before he could even cover it.
That's why I must be strong, to protect myself and undo his mistakes.
It was all. Sparda abandoning them, Eva dying without him being able to do something, the demons, the uncountable hours of research, the power that was slowly growing in him, the fear of losing again, Dante not accepting the power he had since he was born, Dante's refusal of avenge their mother, Dante's cowardness, the loss of faith on his father ... ... ... ... everything. All of that planted the seed of Vergil's determination -insanity, maybe.
Dante didn't expect it, and with his heart full of hurt and anger, he launched at Vergil. Vergil struck him with a kick to the stomach and threw Rebellion at him. Dante grabbed it in mid-air and then, the two began to fight in a brutal way with their swords.
The battle ended in a draw, but even so, Vergil managed to leave Dante physically and mentally wounded, and disappeared again, tossing to him the amulet he was going to stole but didn't do so (I can have it whenever I want).
At that moment, just like Vergil had (how ironic), Dante began to feel pure, livid rage against his father. Against the demons.
He couldn't say anything to him back then. Not even now.
Dante began to be more conscious about his condition. If you mix a human with a demon, what's the result? A half-demon. Logically, half of his persona was a demon.
I'm changing...
Vergil was right, in the end.
"You were the one who gave us this horrid body!"
Sparda groaned softly, burying his head in his hands. Thoughts of past times continued to flit through his mind, none of them very pleasant.
Seeing the rise of the Temen-Ni-Gru. Seeing his older son killing the humans he had protected (innocent people who didn't deserve the cruelty Vergil exercised -indirectly- against them) hurt. The seal did not break, in the end. The killings... all for nothing. Vergil has been searching for power for so much time that he almost had forgotten why he was searching it in the first place.
Seeing his twin sons fighting against each other was what hurt the most, though. Again, and again and again and again... ...
Vergil remembered his purpose too late.
No matter how hard you try...
Regardless of how strong you are, you're nothing but a half-breed!
You are an incomplete being as well... both human and demon blood mingle in your veins...
Is power really the key...?
At that moment, Vergil was at the limits of his sanity. Enraged, he was going to snap, and Dante and Arkahm's words struck a nerve with him. At the thought that his brother was stronger than him, that he could not win, that Arkham had been right all along, that all his efforts had been in vain, that his ideals and methods to achieve what was rightfully his had been wrong, that he was still lacking of something, that all of the years he had spent researching had been useless, Vergil willed himself to rise and attacked Dante for the last time.
No... this can't be... I can't be wrong! This is the right thing! The right way! I need to be stronger. That is all! I must! I...
... ... Perhaps... ... this is not... ...
In the end, Vergil ended trapped inside the demon world by his own free will, but Sparda just knew that even the calmest of demons would break under Mundus' torture... Mundus will find him.
His stomach churned.
And years later, as he watched his older son being stabbed with Rebellion (which had been one of his swords in his golden days) by the oblivious, angered Dante without being able to move a finger to help them -to save them-, he came with the absolute conclusion.
Dante was right. And Vergil was, too. They were absolutely right.
He really was a terrible father. A murderer.
A disgusting, rotten father.
A/N: *Umineko EP6. One of Lambda's lines when talking about Bernkastel.
I'm not quite sure about the quality of this, but here it is~. Ahh~, I've been wanting to write this for some time. I mean, there are very few fics about Sparda nowdays, and there's a lot of material from him to write something worthy or at least "decent" about him. In DMC3, Dante obviously states he doesn't like his father (if I'm not mistaken). A hatred like that doesn't disappear in a matter of... what? ten, twenty years? Dante may still hate him, even after the years that have passed. Maybe less than yesterday, but it's still hatred. For a father, knowing that your own son hates you must be hard. It must hurt, to be hated by your most loved one, and not be able to defend yourself, to not be able to do anything at all. I wanted to convey that. I wanted to write something in Sparda's POV, wanted to imagine what he would be feeling if he were watching everything. Dante is the one who clearly states he hates Sparda, and not Vergil, but I think Vergil also hates his fahter. That's why half of this fic focuses on Dante while the other half focuses on Vergil; because I'm not only tired of fics about Vergil idiolizing his father, but also because I believe Vergil also hates him. Hates him for everything, and for his weakness, and the only thing he idiolizes from him is his power. That's all. And I more or less changed canon a biiiit to suit my own needs~. ...I'm a bad person OTL