Remember my friend, that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker. — Bram Stoker
"We're done for the night, Hector. You may leave to repose."
The soft declamation of the Sage Poet of the demon world made the young Devil Forgemaster raise his head in acknowledgement.
Pair of warm sky blue met shimmering turquoise. A few strands of silver moved gently across the frame of his handsome contours as he cocked his head to the side, puzzled. The corner of his mentor's lips quirked upward just briefly. The dimple on his cheek betrayed the man's attempts to hide his amusement.
"Lord Vergil, I thought we were going to read the epics of Aeneid?" The youth expectantly eyed the collection nestling next to the Divine Comedy upon the shelves, right behind the standing cambion.
Clasping his hands behind his back in a formal fashion, the blue-clad demon dropped his head an inch in contemplation. His long lashes cast shadows upon his chiseled cheekbones. He knew exactly where the boy was pointing with those iridescent turquoise eyes.
Vergil uttered a mild humph in response. Face placid, those piercing Topaz gems gleamed with ambivalent emotions under the moonlight, betraying his own slight dismay. He threw a glance over his shoulder toward the shelves where his invaluable collection assembled. Colorful spines stood perfectly in rows. Scrolls, small chests, and other static artifacts sat frozen in time.
However, one noticeable item stood out amidst the arcane objects. It rested right next to the Percepts of Chiron: a small snowdome. To any visitor, it looked incongruous due to its stark difference. To the owner, however, the snowdome was a custom made gift created with lots of thought and care. Oh, and with a little hint of magic! But what the owner of the snowdome cared for was the person who forged it for his fiftieth birthday.
It was made by the woman who once started as his enemy; then turned into his reliable ally; later formed a valuable friendship with; grew into his ardent love in time; became his most valuable partner and loving wife; and now…
Vergil felt his chest tighten, forcing a melancholy sigh out of his lungs.
Blue eyes gazed intensively at the object. Inside the transparent orb was the miniaturized scene of their family's mansion—his, Dante's, Eva's and their late father's, Sparda. A home, his home, which brimmed both joy and grief inside his aged heart. Seeing the mansion in which he once lived no longer stirred bitter memories anymore. Time had turned the memories of that fateful night into remnants of a distant dream.
In Vergil's eyes, the small replica of his home served as a memento bequeathed from his past, only to remind him of his dreadful escape, of his selfish decisions, as well as his revitalized resolution to begin his life anew.
A better, happier, and meaningful life alongside his loved ones.
However, one person was missing from that circle: the woman who helped him overcome his ordeals, who sacrificed so much for him and gave up on her own dreams and desires for his sake and his son's.
She was missing.
Not completely gone. Only distant…
Another melancholy sigh filled the room. Tiny maple leaves began to surround the miniature mansion. Summer had arrived. A rueful beam stretched across his luscious, sealed lips.
It indeed held magic. The snowdome changed with each passing season. Vergil remembered it snowing during the winter when he first received it. When he pulled the snow-globe out of the medium sized, velvet blue box, an involuntary gasp escaped him. His initial reaction was to search for any name or hint that indicated the sender's identity. He only found a piece a paper with the words "Flip it!" written in beautiful calligraphy.
And flip he did the snowdome, watching as millions of white particles poured from one direction to the other, engulfing the miniature landscape in snow and creating a spectacular sight. The cambion's beating heart warmed instantly, feeling it ignite like a candle flame within his strong chest. Savvy as he was, he knew the flipping was meant for more than just the snow globe. Turning the paper, a handsome smile graced his features at the heartfelt message.
"Happy Birthday, my beautiful Blue Rose!"
A meaningful gift to remind him of the ardent love the maker of the snowdome still bore for him.
When Spring came, he saw small red petals dance around the small house, representing the roses Eva so fondly grew in her little garden. And now, green leaves, probably too small for a human eye to see yet recognizable under close proximity, were swirling and falling around.
Even though autumn was still afar, Vergil's heart yearned for it to come so he could see what other splendor manifested in the glassy orb.
The sound of a book snapping shut brought Vergil back from reverie. Arctic blue eyes drifted toward Hector who was gathering his supplies and making his way to the taller male.
"I don't think I can persuade your mind to spare me a chapter or two, can I?"
Flipping his brown leather satchel diagonally across his shoulder, the blue clad Forgemaster looked up at his mentor. The boy, being tall himself, scantly reached the older male's chin.
Vergil scoffed bemused. With his hands still neatly folded behind his back, the cambion quirked an eyebrow at his young disciple.
"No need to remind you of your forgone futile attempts to change my mind, do you?" Though his voice was stern, Hector had gotten used to discern the underlying humor within his nasal tone, followed by a teasing glint dancing in those arctic blue eyes.
The Forgemaster chuckled, gripping the thick strap of his bag with both hands in a bashful way.
The reminder of said futile attempts resurfaced some forgotten pains. They educated Hector to draw a red line as to never test the cambion's patience again. The bruise on his right shoulder, though recoiled to a small red dot, still ached at touch where he got hit with the pummel of the Yamato.
"And besides, I believe the excursion of yesterday's training still lingers on you. I do not wish to strain you any further."
Hector smiled at his thoughtfulness. Vergil was very observative. He must have noticed the small wrinkles on his brows or lips whenever he stretched to grab a book, feeling the sour muscles ache in protest. Working with a sword was still not Hector's strongest suit. Thus, it was reasonable for him to feel the aftermaths of training with one. Not that he complained. On the contrary, Hector was grateful for finally learning the art of fighting and defense under an adamant mentor's guide.
"Thank you for your consideration, Lord Vergil." The man nodded in affirmation.
Sending his mentor one last gracious smile, Hector nodded his head and strode toward the double ornamented ivory doors.
"Consider it also a reward for your hard work." The Poet's calm voice resonated despite its soft volume. Hector's hand stopped on the handles as he threw his head back to face Vergil. "Every warrior needs early breaks to indulge in small pleasures. It can be rejuvenating."
The youth's lips widened into another boyish smirk. "Agreed! Although I hoped my small pleasure tonight included reading about the Trojan War."
Hearing Hector's disappointment, Vergil let out a bemused scoff and sauntered toward his grand mahogany desk.
Hector watched as the tail of the royal Prussian blue robe caressed the Persian carpet as he walked. The color bleached into teal or cobalt depending on where the light reflecting on it. Strands of silver glimmered like sea of stars where the pale moonlight soaked the dress. The oval faux sapphire resting on Vergil's collarbone caused thousands of kaleidoscopic trigons dance across the table, as well as its holder's handsome face, giving him an ethereal aura.
Hector sighed beguiled. Everything about the man oozed of grace, power, and sophistication.
In a few scarce formal conventions in which Vergil asked Hector to accompany him to become familiarized with demon culture, the Forgemaster witnessed the man's sovereign powers firsthand. His presence alone demanded respect and awe, needless to utter a word. His rigid posture and steadfast glower always made his audience fidget in their seats, excluding a certain demon monarch who was used to the Poet's stoic expression.
Hector sometimes compared himself to the older male inadvertently. Where the boy often found himself in hot waters with the vampires back in Dracula's court to assemble them and reach their consensus, Vergil was always able to make everyone in the council hold their tongue and listen with a quirk of an eyebrow. Where the boy's presence was looked down upon, the royal generals and executive demons—regardless of their status—would lower their eyes or drift them purposefully away to avoid the Dark Slayer's intense, scrutinizing glare.
And Hector wondered silently to himself: would he ever reach the Poet's level of enigmatic characteristics and innate powers?
"I admire your passion for mythology." Aquamarine eyes locked with pale Topazes. "Stories of the past… of gods and goddesses, of heroes and heroines can be inspirational, educational. However," the older male stole a brief glance at Hesiod's famous Theogony before returning his attention to the stalling youth. "One must be considerate of what's real and what's fiction in the end."
Hector took a moment before he nodded his head gently, almost cautiously, suddenly feeling his mentor's knowing look bearing heavy upon him. Hector might have been simple but no fool to ignore the prejudicial telltales spreading behind his back; how he was the subject of many vampires' and demons' tattlers about his head being in the clouds. To many people, Hector was regarded as a fool with a mouth that spoke of nothing but a load of cobblers. However, Vergil was quick to find a diamond inside the shy, introvert Hector, rewarding him with words of praise and encouraging him to pursue his passion. After all, the cambion was amazed how well-informed the boy was in military tactics, organization, alchemy, and necromancy.
Alas, contrary to Vergil who was most pleased with the youth, Hector walked on thin ice with the Demon King; especially after the times when the crimson-demoness almost mistook his fallacy for deliberate scheming. He remembered vividly her accusing glares and conflicting eyes trying to believe his sincere words given his obvious yet grudging involvement in Carmilla's coup de ta. Despite his best efforts, Hector failed to prove his innocence in the end, especially after she learned he had jeopardized Alucard's life. The young dhampir prince meant the world to her, just like a son, and threatening him cost Hector carry her mark for eternity.
A callous hand came to rub the spot between his neck and shoulder. The pain of her fangs sinking into the muscle was still fresh in his mind. One second he felt hot to his heels, and the other, he felt cold to the marrow of his bones. The experience was appalling, horrendous. However, Hector felt it nothing compared to the mistrustful and apathetic glances she kept sending him every time they walked past each other in the halls. The mark had left two punctual dots on his trapezius, which were too small to be noticed, but those distant looks burnt holes in his gut that grew deeper the longer they lasted. Her disenchanted vermillion eyes made his heart throb and his ribs churn bitterly.
Shadow emerged from the dark confines of murky shades of objects within the room, approaching the contemplating youth. Hector's hand involuntarily tangled into its soft fur, watching as the demonic beast purred in delight. The beast nuzzled into his palm, brushing its head against his callous yet tender hand to reach spots where it liked.
Perhaps, it is time to heal broken trusts and begin anew. A melancholy sigh escaped his tan lips.
So lost in thoughts, Hector momentarily forgot a pair of azure eyes perusing him. Vergil, already situated behind his grand desk, watched the youth from behind locked fingers. He knew, heard, of the hardships Hector went through. During his childhood, Vergil too recalled gruesome times when his trust was molested and trampled upon. Thus, he could relate to Hector and empathize with him on some levels very well.
The difference was, Vergil learned to mature and avoid making repetitious mistakes, whereas Hector preferred to remain in his own paradise, reluctant to step into the cold, cruel, real world. And the sovereign Poet vowed to help the boy grow out of that fictional world of his. To help him grow chary and shun similar horrid events, such as his incarceration in Styria.
"A hot bath can ease the muscle."
Hector's hand stopped midair atop Shadow's ear. The boy practically jostled out of his thoughts. He looked up at the pensive cambion with a bewildered look. Pondering over what the blue-devil said, Hector finally noticed his right hand still lingering on his left shoulder.
"Oh, uh… yeah… sure. I will." Hector stuttered.
He realized why the man made the statement in the first place. He must have noticed his absentminded gesture as well. Whether Vergil knew the reason or not— unless he could read his thoughts—Hector was silently grateful that the Dark Slayer did not press any further.
Vergil rested his locked hands atop the wooden surface.
"Do not let the demons of the past bind you from moving forward." Vergil stated. His voice even and calm. "The last thing you want is to become blind of the important standing in front of you."
Hector pursed his lips, contemplating, allowing those wise words to sink.
Of the important standing before me, huh?!
Suddenly, realization dawned upon him like being struck by Zeus' thunderbolt. Turquoise eyes widened in shock and elation. If he was hesitant, Vergil's dictum shone some light through his cloudy skies. A surge of hope and confidence ignited in his heart, warming his broad chest like Hestia's hearth. Perhaps he needs to overcome his reticent with some blunt and candid actions after all.
I hope she still remembers our promise. Hector mused with a smile.
The dangling hand returned to pat an awaiting Shadow, causing her to purr and arch into his palm eagerly again.
"You're right!" Hector looked at the older male with anew confidence. "My doubts and fears will bind me no more." His warm smile was rewarded with a single, firm nod in return.
Swirling on the balls of his feet, Hector politely abandoned Shadow's petting with a final caress over its ears before gripping the brass handles. His gleaming silver-grey locks danced in the air as he turned to send a last appreciating glance toward his mentor.
"Thank you for everything, Lord Vergil. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
Vergil finally beamed at the boy's rave, waving his hand dismissively. "Likewise, Hector."
Chuckling, Hector pushed down the handles and yanked the doors open. "I'm sure Roxana wouldn't mind sparing me a few hours talking about mythology—"
A surge of numbing coldness knocked the air out of his lungs. Hector balked with a shudder.
The room went lethally silent.
The temperature dropped to a freezing degree. Hector's grip instantly tightened on the handles. His breath hitched when he was about to inhale. He feared to breathe, to move. Afraid of what awaited him if he performed the slightest task. Appalled eyes fell at a pair of feet glued to the ground, refusing to budge.
This bone-chilling sensation was all too familiar. He had felt it before. It was electrifying, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Goosebumps started to run down his sizzling tan skin. Hector could swear the glacial presence of Vergil's powerful azure devil had manifested in the room. Another shiver ran down his trembling spine at the thought of the macabre beast hovering right above his head.
With a thick swallow, the perturbed Forgemaster gingerly lifted the weight of his hand from one handle, letting it creak back to its perfect horizontal angle. His grip however, remained solidly around it in case his psyche cooperates, demands, him to escape. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple.
Did I s-say something… w-wrong?
Hector began to pray to any omnipotent being that existed, and he knew of for mercy.
He had witnessed, sensed, and observed the chaos that swarmed around Vergil's powerful demon. It was a force not to reckon with. Its darkness rivaled the seventh level of Hell itself, and the lethal power it possessed almost rivaled Dracula's when he was ferociously angry.
And now, that hellish wrath was—much to his displeased assumption—focused on him and him alone in that grand furnished room.
Straightening his back, Hector cautiously turned his neck, slowly, shakily, with his eyes searching. A sense of instant relief washed over him when the sight of a magnanimous blue phantom devil was missing from behind the gloomy cambion. Glancing at his mentor made Hector's blood run cold.
Vergil sat with his palms resting wide on either side of the mahogany table, almost looming over like a feral beast displeased with his prey being stolen from him. Silver brows which were usually creased into a soft frown, were knitted wrathfully, wrinkling that smooth forehead. Thinned lips frowned bitterly, and his strong jaw was clenched tightly, causing deep lines to cut into his porcelain skin. With his back to the moonlight pouring through the tall windows behind him, a veil of murkiness covered the man's seemingly pensive expression and darkening his face into a baleful demonic visage. The only thing standing out on that moonless face was those glowing cerulean eyes.
Hector bit back a gasp.
They illuminated with an unearthly, eerie light. Hector swore he could see a cobalt flame dance inside those irises. A fire burning so hot and vehemently, they could easily overwhelm the enchanting flames of the Forgemaster's magical hammer and make them cower in fear. Fires were meant to burn hot, yet Hector found icy blood course through his chilled veins. He could not tear his appalled eyes off the glowering Dark Slayer, so he stood there watching with a mortified expression.
A lethal tension veiled over the room. So pungent that it could easily be sliced with a knife.
"My, my… such imprudent mouth ya have, boy!" The crackling sound of an avian demon served as that designated knife, making Hector almost jump out of skin.
Dancing feathers gleamed an enchanting cobalt, attracting the youth's attention. Griffon landed gracefully atop the head of its master's royal chair. Large wings stretched from side to side, resembling the majestic Aetos Dios, the Eagle of Zeus.
The bird cooked its head between Hector and Vergil before tapping its perilous talons against the wood purposefully loud enough to interrupt its owner's rabid thoughts.
"And then you call me foul-mouthed?!" Griffon dropped its head to give the still cambion a quick glance, not expecting any answers.
However, Griffon's attempts proved fruitful, successfully pulling Vergil out of his brooding trance. The man blinked, drifting those conflicted arctic eyes away.
The tension dissipated into thin air in an instance and Hector finally let out a shaky exhale. The Forgemaster mentally thanked the wisecracking bird's deliberate intervention.
"Make sure you don't address, Her Majesty," Griffon gently extended its wing in mock bow, "The great King of the demon world so casually. Otherwise, some people might," its glowing three pupiled eyes stole a glance at the Dark Slayer, "…get the very wrong thoughts."
Vergil breathed through sealed lips, hiding his grim expression behind locked hands with a hint of frustration. How could he let his ire surface and rule him so easily? Such reckless outcome was degrading for a man as old and wise as him, especially when…
…When I should be angry at myself rather than others so unceremoniously.
Seconds turned into minutes as silence reigned in the grand chamber. While Vergil was busy berating himself, Hector used the time to apprehend the meaning behind the avian demon's words, reflecting on his faux de pas. As obtuse as Griffon was, Hector had learned through multiple interactions that it possessed a certain wisdom often demonstrated inexplicitly through blunt sarcasms and boorish banters.
Hector's brows creased in a soft frown in contemplation.
Vergil was not a man to easily let his temper slip. He was known for his laudative patience, yet feared for his vindictive wrath. Though the latter happened seldom, but those scant moments were enough to shake the entire demon world, even summoning an irked demon king to investigate the source which dared angering her Sage Poet.
Hector's eyes suddenly widened in realization.
Yes, he became the focus of Vergil's sudden belligerence because he addressed the demon king—the woman with whom the Dark Slayer was said to have shared an intimate past—with a casual tone. Although saying her name with no royal or formal title deemed minutiae to him, but titles were sacrosanct in the demon world. And Hector's reckless whisper, followed by his inner desire to seek a private audience with her, arouse great dubitations for his keen mentor. The usually stoic Poet was indeed bothered by his proclamation, Hector deduced.
Which affirms my suspicions that he cares… or still harbors hidden feelings for her.
Hector had refrained from speaking about the kind of relationship he personally developed with the crimson demoness. And frankly, Vergil never felt the need, or sought the courage to query, too busy or too incandescent to know of the details of their acquaintanceship. All that the cambion knew was that the boy had went through some traumatic events before he met Roxana. And now, Hector was assigned as his disciple to learn the arts of life and survival, and to become an adequate commander or a royal advisor.
Vergil knew the reason he was assigned as the Forgemaster's mentor was because she had purposefully refused to take him under her wings. In addition, Dracula was the one who delivered Hector to Vergil, which further increased the cambion's suspensions. The ancient demon knew he had no right to wonder about the demoness' affairs, given that she was a free woman to choose her partners, and he was a married man. But Vergil could not help the constant thought, concern, that something more intimate may transpire between her and those who visit her.
If it had not already. Vergil grimaced.
And Hector was no exclusion from the as well.
And even if so, it is neither my place nor my right to question whom she keeps company.
Vergil was wedded, but it did not mean his long-lasting feelings had abandoned him. Selfish as it was, he still cared for her, ardently. But her continuous and deliberate attempts and behaviors gave him the benefit of the doubt that she was intentionally avoiding him. At first, Vergil assumed she was avoiding him because she had moved on and already found a partner. So, Vergil would listen keenly whenever maids and servants chattered behind their majesty around the halls, hoping to find any intellect on any suitors, frequent male visitors, or even how her nights concluded. It filled his heart with a pang of relief whenever his concerns were discarded.
Roxana always spent her days and nights alone.
However, after a few weeks hearing the same results, the blue devil found himself with another feeling, worry. So much isolation was unhealthy, and Vergil surmises why she lived as an eremite: she wanted to be left alone, for, perhaps, seeing everyone happy with their lovers—spouse or partner—and children pained her. Seeing him with his wife certainly made old festered wounds bleed again.
Now that he thinks about it, after that spontaneous wedding, which she arranged so tactfully but did not attend, Roxana's absences in the human world increased. She spent more time among demons, vampires, and the dead. She spent weeks drowning in her daunting duties, clearing complications, resolving conflicts, and partaking in wars.
Vergil, who occupied a chamber ten feet away from hers, witnessed how she insulated herself indoors for hours, with no need for food, water, or even a stroll in the garden she reverently cared and loved. Her self-assigned obligations grew to the point that her friends and family members barely saw her face anymore, let alone hear of her well-being.
Look at you! Even now, you dawdle over what she does, whom she speaks to, where she goes, and how she feels like every other night until you tire yourself with choler and fill our ears with your irritating barks. Griffon intervened boorishly.
Vergil glared up at the bird from the corner of his eyes, causing the demon to turn its head away and feign innocence.
Better a night full of anger than a night full of repentance.
Then at least save us all the drama and ask the boy about his relevance to her. Maybe they are not so lovely-dovey as you suspect.
Pair of gleaming Topazes perused the agitated youth with a soft glare.
And of all people, this boy, whose relation to her was still a baffling mystery, held the right to speak and address her so informally, as if he were close to her.
Closer than him.
Vergil sighed with a heavy heart.
Perhaps, he should have coaxed more out of the boy whenever their conversations spontaneously geared toward her. Hector shared about the woman's elegance, sense of justice, and compassion, but no further details concerning his intimate feelings or relation to her. If Vergil had shown more interest or apparent curiosity, Hector would have already confessed. But would that not mean Vergil would break Hector's trust just as Dracula did? Wouldn't that cause the blue Forgemaster to grow wary of him like he was toward his vampire captors?
Vergil scrunched his eyes shut to push back some grim thoughts.
No! He made a promise and intended to keep it. Not because he was in a formal agreement, but out of respect for his former mentor, lover, wife, and friend. her and her sapient teachings.
"I believe the sudden… aggro was uncalled for." Locked hands gingerly lowered to reveal his full face. "It was not meant apoplectical, yet I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, Hector."
Hector blinked. This was the man's way to apologize, and he was glad to see the cambion acknowledging and stating in his own inexplicit yet endearing way. A warm beam stretched across his tan lips.
"Oh, he means that he is sorry for scaring you." Griffon bit back its sarcastic chuckles when Vergil shot it a venomous glare from the corner of his eye.
Warm chuckles filled the room, lifting off any remaining tension.
"Well, I do not see any reason why he should or feel the need to."
Hector sent a knowing glance toward the older male despite speaking to the avian familiar. Griffon cawed in annoyance but did not make any ire rebuts.
"...it was meant to also remind me of the importance of titles in the demon world. I guess, Lord Vergil had every right to be upset with my negligence."
This time, a ghost of a smile appeared on Vergil's pale lips. Leaning back, the enigmatic blue-devil felt the soft fabric of the chair sink under the weight of his back, causing him to relax those rigid shoulders with a content sigh.
"Despite the temptation to ignore statuses due to close… friendliness... not all demons possess the irreducible mind to apprehend without involving ill-thoughts. Titles are a must, unless stated otherwise by the addressee." The cambion explained in his usual calm, even voice.
Hector nodded in affirmation. "I will remember that."
Another long sigh escaped the cambion before he looked up at the youth.
"Well," for a moment, his throat dried up, clogging his next few words. Vergil almost chocked, swiftly closing his mouth and swallowing thickly to clear his voice. "… I won't be taking your time any further, you're dismissed."
Enchanting aquamarine eyes lit up in delight as Hector smiled. His hand shot toward the door handle.
"I wish you a wonderful evening, Lord Vergil."
The Dark Slayer let out a mildly irritated humph and watched as the boy took his leave. The door opened and was about to close behind the escaping Forgemaster when—
"Hector," the door balked, and a puzzled Hector peaked inside.
"Yes, Lord Vergil?"
The Dark Slayer frowned again, but this time, he averted his eyes as to not cause distress unintentionally again. Seeing the man's sudden conflicted expression, Hector frowned in concern. He was practically stepping outside before getting second thoughts and taking a step in, pulling himself into the chamber once more.
Vergil pursed his lips for a few moments. A second or two passed before, finally, Topaz eyes met worry-filled Turquoise gems.
"Nothing! Just…" he stilled his throbbing heart, "... send her my warmest regards when you see her."
Hector startled. Worry soon was replaced with a sense of sympathy.
"Of course, Sir. I am certain she would be glad to hear." Came his sincere and heartfelt assurance.
And with that, Hector walked out and pulled the door closed behind him.
However, it did not miss his peripheral the rueful look that appeared on the man's face after hearing those words. The way his face fell, those turbulent blue eyes closed in grief, his brows knitted tightly, and his lips frowned sadly...
For the first time during the past six months, Vergil looked absolutely exhausted… almost defeated.
Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope enjoy this story of mine featuring our handsome, grumpy Dark Slayer and the innocent, precious Hector. I wanted to try out this thought I had for so long of Vergil being a mentor to Hector, just like how his father was for his pupils, such as Baul and Modeus. And for some of you that might wonder, the idea of my OC titling Vergil as the Poet in the Demon world dawned upon me five years before Devil May Cry 5 game was released. So, it was not something inspired by Vergil's infatuation with William Blakes' poetry during the game. Moreover, given his enigmatic character, manner of speech, and beautiful appearance, I always associated Vergil with poetry, literature, music, and art, like most fans do ;)
Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this story and leave me likes, reviews, and comments that would mean the world to me.
Vergil, Griffon, and Shadow belong to Devil May Cry
Hector, Isaac, Dracula, and Carmilla Belong to Casltevania
Roxana Belongs to me