Chapter 25

Ever so slowly, Nero managed to control his breathing and calm himself enough to allow his demonic manifestation to subside. He looked around the chamber, struggling to make sense of the scene before him.

Directly in front of him, Abigail stood rigidly, staring to her left. Her breathing was quick and shallow, the corners of her mouth quirked in an odd mixture between a grin and a sneer. Nero followed her gaze and beheld Vergil standing with his back to everyone. Blood dripped rhythmically from the tip of Yamato as he gripped the katana gingerly at his side.

On the throne before the eldest twin, seated in an uncommon slumped posture, was the headless body of Dastan. Nero's eyes lowered and he swallowed back a gag as he noted the pool of dark, congealed blood oozing from the head that still had the final expression of surprise etched on the elegant features. Nero, who was never squeamish, found his sudden bout of nausea at the sight perplexing. He attributed the sickness to high emotions and a taxing week of anomalies.

Dante stood slightly behind and to the left of Vergil with the stance and countenance of one thoroughly confused, but determined not to show it. He watched his brother expectantly.

Vergil's head turned to look over his shoulder at Abigail. "How shall we dispose of this?" He asked in a tone that betrayed no emotion at all.

Abigail seemed dazed as she looked upon her fallen creator. It took her a moment to answer. When she did, her voice was as steady and relaxed as ever. "Fire."

Vergil turned and flicked his sword, displacing droplets of crimson liquid in an arc on the white marble floor. "I'll let you handle that," he told the vampire. Without making eye contact with anyone, he moved in fluid strides to stand at the far end of the room, alone.

Abigail moved forward. Bending, she grasped a fistful of Dastan's dark brown hair and lifted the dismembered head to eye level. She studied it solemnly for a moment then tossed it onto it's owner's lap. Dante approached her, sheathing Rebellion. He took a zippo lighter out of his coat pocket and held it out to Abigail.

"I suppose you want to do the honors," he said flatly.

Abigail took the lighter with what could be considered a look of thanks and and proceeded to light the remains of the headless corpse.

Nero turned away, not wishing to see what happened next. He was feeling a mixture of emotions that he was unsure how to process. Paramount to them all was anger. Anger at Abigail for using him, at Dante for not being completely honest with him, at Vergil for taking Yamato, but most of all, Nero was angry with himself. He should have expected the situation to become so complicated. He should have kept his guard up and not gotten emotionally evolved.

Nero clinched his jaw and turned his eyes to the slightly smoldering object lying on the floor a few feet from him. He walked over and took the handle of his beloved Red Queen and inspected the damage. What he saw fueled his rage even more. The injector that he had so carefully and meticulously put together was now a twisted hunk of charred steel and frayed wires. It would take him weeks – months – to repair his sword. That was, if restoration was even possible. The very idea of a replacement filled the young man with a sense of dread so strong it was saddening. True, it was an inanimate object, not befitting affection, but Red Queen had been his. Nero had carried her through many triumphs, as well as defeat. She was an extension of his abilities. Of his very self. He could not bear the thought of parting with her. She was almost as dear to him as Kyrie.

Nero tightened his grip on the sword and took a deep, shaky breath. His respiration was not the only thing that was shaky, he noticed. He was trembling with frustration.

"Sorry about your sword, kid."

Nero rounded a hard glare on Dante. He had never wanted to punch the hunter as much as he did at that moment.

"Sorry?" he repeated through clenched teeth. "After all this, the only thing you can say is sorry?"

Nero swiped the bent weapon around in an arc aimed at Dante's head. The hunter backed away from the strike. "Look, kid, I know you're upset-"

Nero fumed. His voice was loud even with the ringing in his ears. "Don't call me kid!"

Yet again he stuck with this trusty, broken weapon at the unarmed man. Dante made no move to defend himself. For only a second, Nero vaguely wondered why. Then there was the clash of metal on metal and Red Queen was ripped from his hand. Nero's breath left him and he hit the ground hard on his back, a throbbing in his chest and cold steel against his neck. He looked up into the stoic face of Vergil and felt his anger drain from him. Tears stung his eyes.

"Your anger is misplaced," that calm voice said. "You must learn to control your emotions."

Yamato was removed from Nero's throat. The youth slowly sat up, his breath coming in quick, jagged puffs. He smacked away Dante's hand as the hunter offered to help him up.

"Leave me alone," he hissed quietly.

Concentrating on the floor, Nero saw red and black boots retreat from his position. The brown ones stayed at his side.

"Stand up," Vergil told him.

The youth considered arguing. He had it in his mind to say that he just wanted to be left alone. That he was in no way obligated to follow Vergil's orders. That was what Nero wanted to say. Instead, he found himself standing, looking into the ice blue eyes of the elder man.

"Follow me."

Vergil began to walk in slow, steady strides toward the rear door. Nero followed a few steps behind. A crisp, warm air blew through the youth's snowy hair as they exited the castle. Looking up, Nero saw the welcoming blue sky of a bright spring day.

He and Vergil ascended a flight of steps that led to an overgrown, yet fragrant, garden. It must have been beautiful in the days that the castle was well maintained. Even as a shadow of it's former self, the landscape was breathtaking. Trees were budding with fresh leaves, the bushes carried fresh blooms of roses and chrysanthemums. The center fountain was dry and cracked, infested with ivy. Yet it still held a unique magnificence. Nero couldn't take his eyes from the angelic adornment that rested atop the structure. Her stone gown was riddled with honeysuckle and the vine seemed to pour from the pitcher she held.

"Athena," Vergil spoke after a long moment. "Goddess of wisdom."

Nero said nothing. From the corner of his eye, he saw Vergil look at him.

"Anger is a natural response when one feels they have been treated unjustly. But to submit to such childish tantrums is an act of folly and cowardice."

Ire began to creep back within Nero. "So, what? You want me to act more like you? Selfish? Heartless?"

Vergil's lip quirked in a half smile and he let out a short, flat chuckle. "Your opinion of me is irrelevant. I'm only suggesting that you try to harness your rage in a more productive fashion."

Nero scoffed and Vergil was silent for a moment. When next he spoke, it was with a hint of interest. "Do you really think Dante deserved to be the target of your outburst?"

Nero looked away. Upon calming, he had known he had acted rashly. At the moment he'd been so furious that he hadn't given any thought to who he hurt. Looking back on how he'd reacted, that scared him. He couldn't fathom what he would do if he ever got that angry around Kyrie. He would never forgive himself if he ever hurt her. He knew Vergil was right, that he needed to control his temper. But that the advise was coming from Vergil made him hesitant to heed it.

"I didn't really picture you for the protective brother type," he said. "Didn't you try to kill Dante?"

Vergil held a steady gaze in face of the accusation. "Yes," he admitted flatly. "But my relationship with my brother isn't why I'm advising you to learn control."

Nero watched him with uncertainty. He wasn't sure where Vergil was going with this conversation, but he doubted it was being held out of concern for himself. Thus far, the elder twin had displayed little interest in anyone within the group aside from his own self. Yet, he had surprised the young man with descent judgment on a few occasions already. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to hear him out.

Vergil held up Yamato and stared lovingly at the mirror shine of the blade. "This is a very powerful sword," he told Nero. "It was given to me by my father and is the embodiment of my abilities. To properly wield such a weapon requires strength, discipline and control." He looked at the boy. "So far you have managed to tap into some of Yamato's vast potential. But if you wish to be a true master of this sword, you must learn to contain your rage."

It took Nero a minute to understand what Vergil's words meant. When he did, he was more than a little awestruck. "You're giving it back to me?"

Vergil sighed and, for a moment, his years and trials shown on his features. He looked older and wiser. Naught but a faint glimmer of what Nero had been told about the man was evident in his eyes. "It would seem that I no longer have any use for such a blade," he confessed.

Twirling the sword, Vergil held the hilt toward Nero. The youth took it from him, much in the same way that he had taken it from Dante a year prior. He managed to favor the other man with a genuine grin and a heartfelt muttered thanks before the weapon was absorbed into his demonic arm.

Having completed his business Vergil's demeanor resumed it's former nothingness. "We should return to the chamber," he said.

With that alone, he turned and headed back the way they'd come. Nero followed willingly.