Trigger warning.
Can you whittle me a token of strength and rebirth?
Can you wrap it in linen and a stolen curse?
Take strength from the knowledge that this always hurt
Now keep your eyes open so it won't get worse
My apathy's growing
And I never learn
I'm spending this toek
So I don't get burned
And it feels like
I'm never gonna make this
Feel right
I'm drowning in a wave of
Insight
I'll never be the one to
Breath a sigh
But I'll survive
-I'll Survive, Seether
Vergil
Yamato hacked through flesh. Corrupted black blood spattering the ground as what was once a demon toppled. Again and again the blade edge swung viciously, never missing its mark. Vergil did not slow his pace despite his injuries. Did not slacken the assault on the infected demons. Oh no. Those weaklings could die a second time for all he cared. Vergil fumed.
Lauren was not Lauren. That was a problem considering she had the amerhurst in her possession now. Ever since receiving the gem from Raziel-not from Lauren, who had decidedly not lied about abandoning the gem-he'd been anxious to rid himself of it. However, this was not the manner in which he had expected to do so.
Again, he turned their conversation over in his head. Anger-that was Lauren, but not to the extent she had demonstrated. That child was clearly instigating irrational behavior within her. The woman he knew would die before going on her knees. Before becoming that….submissive. She had too much pride for it. In that regard they were very similar. Her pride was both a point of contention and amusement for him. Or at least it had been. What had that creature done to the querulous Lauren? Vergil grit his jaw.
It wasn't that he couldn't guess. In fact he had a pretty good understanding of what it took to beat a person into that kind of state. It had been done to him, after all. Different person, different masters, same aggravating demand for absolute control. However that was the end of where the parallels of their...submissive roles...overlapped. He was not Lauren. For all of her tricks and pride and prowess she was still so damningly soft. So...human...despite it all. That child-that creature who called himself god-what had he done to Lauren? On the heels of that thought came a more sobering one. What exactly would it take to undo what he had done?
Snarling, the blade twisted in his grip, coming to a halt finally. Vergil panted, the wave of enemies now at his feet. Growling, he sheathed Yamato. Forward, towards the portal, he stomped. Crushing a skull bone beneath his boot heel, his thoughts turned to the child.
Was that not the creature Hunnigan had referred to? How could that thing be considered a cure? What exactly had those fool humans been working on? He swallowed the growls. The angel, Raziel, he would have answers or he would bleed the next time they spoke. Oh that arrogant child would pay. In his mind's eye he could see its pale skin and brilliant green eyes. Nay more than waist high and the little bastard had-
"Vergil," Dante's hand slammed on his shoulder. Barely checking a growl Vergil turned to face him. Dante's face narrowed into careful blankness as crystal blue eyes studied him for a moment.
"You're bleeding, bro," Dante's voice was quiet.
"And?" Vergil demanded. Acutely-as if laying in wait for Dante's comment-his side began to throb. Red blood-tinged cobalt-coated his clothing. Vergil leveled a glare at Dante. It was difficult to breath. He glared, daring his twin to say something.
"Hold on to this," Dante tossed the severed arm at him. Vergil grabbed it, snapping it out of the air, a fist closing around the wrist of it. Disgusted he glanced between Dante and the arm.
"I told Trish to kill anyone other than me coming through the portal," Dante explained. "I don't really want you two clashing." With that his twin stepped past him, taking up the lead. Vergil glared at the thing in his hand. It was an effort not to crush the bones in the thing. Leon stepped up to him. The human was quiet, wary. Black blood stained his arms and neck. He paused meeting Vergil's gaze.
"We should go," he said after a long moment. Vergil glared at him.
"No ones stopping you," the last lord of hell growled. To that Leon said nothing, just stepped past Vergil-much like Dante had-and continued trudging onward. Vergil surveyed the bleak landscape.
Mountains of corpses. Black infection soiled the earth. Hell reeked of contamination. In the distance the tower crumbled, falling apart piece by piece, from his assault on the god child. Nothing but bodies flooded his vision. As far as he could see, hell lay dead, decomposing in its own entrails.
Taking the severed arm, Vergil turned his back on his decimated kingdom. Two life times in the taking and he'd all but lost it in the space of year. Growls reverberating his chest, he too trudged on ward.
The Favored One
The snow was cold on her knees in the snow. The dress she wore offered little in the way of protection against the cold. Bent over, she gasped cradling broken hands that slowly stitched together. Her face hurt, right eye bruised and swollen shut as blood continued to drip from her nose.
Her Lord screamed in the distance, voicing his rage to the sky. She averted her eyes as her lord took on his most sacred of forms, showing his true divine face. Those of his converted flock nearest to him became subject to his wrathful embrace. Bodies fell, their blood staining the snow. His body was morphing in his rage, limbs blackening and elongating, hands becoming razor tipped talons, his mouth opening into thin, pointed knives. Snarling he lunged for the stumbling, decaying bodies of his converted. Angrily he feasted on them, their bodies becoming the fuel necessary to facilitate the growth of a new limb. The smell of hubris-decaying and otherwise-was thick on the air by the time her lord was finished.
During his feast she did not move, only kept her good eye on her healing hands. The wounds were barely more than cuts when the shadow of the child god fellow over her. His divine form was tucked away. Slowly, she looked up to her lord.
"Take that cursed thing off," he his reedy voice trembled with the echo of rage. Slowly she raised her hands to her neck, her fingers gently touching the amerhurst. Fight him, the words came unbidden. Those blue eyes swam in her vision.
"Remove that bastard's scent from your neck, whore," her lord shouted, snarling. Whimpering at her lord's displeasure, she fumbled at the yellow charm with cold stiff hands. The clasp eluded her. Fight him now.
Bottom lip trembling she looked up to her lord once more. She knew what her lord did to those who displeased him. Trembling she shook her head, mouth dropping open. Snarling he lunged forward, not waiting for her to speak. His hands were around her throat, his teeth in her shoulder, as she sprawled out backwards into the snow. snarling he pulled back, taking a fair portion of her skin with him. Blood pooled around her neck, staining the metal of the gem. Spitting out her skin, green eyes blazed, glaring down at her.
"You are making it so hard to love you," he hissed, straddling her. With both hands he shook her, driving the back of her head into the ground, again and again, the small pendant cutting her skin with each blow. "Why are you making me hurt you? How could you not do what I asked of you?" The world was going black, her vision flooding with stars, as he tightened his hold. Her whimpers became muffled, as Overhead the star filled sky slowly blotted out by blackness.
"You stupid whore," he screamed. "Stupid, stupid bitch." His voice grew distant as she faded with the stars. Those eyes-those blue blue eyes- haunted the blackness. They were so familiar. Why couldn't she place them?
