Dreams and shattered nightmares

Dante ducked down, holding up his red clad arm to shelter his face from the wall of immense heat that swept over him, staring in amazement at the streams of steaming water the blanket of snow had been transformed to below his feet. Despite the clear and present danger he allowed his head to drift upwards over the crook of his arm, allowing one eye to peek out to witness what he had never seen before.

Further away from where the demon had vanished, a cloud of air burst into deep yellow flames, transforming into a giant fireball, sizzling and hissing ferociously, rapidly turning into a charred twisted shape that began to spasm violently. Deep cracks ran down its blackened outer shell like chasms, spewing out scarlet liquid that seeped out of its blistering core.

Dante lowered his arm fully but slowly. His eyes widened as he saw the burning mass of the powerful demon that was clearly dying, consumed by some tremendous hellish force, convulse and spit out a limp human shape. Then a torturous shrill ripped through the air, clawing viciously at his sensitive ears.

"Vergil!" his shout drowned to uselessness by the tenacious noise, Dante found himself running towards the fallen body, face set in uncharacteristic rigidness, warm blood trickling down the sides of his neck with his ears protesting under the relentless pressure the piercing sound was piling on like tons of water.

The warm water on the ground splashed around as Dante fell down, skidding on his knees as he neared the slackly stirring form wrapped in tattered, blackened silver clothing. Steam curled upwards from a pair of arms that flailed blindly about as the body in front of Dante turned, a faint sound coming out, that in the horrific noise, seemed like a muffled moan. "Shut…shut it the hell up!" a low grumble followed.

The morbid expression on Dante's face switched instantly to an overjoyed, disbelieving head shake and he tore the broadsword from his back, hurling it upwards towards the bleeding core. The blade cleaved the exposed, pulsating heart in half, unleashing dead silence upon the land as it returned to his outstretched hand.

"Better?" Dante re-sheathed his sword with practiced speed, then dipped his fingers into the thin layer of warm, sooty sweat on Vergil's forehead, and ran them across his brother's skull, slicking back the mucky, dishevelled hair.

A pair of blue eyes rolled upwards and under the sockets, trying to find a way to settle in the right position, finally finding an exact copy that sparkled with an unhealthy amount of merry glitter.

"Fuck bro, you had me shitting myself there for a sec. But deep, really deep down I knew you could own that fucker's ass! After all you nearly pawned mine, once. Man that was a sweet sight, you transforming inside with all those pretty fireworks, I bet that piece of stinking shit didn't know what did him in!" Dante blurted out enthusiastically in one go, almost forgetting to breathe. His arm instantly snaked around Vergil's chest as his brother struggled to lift himself up from the muddy ground.

"What are you…talking about?" Vergil growled out groggily, leaning into the red clad arm that was pulling him up vehemently. It was all plummeting downhill from the moment he had lost control and rational thought, and had thrown himself at the summoned hunter demon headlong without waiting for a tactical advantage, as he would normally do… Or did he? Were not his last thoughts very rational? Wasn't he prepared? Such an opportune occasion to end it all, in a battle with a worthy opponent, in a full view of his brother…Dante would accept my demise in this way…was that not what he was planning?

"I didn't…mhm…I feel so…conf-…where the hell…no, I am not supposed to be here…," his gloved hand shot up to press against his thumping forehead as the abrupt movement sent him spinning. Something had gone wrong, Vergil tried to focus and piece it together but his mind was slipping. That immense heat, where did it come from, was there someone or something else with the power and need to keep him out of hell? How…how could it be?

"Verge? You hit your head in there?" The concerned voice of his brother was trailing away, becoming distant, melting into the darkness just like the images of the world around him that his eyes were struggling to process.

His mind fuzzy, the voices in his head multiplying, gaining in strength and malicious impatience ever since he had found himself on the doorstep of hell, in the nebulous demon's innards, in the black void he had been falling into so many times before, only there it was real, it was hell calling to him, trying to pull him in with its treacherous trickery, nearly succeeding, closer and closer with every ticking second that passed so slowly in the human world.

Do it already, take the step… End it and you will say goodbye, just as you always wanted…

"Shut the fuck up! Shut you filthy mouth right this instant! I refuse to listen to you ever again!" Vergil yelled out, staggering in his brother's hold, his back welded into Dante's chest.

"Uh huh, a big, humongous concussion!" Dante tapped Vergil on the head with his knuckle jokingly yet with a hint of concerned apprehension. "That should just take a second to sort itself out…or two…woah!" his voice jumped an octave higher as Vergil's katana flew out, slicing the empty air in front of him like a manically empowered three feet of steel.

"That's right! Let's end it right now! Say your goodbyes, spineless scum!" Vergil hissed out in a voice so dark and spiteful, it slithered over Dante's skin like a venomous snake and Dante recoiled momentarily. Feeling the thrashing form of his older twin get away from him, Dante reached out, grabbing Vergil even tighter and pushing him back into him while dodging the shimmer of the razor sharp blade that sent the very ends of his silver hair flying into the air.

"Vergil!! Calm down! You fried the fucker. He's a toast! A charred one," Dante embraced his brother hard with both arms as he called into his ear softly yet desperately, having great difficulty restraining his increasingly frantic sibling.

To his surprise Vergil stopped struggling in his tight hold as if he finally came to his senses. Dante let go, feeling Vergil fall into deathly rigidness while holding the now sheathed katana slackly in his right hand. Concussions never lasted too long, the disorientation was generally only temporary, and Dante thought Vergil was returning back to his normal self, not able to see the ominously dark shadow that tarnished his twin's eyes.

Only as Dante brushed passed him to look into those stern arctic eyes, he saw that they held something terrifying, a complete void of any feeling, a broken emptiness that filtered into his brother's bloodless face, and he knew that something was very wrong. With a feeling of dread that knotted his stomach Dante turned his head hesitantly to follow the direction Vergil's lifeless eyes were fixated on; the damaged stables.

Like a messenger of death, a lone raven descended from the safety of a tall tree and landed with light grace on top of the animal that lay unmoving in a small pool of melted snow. The shimmering black bird blended into invisibility on the heap of the obsidian blackness, only its chiselled beak was clear as it dove coldly into the bloody mire. Its involuntary meal was however interrupted by a snap of snarling jaws that emerged from behind and the bird's distinct cackle soon disappeared back into the trees high above.

Dante's eyes snapped back at Vergil, only his brother was no longer there. Vergil was running, a flash of charcoal tainted silver moving in a wavering line towards the fallen horse. Dante's face fell. He knew it was going to shatter Vergil, and he was afraid that any progress no matter how small would go up in smoke in what was to come next.

Feeling like a ghost, an empty shell, Vesta felt her legs move quietly yet her mind lingered back at the wall of the mansion. Hands shaking like a leaf she lifted the sturdy wooden sword high above her head. Bloodshot eyes snapped up, maws expanding to reveal two crescents of scarlet coated teeth, warm blood dripping down from their pointed, razor-sharp tips. The animal being slowly devoured alive stirred from underneath, legs kicking out hopelessly in endless spasms of pain.

Her eyes burst with wetness at the unearthly scene before her, and her lungs pushed out a strangled, angered scream as the solid wood connected with the monster's left temple. Its hideous neck flew in a brutal twist to the side, and she heard the vertebrae snapping with a gruesome crack. The thing fell slackly to the ground, its spinal cord crushed and mangled by the crumbling bones inside.

Welcoming the violent rage that stirred inside her at the sight of the helpless animal bathed in blood being preyed on and ripped open by those disgusting things, Vesta let out a frustrated growl. She hurled the solid piece of hickory with the drive of a sadistic maniac at the ugly, malformed heads that surrounded the defenceless beast.

Some moments later, she was hitting only air and spinning uncontrollably like a defective marionette, her throat sore from screaming her rage out at her stupidity and at the lies she had been living with all her life. The monsters were real, and the humans were only pretending to be like them. She ran away from the fake to jump into the arms of the reality. She felt she could just go and walk right back into her old, misjudged life and face it in a brand new light. Fearless.

Suddenly she stopped, eyes falling upon the presence that appeared next to her like a gliding spirit. He stood there frozen like his own demeanour, his eyes like she had grown to know, now dipped down, blank and unblinking. His ever looming height suddenly seemed to falter as if his strong, dominant presence was somehow shrinking, and she realised that he was simply falling to his knees.

She never thought those eyes, those icebergs mingling with stormy water, could ever change but they did, exuding such torment like an entire blue-ice continent breaking apart under unnatural force, moistened dangerously with the birth of tears that were a lifetime overdue. Yet the salty water would have to wait much longer, perhaps another lifetime to be seen.

Vergil was bent over the hoarsely breathing animal, his katana left lying in the melted snow. His pale hand hovered tremulously above the torn out organs and exposed rib cage that used to be covered with shimmery obsidian skin, now broken and heaving as the painfully swollen lungs struggled to take in air. His dull eyes, hiding a pressing wall of pain, slid from the tattered flesh hanging off the whitened ribs down to the broken leg, and lingered at the blood covered hooves.

Vengeance must have taken out quite a few, drawing attention out of the stables by running into the open. That much was clear, for Vergil knew how the horse would behave, a fine breed trained by an even finer one; his father. And he would always protect his mate, he was trained to protect her to his death. A trait his father could never follow through…did he even know how badly he failed?

Vergil's eyes quickly snapped to the stables, peering through the gaping hole that remained after the door was ripped out. A scarred, white head was peeking through the wooden bars nervously, a disturbed, oblivious glint in the heavily lashed big eyes. Perhaps second chances had some meaning after all. Vergil slid his gaze back, his hand slowly trailing across the sweat laced neck that glistened with the most brilliant sheen. He leaned forward in the gentlest way and wrapped his charred silver arm around, bending his elbow over the hoarse black mane, the other arm snaking under the strong neck.

Vergil knew Dante approached from behind, the girl standing there still, both bathing him in tides of concern and compassion, yet he didn't want it. All he wanted was to be alone, in private with his sorrow that he considered his burden, only his own, dragging him into weakness that was on the verge of being dangerous to his own existence. Yet he could not fight it, could not help it, unable to calm down. But did it matter now anyway? He didn't care. He had nothing else to hold onto, and nothing to lose, everything was crumbling down like an old, dilapidated wall that was painstakingly pieced together from something that didn't exist anymore. It could not be rebuilt again…

Leaning in closer, his lips touched the delicately pointed ears of his dying horse, sending through a lingering whisper on a shaky breath, one that could not be heard by another. "Goodbye my friend, you made your master proud. Both of them…"

Then his arms twisted sharply, eliciting a dull snap.

Vesta brought her hand to her mouth to suppress a startled gasp and drew her head away from the heartbreaking sight. The blooded bokken fell from her hand, sinking into the scarlet pool of water beneath. It was tearing her inside, all that built up rage was drowned by an overwhelming feeling of dread that knotted her stomach, and she felt the need to get out of there, yet she remained anchored to the ground. She could not bear to leave, not until she knew Vergil would be left breathing, and for the love of life, she could not understand why.

Vergil slid his arms from under the limp neck of the dead beast and stood up slowly. Set in stone on the surface, falling apart on the inside, he nearly felt his numbed core shudder to pieces as Dante placed his gloved hand on his shoulder.

"Vergil…"

Dante retracted his offered solace, knowing that it would not serve its purpose. The best thing he could do for his brother was to let him grieve in peace and ensure this would not happen again.

"I will go and check the woods, make sure those fucks won't attack again. At least not for a while," Dante assured his brother in grim seriousness. It was all play and games for him, all the fighting, but when they dared to go as far as decimating his family, all jokes went aside. He would find out who was doing this and why, and the sooner the better.

As he expected, Vergil turned his back on him and began to walk back to the house, not dropping a single word. Head held high in a stubborn stupor, posture strung up like a steel lance in that customary proud way of his. Yet every single step Vergil took was jagged, unsure and soulless, as if his mind was shutting down, slipping away into oblivion, fleeing to a realm that didn't belong to this world.

"Fuck," Dante could not help but swear through his painfully clenched jaw as he kept his sights on Vergil's retreating back. It all looked so wrong, everything was so wrong. How could he have stood by for so long and done nothing? He should have slapped Vergil senseless a long time ago and drag the truth out of him. Only now he would have to drag it out of someone else as he was certain Vergil would not feel anything, even if Dante beat the crap out of him and slowly killed him.

His mind setting into a concrete resolve, Dante sidled up to Vesta, taking a hold of her shoulders as she stood there unmoving, eyes hazed over in thought. He took a few moments to gather up his words, a rigid line of determination forming on his forehead as he set his plan to motion.

"What you have seen today…I would not be surprised if you wanted to leave this place and never look back. I will take you to town once I have checked it's safe here but until then…can you stay with him? Even if he asks you politely to leave…," he hesitated, his hand disappearing under the tough leather of his crimson trench coat. "Take this in case he does not ask so politely," a sleek, silvery gun appeared in his hand.

"I…I don't…," Vesta peered at the shimmer of silver resting in his palm, its aura of taboo suddenly turning into a scent of clarity. How could she have not thought of it before? The simplicity of it all hit her mind like a runaway train. The best solution for dealing with monsters, for dealing with the other kind, was to deflate their bloated heads with a bullet. A piece of hickory was just too cumbersome and heavy to hold for too long, she thought, giving her bruised hands an absent once over.

An errant smirk played across her lips as she finally reached out and took hold of the gun. Her eyes lingered on the object that felt cold in her hand and she smoothed her thumb over the polished handle as if to convince herself that it was real. No more hiding when they would have found her eventually, no more running away when all she needed to do is to turn on her heels, buy a gun of her own and find her own justice. No one else would move a finger…

"Just don't shoot him in the head; that hurts like a turned down fuck. Now go, I won't be long," he quickly leaned in and pressed a wet peck on her forehead, giving her no chance to evade it. She was the only thread that seemed effective at holding Vergil's contact with the real world in place, no matter how fragile and volatile. She was the only one that managed to get closer to him, to get him to open up, to make him lax in her presence…like the evening before.

Dante felt a stab of pain in his guts and a slight prick of jealousy in his heart at the blatant truth that stared so pointedly into his saddened eyes. Not even he, his identical twin, was able to do that. Vergil shut himself off from Dante ever since their mother died and it provoked anger in him that he never let anyone see before. Until last night when he nearly lost it. And he nearly screwed things up.

Vergil needed a woman's touch even though he was not aware of it. Dante realised he had to let go of his own selfish feelings, stop wallowing in his own failures and hope that the girl's influence was enough to keep his brother alive until he could fix everything himself.

He faked a perfect smile to destroy the doubts he could sense ghosting over Vesta's mind and then he broke into a light sprint towards the forest.

She shot a glance after him, tucking the semi-automatic into her jeans at the small of her back. It barely fitted and she nearly yelped at the cold that licked at the heat of her naked skin. Yet the piece of metal gave her a refreshed confidence that she began to lose somewhere between seeing the lake eat live hairless werewolves and her smashing their disgusting shaved heads to a bloody pulp.

Vesta turned her head back just to see a flash of silver vanish behind the stone wall. Even if her car was there and she could leave, somehow she sensed Vergil would not try to banish her anymore and it was driving her unstably curious.

Screw her little experiment!! The dreadful absence of opportunity, the horrors her eyes finally chose to believe, the fresh psychotic thoughts running through her mind; it all pushed the fatal plague that was her unnatural physical need to the point of bursting. Her need to feel warmth and comfort in strong arms, to feel the rapid thumping of a heart that would beat only for her, to listen to careless whispers meant only for her ears, to hold the attention of ravenous eyes that would only see her and nothing else. If only all that ever lasted longer than a few fleeting moments…

She ran towards the house, her boots splashing in the scarlet tinged pools.

How would it feel to console him with her passion? How close could she get? Could she break through his ice to the point where he would reciprocate her burning touch? Was she even close last night? Was it too selfish, too sinful to take advantage? To hell with conscience and compassionate restraint, when the need to quench her desires swelled up to cataclysmic hunger…

Finding the door was left wide open she slipped inside, mind set on one thing and one thing only as she sealed the entrance behind her.

The coin would turn. He would be the one to back away from her predatory stare and nervously wipe his sweating palms into his trousers. She would revel in her domain of superiority and watch him cower before her. And then she would leave never to return, to punish his kind for their demeaning, deceiving and uncanny pretentions.

Only, what he had done so far was to hand her the truth no matter how much she failed to believe, hadn't laid his hand on her in cruel intention, instead pulled her from the talons of death, abstained from seducing her into a web of lies to then play with her and suck her dry of dignity and trust.

The hall was starkly dark, yet as she made her way to the lounge, her mind began to ascend into bright clarity.

He hadn't even tried to seduce her, allure her by a fake charm. There was nothing fake about him at all. He was nothing like them in mentality, he was so much more both in mind and physique…

…and he was there right in front of her, standing in haunting silence next to the coldness of the fireplace in that shredded drape of singed silver, his broad back turned to her. Just a stretch of her hand and she would touch him…

The gun slid lower suddenly, slipping on the pearls of sweat that erupted on the small of her back at the wild shiver that ravaged her body. What was wrong with her? She was never the monster, was she? How could she let her mind fill with such impure thoughts every time 'one of them' crossed the corner of her eye? It was all her fault, all her own doing! What was she doing here? He needed to be alone! So stop it!

His arm moved and a long high note played across the deathly silence in the room. His frozen body never turned to her as if he was not aware of her presence despite the quickened beat of her heart. A shimmery flash touched her eyes, it was so brief, yet a long enough moment for her to realise what he was about to do.

She never felt the rush of blood that raced through her head or heard the breathless gasp tear out of her throat, for her mind could only see the sleek metal of the slender katana as it sailed through the air…straight for his own chest.

Vesta did not think. The choice was made for her by her instinct. She didn't even know that her hands grabbed his right arm roughly and yanked him towards her, diverting the sword to scrape along his already tattered coat harmlessly. She never planned the horrible detail of her damnable payback as she pulled herself to his blanked out, ghostly face. She never even contemplated how he would respond when her softly curved lips pressed against his furiously…

His defeated soul was standing on the edge of hell, mind too weak to keep it one with his body. Letting go, it was time, the voices too strong, devouring his weakness. It was calling to him, pulling his arm to take the step over the deep, searing precipice.

You will never see her again, never say goodbye for you belong to hell now, your body and soul…once you enter, you can never leave at your free will…

They weren't even telling lies, not making fake promises anymore, so sure of his demise to feed their victory. The end is here. They would have him now, as a soulless shell for all damned eternity. Just one step and all the hurt would be smashed into a shadow of a mindless ghost…

His body moved to take the step, only an invisible force snatched him from falling over, grabbed his arm with heat that was more prominent than the one rising from the inferno below. And then it dragged him, fibre by fibre away from the hell bent glow of the deep stinking hole, snapping him back into the realm of self-consciousness.

His eyes changed as she peered into them up close, poised on her tiptoes. Dazed, distant, and crazed; first in surprise, then transgressing into astonishment, finally searing with deep blue rage.

Just a few days before, that single stare, that intense blaze of raw dominance and deadly intent would shrink her to a single cell, would turn her back to the womb, too afraid to be born. Yet feeling somewhat empowered by the touch of the warmed up hard lines of the gun pressing roughly against her skin, her sense of self-preservation fell upon deaf ears even more.

Instead of running for her life she leaned into him further, feeling his steel-hard body bend over the ornate mantelpiece. Her punishing lips pushed into his even more, lavishly thawing the frozen fury into a lukewarm anger.

Then she felt it, that invasive tremor in her stomach that was stalking her for some time now. It seemed so random at first but…it occurred to her that the monsters always seemed to be the cause more recently. Was it anxiety in the face of danger? Only now those unpleasant side effects failed to show themselves, in fact they were never there when she was around him. Funny, shouldn't she have felt anxious around him the most?

Vesta drew away from Vergil, her lips parting to take in a needed breath, her hot skin sticking to the tender coldness of his as if she had licked a frozen surface with a warm tongue. Apprehension gleaming in her eyes, she pulled away slightly shaking, unsure if she had done enough to sway him from his dark thoughts, or have done too much…

"Yet again you appear to have a death wish," his heated words drenched in restrained aversion rang through her reddening ears as a preamble to the sting of something very sharp she felt pressed into her neck.

Apparently his dark thoughts remained, only the subject of his homicidal intentions somehow managed to drift to her. Was he going to kill her for stopping him from killing himself? How ridiculous, and utterly unfair!

"In case the obvious eludes you, you were the one with the death wish hombre!" she exclaimed with a note of annoyance, her finger shooting out to poke him right in between the steely pectorals that were heaving so shockingly close to her face. The gaze that followed from him should have sent her reeling backwards but any fear she might have been gaining was rapidly being overshadowed by her defiance driven, lustful need.

"I have no such inclinations! You are overstepping the boundaries of tolerance I have been keeping in place somewhat inexplicably with a great patience; a luxury I can no longer afford…," his voice grew darker and dipped deeper as he spoke, his hand holding the katana pulsing faintly as a pearl of sweat slid down the side of his temple.

He is mad, so gorgeously mad and dangerous. Vesta blinked.

His eyes shut forcefully in a futile attempt to swat away the haze that was draping over his mind like a heavy curtain. Reality dissolved into boundless darkness that swarmed with whispers of brutal violence. What was real? Was it finally happening? Did he overcome all those countless battles only to at last to lose the war?

His body broke into uncontrollable tremors, hand squeezing the sweat soaked hilt as the last shreds of sanity fought against the infernal beckoning of hell. His eyes shot open again. All colours were bleeding into one, the purest red, glistening on her neck as the tremulous razor sharp tip of the blade split her tender skin. The one colour the blood of a demon would be so blindly drawn to, fuelling the inborn desire to feed on fear, to tear apart what was weak, to revel in a slow and painful destruction of those incapable of defence…

The savage thoughts slipping into his fading mind began to prevail, his hand stilled into a firm grip, ready to run the katana through the blue flash of her pulsing vein. Brought upon the weak as they would be cut down mercilessly, the fear would serve as food to the damned realm. Hell had him now and he would be its loyal servant forever…

Vesta found her right hand snaking behind her back to reach for the gun, her left hand rising to his burning cheek. Her mind lost perspective completely as she began to fall into her dazed and deprived world, a domain of her own that fed her confidence. Body tingling with anticipation, her expression hardened into a fearless mask. She was going for the kill. Her sensuous, bold fingers began to trace the grim line of his sculpted lips as she pointed the gun at his guts, as the last resort.

A glimmer of reality seeped in as a violent shudder ripped through the fabric of the thickening haze, diluting its powerful illusion. Vergil brought his free hand up to his face absently, feeling a foreign touch glide over the thin layer of perspiration that clung to his skin. Incomprehension eating away the bloodthirsty hunger roiling in his confused mind, Vergil smoothed his palm over his eyes and down his face.

There was no smell of fear to flood his senses, there was no weakness standing in front of him, only a stern, unflinching façade that he himself lost the struggle to maintain. Was he already so far gone that he could no longer feel it? Feel what? He was never one to bathe in the fear of the weak! So why was he so drawn to it now?

The strange touch shifted upwards, taking hold of his hand, pulling it down with unknown warmth. Lucidity trickling back into his eyes, it was then he took enough notice of those brown eyes so close to him, and he was met with intractable confidence fortified with calmness that began to feed his own.

The terrible closeness drove her mad. The taste of him still lingered teasingly on her lips, the dark chocolate made excruciatingly bitter with what she had mistaken for a rush of arrogance and prideful defiance. It sent her senses spinning and she knew she had to satiate her desire now, before either she would feel compelled to pull the trigger or he would kill her.

Heart racing out of control, Vesta let go of his hand and plunged her fingers roughly into his sweat dampened hair. Fisting her hand around a few smooth strands she yanked his head down and crashed his mouth with a sealing, unyielding kiss. The burning sensation growing in her stomach intensified into an explosive inferno that flooded her entire body like the effect of a powerful drug, melting the remains of her self-awareness into oblivion.

Drowning in the opulence of her own yearning need she dropped the gun as her fingers sought his body, lips coaxing the tightly pressed line to open in vain. She wanted to press her small form into the mould of his stunning, imposing steel-hardness, almost forgetting that she could have been sliced instantly by the blade that still separated her from that fleeting, irresistible salvation.

The black haze shook violently and an ear splitting scream ripped through Vergil's head, the pain so fierce it made him lose his grip on the white bound hilt. The loud clank of the falling metal felt like a soft tang of a pin against the deafening roar grinding through his every nerve. His hands shot out to grab her shoulders, pushing her away from him harshly as his body fought subconsciously against the avalanche of pain that hurled over him with tremendous force.

The loss of her lips cut the pain in half so sharply, Vergil almost lost his balance at the sudden change that sent his head into a turbulent spin. It was enough for him to comprehend what was happening. Even hell could make mistakes, falling under the false illusion that a relief of extreme torture would elicit enough of a temptation to stand down, only for him, it served the opposite. The pain cleared his senses and made him feel alive; it was the only thing that was real to him.

The last remains of delusion clung desperately, ferociously to those deep pools of blue that began to regain focus solely on her. She regarded him expectantly in turn, her lustrous hazelnut eyes hanging in dazed consternation on every curve and nuance of his strikingly handsome, torment roughened face. All he could see were her sensually parted, desire bruised lips. Her lips were his pain and he needed more…

His deeply engraved survival instinct taking over, Vergil flung her against the wall and ignoring the surprised whimper that slipped out of her throat, pinned her hands above her, dishevelling her hair.

His opening lips flashed before her eyes prior to descending with brutal assertion onto hers, crashing her with excruciating, merciless force. The hardness she longed to be feeling under her fingertips pressed against her in full length, trapping her soft form entirely between him and the cold flatness of the wood panelled wall. She felt every single curve, every muscle, every hard line and all the warm softness of him welded firmly into her, crammed into her soft angles.

Well finally some real attention!

Vesta didn't predict this sudden turn at all, no matter how much she had hoped for it. The heated and impetuous abandon of his icy, reserved demeanour took her breath away.

Her prideful dominance in the realms of intimacy and sexual physicality was completely stolen by the suffocating strength he was imposing on her with devastating sensuality and brutal passion. Vesta was used to rough treatment, the only form of false attention she normally received and came to expect from the kind she was so blindly attracted to. Yet their passions always remained frozen and reserved just like anything else they did. It became a part of her addiction and she secretly craved it, remaining in control at all times, letting them think they were the ones dictating the terms and pulling the strings.

But Vergil was something else entirely. The moment he had seen her, really seen her, he had transformed completely. The raw power and complete possession she felt crushing her was very real, tamed down by traces of awakened passion that struggled to bleed through the walls of cruelty. Somewhere inside laid imprisoned tenderness screaming in desperation to be released. The brutality didn't seem his, it seemed imposed by something else, a desolate urgency that made him forget his own strength… His eyes shut so tightly…was he in pain?

Shameful or not the thought of pain turned her on even more, and she closed her eyes in the sweet delusion, taking in the flood of ecstasy brought upon by his unquestionable superiority and exquisitely strong maleness.

His muscle-bound thigh slid between her legs demandingly and urgently, pulling them apart roughly, while his solid-steel chest pushed into her even more, entrapping her completely against the hard wall. Her stunned, fevered gasp was silenced by the savage plunder of his mouth, hungrily taking all, rousingly demanding even more with intoxicating desperation, making her respond with equal fervour…

Then she felt his entire body shake against her slender form as a subdued grunt of raw pain tore out of his throat and he grew harder and stiffer as if in defiance of the evident turmoil that was enfolding deep inside him.

Vesta opened her eyes at the feeling of the sudden shift. His movements were becoming softer and slower, his lips gentler, all the while the grip he had on her hands still pinned above her head became crushing and painfully bruising.

This wasn't right. It didn't feel right, no doubt he was in a state of desolation from his terrible grief and she was taking a sinful advantage of him! Or was it that she was afraid he would actually turn out to be different? Or more that he wouldn't? Was she afraid and unprepared to accept returned feelings that she secretly believed would never come? And what if they truly wouldn't come? What was he feeling? Was he even aware of her? Confusion gripped her head like a tightening steel clamp. This never bothered her before. It felt so wrong. Her experiment was well over! Vesta felt an acute urge to get out of there but was completely incapacitated by his overwhelming strength. She couldn't move at all.

Wave after wave of excruciating torment gripped his mind, intensifying into more crippling pain the less forceful he became with her. Vergil braced himself for the ultimate battle as the black abyss of hell began to dissipate from his senses and he became more and more aware of the pleasure and sweet taste that remained trickling into him in its wake.

His sole existence was based on bare survival and the perpetual endurance of feelings that no one should be able to withstand for as long as he had. Was it a cruel twist of fate that he was given a chance to feel, to finally find feelings worth living for, when he was thrown headlong into a dire race against death?

Vergil felt his body shake at hell's final but vile attempt to bring him into submission, only he was ready for it, shoving it right back into its diabolical, stinking face. Only he had to hold her there a bit longer, his grip tightening on her throbbing wrists so that she couldn't get away, feeling the suffocating blackness break apart and slowly tear away from his mind. Then he would be free, no matter for how short a time until hell's bailiffs would regain their grip on him once more. In the meantime…he might be able to at least find and kill that motherfucking bastard that messed up his affairs. Whoever it was…will pay dearly…

She began to struggle under him madly, and he felt her body stop responding to the instinctive need that drove him to assault her in preserving his sanity. Just a little longer, and then he knew she would be gone forever, after what he had done. Good! He was thankful she would be going as he could have killed her with his mind driven to the edge of insanity by the crushing torment of hell's cruel burden. No one would be safe around him from then on. They were all better off without him and as far away from him as possible. The reaches of hell were so near now, strengthened even more by the powers of the nebulous demon that was sent after him.

Only even their powers had a weakness it seemed…

The pain was almost gone, the last tendrils of darkness detaching from his mind, and he would let her go any moment now, since she was finally so desperate to get away from him…now that he found himself lost in a strange desire for her company, needing her, wanting her…

Why is fate drenched in such wickedness…

Um, I hope you guys understood what was going on there? Let me know either way!! Please?

My endless thanks to all of you who reviewed!! You really brighten my days of lonely writing :D Please stay with me and I will do my best to not disappoint!!

Now for the next instalment of the 'How to review' guide:

1) So, have you enjoyed the kiss? If so and therefore you are no prude, press the 'Review' button NOW!

2) Get a picture of that someone you love, like or lust for (mwahaha), and no exceptions! I know you ALL have someone, imaginary or not, and you can tell me who that was – well that is optional ;)

3) Place the picture on the keyboard, screen, iPOD or whatever it is that produces those lovely letters that make me happy and start kissing!! Ravenously if you please!! Don't be shy!! Work it!! Be inventive!!

Mmmmm, ok, ok, you can stop now…I said…you can stop…um…ok…ooo…please continue…

Sooo, did it work? ;D