Sometimes I feel like writing my other story became more of an obligation than to just purely write for the passion of it. It's what I get for posting it instead of just finishing it first, but here is a possible story that I wrote a while ago. I couldn't let it go like all the other stories I scrap.

I don't own any of the characters in the story, never will either way.

The sound of screeching can be heard, the kind of screeching when one's in pain, but in a tone that comes from a creature that is learning the feeling of pain. Dozens of more creatures are succumbing to pain with the sound of blades clashing into their body, without any way to defend themselves from the blade speed and precision. These creatures that were in pain, that was dying and faded away from existence, are the kinds that no human should ever see or go up against. They vary in look, some being small creatures, mouth gaping open, greyish forms with their hands and feet are like sticks, others are bigger creatures, one with tails, claws, spikes, and wings forming from their back.

But then there was one, one who was cutting them down with a single blade clutch in both hands. Swiping at each creature he faces with such speed that it's impossible to see in the naked eye. Moving from one creature to the next, slicing their chest, decapitating their heads, throwing them in the air with one swipe, and then vanishing upwards to slam them down with the crashing swipe from his blade.

This person that now stood in the middle of all the dead creatures that were vanishing away before him was far more human in appearance. His skin was pale but fair, he has white hair that shadows his eyes which made him push it back to reveal his more untamed, stoic expression but still has a boy of a face and not of a man yet, his clothing were a baggy violet hoodie that went along with his navy long pants that were both torn up and bloody up from his constant battles with these creatures, and a small bag he had behind his back.

With a single flick of his sword, the blood was swept off his sword and slowly clicked back in his sheath that was on the side of his waist. The area he battled in had places that were floating around the area, stairs that also levitated in different positions, environment having to be almost pitch black that his blue eyes were accustomed to, allowing him to see through the void he inhabits in. What seems like red water his barefoot was standing on stream downward to the unknown point that seemed like an endless black hole.

The white hair boy moved on, vanishing from point to point, going into a new area that held more of these creatures that he's glad to fight on. Soon enough, he reaches what seems like an area that had creatures praising a much devilish creature that was sitting. This creature was sleeping the time the boy came walking in. Eventually, he caught the scent of the white hair swordsman, and its scent woke him immediately, "Sparda?!" he shouted with a hint of anguish in his voice. The fierce boy size up who he's gonna face, it's form was like a dog, but with red eyes, a spikey singular horn on top of its head, teeth that were sharp enough to chow anything in his path, claws on both hands, and his posture sizing up white hair boy, "No.. You're not Sparda. He died at the hands of Mundus."

The boy was gripping his sword with such tenacity, the person that was once Sparda being mentioned like that was making him want to slay this creature where he sat. The creature rose from its seat, "So, Sparda had another son after all," the dog-like creature quickly lept at the boy that had him roll to the right side. The creature's claws had him stop on the dime as it watched the boy stand up on his feet, "I will bathe in your ratchet blood. The Sparda bloodline will die by the hands of Beowulf!"

He howled, calling upon the minions to help him in his battle against the son of Sparda. The boy's eyes were moving, noticing the sudden appearance of more creatures, but it neither frightened him nor made him back down, "...Demon...Scum!"

The boy did as he always does when facing these demon's he call them, both vanishing with teleportation and moving with speed to kill all of the creatures before him. But this time it was much tougher, as he had to deal with Beowulf who kept summoning more and more demons after him. The boy then took his focus on the big dog himself, each time he would attempt to attack him, Beowulf was fast enough to stop his offense and use his paws to bring blood on the boy. The boy kept on his toes, dodging the other demons, dodging Beowulf lunging attacks, to the point where he was at least able to leap and slash one the left of his eyelids, "AGH! FUCKING BRAT!"

The boy was fighting endless waves of demons that were coming at him, they had far more aggression to their onslaught which had to do with Beowulf's increased anguish at him. Even when the boy started to feel the constant pressure, the constant need to catch his breath, he pressed on with his speed of attacks and evasion.

But Beowulf was able to pounce on exactly where the boy was going at, crushing his legs and some other part of his body, "AHHHH!" he yelled in pain.

"Yes!" his paws were now endlessly swiping at him, "Feel the pain as what your father brought on us boy!" the son of Sparda was now at the mercy of Beowulf and the rest of the other demons.

This is where he had to escape, to get away from what seems like death doors, '...I will… Not die… Here..' the boy vanishes out of Beowulf grip, vanishing below the area. With his sword in hand, he rotates his bloody body to swipe a cross that opens a portal out of the demon world.

The son of sparda was then sent tumbling through a much colder region. He didn't know where he was, all he knows is that he was utterly humiliated in the demon world, '....If I was destined with power,' he couldn't hold on to his consciousness; the wounds he retains from the bloody battle was causing him to be put into an unconscious state, '...Why can't I use it to those that took away everything from me…'

Those were his last thoughts, as his mind drifted off to the very day that put him on the path he was on.

The boy was running. Running as fast as he can. Leaping over rocks, leaping over huge gaps, trying his best not to trip over anything as his eyes remain locked on the very thing he is dreading from the distance.

His home. Burning. And he wasn't there to stop it from crumbling down. It's architecture, it's woodwork, it's beauty that was the place he dearly loved was burning.

As he was getting closer and closer to his burning home, the boy steel himself of the thoughts that were about the worst of it. The worst of what may happen in his home. The father that was so strong he built all of it with the help of the women he loved. An identical twin, his younger brother, he wasn't there when he was deep in the forest training with his blade. He couldn't think about what fate lies with them. He couldn't. Not now.

He was now in front of his burning house. The boy was just about to run in, but the many parts that stabilize the house were falling apart and debris blocked the front entrance that stops the boy from entering, "MOTHER! FATHER!" the boy drops his sword, trying to lift the debris that was blocking his way, "COME ON! MY FATHER CAN DO IT SO WHY CAN'T I! MOTHER! FATHER! DANTE! PLEASE!"

He might have been able to lift the debris but tons of more came piling down that hinder his way to get in. He stopped his useless attempt as his head was running a marathon in another way to get into his house. His father did many things, and one of them involved backup plans when one didn't work. The boy quickly pick up his sword and ran around the house; the back of his home was a playground that he and his brother would occupy whenever they get the chance. Reaching there, the boy paused in his movement when he saw demons were taking bites of a person lying almost dead on the grassy ground.

His eyes widen, the woman, with all her beauty, looks to be dead to the boy, but he won't let them do whatever the hell they want to her corpse, "GET AWAY FROM MY MOTHER YOU DEMONS!" the boy let a battle cry as his sword came out from his sheath. The demons were now paying attention to what this boy is going to try to do. The boy went in with a leaping strike that hit one of the demons, he swiped viciously at all that was near his mother's body.

The boy stood alone, protecting his mother no matter the odds, "...Vergil…?"

As the boy tried his damndest to kill the demons that were responsible for destroying all that was his, hearing his mother's voice got him distracted to the point all demons came at him and took him down. Biting into his flesh, stabbing each part of his body, "AHhHHH!" he tried lashing out his sword, but one of the demons knocked his sword away.

He was in pain, the worst pain he had ever been in as he couldn't kill the demons. His blood dripped on the grassy ground that was once his playground. He couldn't defend himself. He couldn't defend his home. And he couldn't even defend his mother. His mother, with her dying breath, was left seeing her flesh and blood be taken down by power-hungry creatures, "...Vergil," she wept tears as she tries reaching for his son, try to take him away from the pain that was being bestowed on him, "...Live...Please… For ….Dant-"

The last words that he can hear even from his cries. Protect Dante.

Protect Dante.

Protect Dante.

Get up.

Get up.

Don't be weak.

DON'T BE WEAK

YOU HAVE POWER.

USE THAT POWER.

USE FATHER'S POWER.

Vergil screamed with a furious roar as he transformed into something that blasted away the demons that were killing him. He stood in a form that had a bluish aura, his face was overcome with a demonic form just as his snowy hair tusk-like crest. Whatever he wore was now overcome with a blue trench coat, wings behind his back, and his hands to his feet were overcome with monstrous sharpness to it.

Vergil took a moment to look at his surroundings, most of the demons were up in the feat, but now keeping their distance from what Vergil is now, "...Scums.." Vergil was gone with a flash, his sword picked up, and quickly slashing so fast around the area that when he reappeared and slowly put his sword back in his sheathe, every demon was killed.

Vergil demonic form didn't last, it was quite tasking on him to hold this new power that he ended up on his knees and transformed back into his more human self. He stared at his mother, now dead in front of him. He no longer had the strength to stay conscious but he knew one thing he was, "...I'm weak...Mother.."

Vergil, the boy who's the son of a demon once known as Sparda, had awoken from his momentary slumber. His face felt an unusual cold sensation, one that was soft and slushy. His free hand grip the ground grabbed the cold sensation, indicating that it was indeed snow his body was laying on. As he started to awaken, he didn't feel the pain of his legs being crushed by Beowulf, but he did feel some part of his body ache from the battle he tried to win with might alone.

"...I don't understand…?" he questions himself, knowing his mind was replaying what went wrong when facing Beowulf and his demons. He should have won, he should have awakened the demonic form that he only ever used once. Once involving the death of his mother, "...I don't understand… How did you do it father…? I have power…. But it isn't enough..." the rest came out more incoherent mumble thanks to Vergil trying to shut his voice from loudly recognizing his own failure of killing Beowulf.

"Don't understand what?" Vergil's mouth began to shut, not sure if what he heard was something of an imagination, or that there is a person near him who is hearing his mumblings about his failure, "Hm. I guess that's reasonable. I mean you fell from the sky, so you must have a bad headache."

Now Vergil knows his mind couldn't be playing tricks on him, or it can, he just has to understand who's this person that had the voice of a little girl trying to talk to him. His head raised up to see a pale skin dirty blond girl no older than him. She sat on a small rock with her head tilt just as her tourmaline's eyes stared at him with curiosity. Vergil can see her body was slender, but he can't say that's how most girls are because he hasn't spent a lot of time with girl's his age, "To think," her head moved away from Vergil, staring off to what seems like beyond the snowy ground they're on. Vergil can hear what lies beyond the ground; there was an ocean, waving back and forth while the sun glinted down on them, "I'm still trying to wait on a perfect moment to jump down into the deep ocean. Then here you come, falling from whatever place you come from. Strange day it is."

Vergil pushes himself up to where he sat cross leg and places his sword across his legs. He felt both his legs healed up but the migraine was still annoying him, cringing every second. The girl's eyes landed back on the boy who fell from the sky, noticing how his face scrunches each second, "Must have been a fall. Does your body still hurt?" She asked, but Vergil answer was taking out something from his small bag, a cloth that he now uses to wipe his blade that still held blood from killing some of the demons, "Hm," the girl crosses her arm now frowning that she just simply being ignored, "Well aren't you a bore. Agh. Why can't it be night time already? The sun is still up and isn't a good look to leap into the ocean."

"...Killing yourself is rather foolish."

The dirty blond girl was a bit surprised to see Vergil at least saying something to her, "Here I thought you were just gonna ignore me. Either way, the world is cruel and I just don't wanna be here."

"...That's idioticness… You're as young as me. You rather kill yourself instead of learning to get stronger and live in this cruel world?" Vergil stop wiping the blood away. He examines his blade, the sun reflects off it and it still looks to be of good use thanks to his father, "Do what you want," he put his sword into his sheath, "It's none of my concern if you stay weak or not."

Vergil looked to stand up and leave the suicidal girl to herself, but sadly, he had to use his sword as a support so he wouldn't fall back to the snowy ground. Even when his leg was healed, other parts of his body still needed time to heal which only served to frustrate Vergil. The girl laughed at Vergil's futile attempt to get up, "Ha! You can't even stand on your two feet," Vergil's glare at the girl didn't phase her laughter, "I doubt you even know where to go. Actually, where are you trying to go? You must want to find a way home right?"

Vergil had to sit back down and wait till he was healed enough to leave. Though, this girl does put up a nice question that had Vergil thinking, 'Where am I going next? Back to the demon world to try to kill Beowulf? No, that's something I need to put behind me till I become strong enough to slay him down where he stands. I don't have a map to know the location where I am, but this girl, an annoying one, knows where I'm at. My next step should be gathering knowledge of where I am. At the same time, growing stronger in some capacity.'

The girl sighed seeing as Vergil again ignored her question, "You're the worst person to be stuck with until I can jump into the ocean. Think the full moon should be up soon enough. Hopefully."

"...I don't have a home anymore."

The girl's eyebrow raised, again surprised that he would even answer her question seeing as how he said he doesn't very much care about what she would do to herself sooner than later, "That's… Unfortunate.. So, are you trying to find a relative to stay with?"

Vergil's response was to shake his head. He wouldn't dive any further for the painful reminder of not defending his home from the demons that destroy it, "Then you really don't know where you're going huh?" The girl's curiosity knew no limits. How could it when a boy her age suddenly fell from a sky as she waited for a perfect time to kill herself, "Like a wandering soul, going from place to pace doing god knows what with that sword you hold tightly in your hand... I'm frightened to know if that blade of yours has cut some people down for reasons that are beyond me."

Vergil's eyes look down to his blade once again, "This blade… Has only slain those that are beyond this world," Vergil icey eye's look upon the girl, "A world that mortals can not reach, and if they ever shall," his eyes again went back on to the very blade that can take him to that world, "They'll perish, with their souls being locked into that world in an endless cycle of torture."

The wind steadily blew between them as what Vergil said was something terrifying, and the chillness made the girl slightly shiver even when she wore what seemed like bear fur that draped over a simple white dress, "How are you not cold? That hoodie of yours has plenty of scratch marks that I can see your skin."

Vergil ignores her question; instead again try standing up without the use of his sword. This time he did but now he needed to take a few steps to understand if he was fully healed to get going. The girl watched as he took one step, two-step, and three-step before falling, but lucky she quickly got up and caught him from his fall, "Whoa! You're still not healed up. Can't expect to heal in seconds, even if your… What….? A sorcerer, but the sword makes you less like one sooo…"

Again trying to piece together the boy that fell from the sky she almost didn't take notice of his groan of annoyance, "I don't need your help girl!" his frustration of not being healed and her constant curiosity was getting to him. To the point, he got out of her grip and ended up falling backward with a thud.

"Tsk," the girl had both of her hands on the side, "You're a stubborn one. Learn to accept someone's help."

"I. Don't. Need. Your. Help."

"Sadly you do. You're falling on your butt twice already, and you can't be limping around here. It can get dangerous if you're not too careful."

Vergil laughed sarcastically as he sat himself up back into cross leg. To the girl, it was a nice change of pace with the constant stoic ignorance, grim tone, ignoring, and frustrating form he showed, "You underestimate me girl."

"Stop calling me girl!" she stomped her feet as her eyebrow drew from being constantly called a girl, "I have a name you know."

"I don't much care."

"Ugh," she groans, "Why must fate have me stuck here with this boy. And why hasn't the sun dim already?! Nothing is even going right!" She went on a string of complaints while the boy didn't pay much attention to her complaints, "I don't know why Olaf had to be older than me with someone he loves by his side and kids running a monk near him. I want what he has! I want to be his wife, but no! Fate won't let me have that. I don't even know why I have to be here! I should be with Geralt, I'm his destiny… AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed so loud, a bit long, letting out the things that brought her here and what she's been dealing with before she met Vergil.

She was breathing as her scream stopped. She collapses to the ground with her arms resting on her knees as she stared at the sun that gave the sky its orange glow. Vergil could enjoy this peace and quietness until he was ready to leave. But it was uncomfortable knowing that she is in a far worse state, emotionally at least. And while he doesn't care much about her, he hates how uncomfortable it all feels when she released names and things that led her to this point. Led her to a place where she wanted to kill herself. Out of all that she complained about, the name Geralt is what interests Vergil. It sounded like a father figure she looks up to, wanting to learn every inch of who he is and what he's about. Carrying his legacy.

In a way, Vergil relates to that legacy. To become as strong and stronger than his father Sparda, "...Is Geralt your father?" This time Vergil asked her a question.

"No… My father passed away with my mother when I was just but a child. They even die here when coming to Skellige."

'Skellige? If I remember correctly from the maps I was studying with my mother, Skellige is a place further in the western parts. Away from Toussaint, colder than its lively green city,' Vergil concluded to himself. He sat up as the girl continued on, "Geralt is someone who is destined to train me, train me in the ways of being the witcher. Do you know what a witcher is?" she asks as she turns around to face the white-haired boy.

The boy felt his white hair touching his forehead, he made sure to push it back the way it's supposed to be, "I read books that they're people who were taken from the homes, trained and experimented to combat monsters that normal civilians can't face. Few survive the experimentation, but the ones who live, only live by the coin and die by the coin."

Her posture was more slumped when Vergil mentions how witchers live their lives, "You don't have to make it sound so depressing. Either way, he was supposed to teach me his ways as the witcher, but he ended up leaving me while I got sent back to my grandmother. Who wants me to wed a bunch of people I'm not interested in. I don't want to have some relationship with those types of boys! I want a man like Olaf to wed! But I can't have Olaf and I rather choose my own destiny!" she again shouted her frustration.

"...Like choosing to kill yourself? Even though you believe you have this sort of destiny with this Geralt?"

She shrugs, "It's the only way out of this cruel world. No one understands what I want. No one really sees me for who I am."

Vergil sucks his teeth, "You really sound like a spoiled princess. And from what you said earlier, you are one."

"And is that a problem for you? You prick."

Vergil eyebrow quirk at being called a prick. If she ever knew, this was the first of someone ever calling him a prick, "I don't care."

"Because I'm not concerned about you?" She scoffed, "No wonder you're alone. I mean who would ever want to be around you, prick."

Her words were dipping into cold ice when it came to Vergil, "Watch that tongue of yours. Just because you're a princess doesn't mean your gonna look down on me as some peasant."

"Is that what you think I do?! God, you must really know me then. Guess I'm like every 12-year-old princess who believes their higher above everyone including their friends, who has attributes that make all-male look at her instead of their own wives and pleases everyone and anything. But you know what, I dearly wish I was you prick!"

The girl no longer wanted to stare at the prick. Whiles the prick himself took a moment to see the 12-year-old dirty blonde in a different light. She was surely still annoying, but she seeks something other than being a princess, valuing her own desires over what others want her to do. It's selfish and at the same time an admirable case of wanting to live by her own way, but nonetheless stupid for her age at the end of the day.

And so, Vergil got up again with the help of his sword. He at least was able to walk a bit more steps before relying on his sword to help maneuver him without falling. He stops and turns his neck to the young girl, "..You coming?"

"Why should I? The moon is coming up soon."

"You aren't gonna do it," this gains the girl's attention, "You're scared of jumping, knowing that this will be your own fate if you do. You love the word destiny, and you place it on Geralt. What would he think knowing that you died cowardly? What would your grandmother think if you died for a stupid reason? A reason for wanting to be a part of an older man's life, but can't because he has a family he loves and cherishes. You think too much about yourself instead of what others would think when you make a decision. That. That'll be your downfall, girl."

Vergil said what he had to say before continuing to walk forward albeit at a slow pace. If this be her destiny, then so it'll be. This girl was none of his concern, and her death would not be on his consciousness because she means nothing to him. Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming up to him.

She decided not to end her life. She wasn't happy about it and Vergil didn't care about how she felt, "My name is Cirilla, preferably, I like to be called Ciri," Cirila waited for Vergil to do the same and share his name. Yet he didn't do it after minutes of walking together, "Look, you don't know where you're going, and you still need to heal whatever wounds you have. So might as well tell me your name so I don't call you a prick."

"...Vergil."

"Nice to meet you, prick."

Vergil growls in irritation. Maybe he should just off himself so he wouldn't deal with Cirilla, but this is the path he has chosen, and so have she.

Somehow, rereading this I just fell in love with it. Like it wasn't my own story but someone else's work. Maybe I will continue it because it's interesting. It'll be cool to write this version of Vergil in the witcher world, but if not, well here's an interesting one-shot I made. See ya if ever.