Summary: Vergilcentric fic. Okay, now I'm continuing onto the other fights Dante and Vergil have throughout the course of the game, both against each other and together. Still going to be Vergil's thoughts alone, mostly because I've been wanting to get down on paper (or in this case, in cyberspace) what I think he's thinking during these fights for a while now. Plus, this was not meant to be a yaoi! I know some people like that pairing, but it isn't one of my favorites (truth be told, I absolutely hate it) and all I was thinking of here was family-love, not twincest-love.

Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own squat. Me so sad.

Queen's Quornor: It's been a while since I've updated one of my DMC fics, and for that you all have my sincerest apologies. I have been very busy with FFVII fics in addition to college and a busy work schedule. This has left me with very little time to devote to my favorite identical twins. But hopefully the muse has returned to me now; Vergil's decided he has something to say... Er, think.

Intermission in Darkness

All that I can hear is the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat, my pulse pounding in my ears. I feel pain, dull and throbbing, at the back of my skull. I have no idea where I am, for I have yet to open my eyes.

As my body recovers its strength, and begins to heal the wounds incurred during my battle with Dante and the confrontation with Arkham, I am left laying on a cold, hard surface with only my thoughts for company.

How could I have been so blind? I should have realized Arkham's ambition was greater than merely opening the portal to the Demon World. He was able to kill his own wife, to rip out her beating heart with his own hands and watch the life drain from her eyes in the hopes of relinquishing his humanity and becoming a devil; he would think nothing of attempting to steal my birthright, my father's power, right out from under my nose. I should have known that he would keep some secrets to himself concerning the various rituals, incantations, and mechanics of the Temen-ni-gru. I had thought that fear of my wrath would keep him under control, and his ambition would ensure his loyalty.

It seems that I was wrong. So very wrong.

Now I am somewhere within the tower, and I have little idea of how long I have been here. I must have been knocked unconscious after he threw us off the platform. But how long have I been out? Has he claimed Sparda's power yet?

A low growl escapes me then as I think of that traitor, that disfigured, two-faced, worthless little thief wielding my birthright as if he had a claim to it. That is my power; it is my destiny to claim it and avenge myself and my family, to become King of the Underworld.

And just like any ousted heir, I shall reclaim that which is mine. By blood it is mine, and by blood shall it be gained. Arkham's blood will stain the dirt beneath my boots before I am finished with him. He will beg for mercy long before I take his miserable life. And this time I will make absolutely sure he is dead; a body in pieces scattered across the world cannot easily return to life. Such a fate will meet Arkham before I am satisfied.

That I promise, upon Yamato's blade.

Yamato!

I quickly sit up and look around, ignoring the involuntary lurch of my stomach as I cast about for my father's blade. I spy it leaning against a pile of broken stones only two feet away, almost as if placed there. I also see that I am at the bottom of a long shaft, crevice rather, and there is rubble all around me.

This is all taken in before I can no longer ignore the intestinal demands of what seems to be a concussion and wrench my head to the side, endevouring to avoid ruining my favorite coat.

Once my stomach has settled, I wipe my mouth and get to my feet, taking care to avoid any sudden movements. It is far beneath me, not to mention intensely uncomfortable, to lose mastery of my stomach. However, I do not wish to set it off again.

Grabbing Yamato, I examine it closely. After a few seconds, I let out a tiny sigh of relief. Both scabbard and blade are as immaculate as I remember; nothing has touched either since I lost consciousness, and no rocks have left their mark upon them.

My body needs to repair the damage before I can set off in pursuit of Arkham. I can feel the regeneration already in progress, but the concussion still remains, along with numerous wounds incurred at Dante's hands. Rebellion bit deeply into my side, and the flesh there is only half-healed. I am no longer bleeding, but the wound has yet to fully close.

So I settle down to wait, well away from the stinking puddle I created earlier. My head tilts back against the cold stone of my temporary prison, and I find myself thinking of Dante. Where did he fall after Arkham knocked us off the dais? Did he find himself on a section of floor sturdy enough to remain in one piece? Or is he languishing in a prison of earth and stone as well, waiting for his wounds to heal enough that he can call to the devil within and fly to freedom?

It is at times such as these that I wish our mental connection still existed. If it was still between us, I could reach out to him and discover his condition, his location. I bear no love for my brother, that is true, but neither do I hate him. It was never my intention to kill him, nor to somehow play a role in his demise. Despite our differences, he is my only remaining family. And that makes him worthy of my protection.

Once my goals are met, that is.

Dante would make a suitable guardian of the Human World. Once I have avenged Mother's death and destroyed Mundus, I will give him that mantle. As I rule the Demon World and keep it separate from that of humans, so will he protect the realm of mortals from my subjects. I will rule the spiritual, and he will safeguard the physical.

I would tell him this if I thought he would believe me. But there is too much resentment, too much pain between us right now. Dante would merely throw my words back in my face and come at me with Rebellion raised high.

He will go after Arkham as well. I do not need a mental link to realize that. Arkham has opened the portal, and as such poses a terrible threat to the Human World Dante loves. I will chase after the traitor to retrieve my birthright, but Dante will follow him to close the portal and remove the threat.

Perhaps...

In pursuit of a common enemy...

My gaze finds the luminescence flooding the chamber above the crevice, and my thoughts turn to the past as my body continues to heal.

Perhaps the past is not as dead as I had originally believed.