In response to Hotshot6: Haha! It wasn't meant to be, but it definitely made me laugh my ass off thinking of it that way.
In response to tenimyuohtori: Oh yeah. Sparda won't be very pleased when he learns of Dante and Nero's future antics. Maybe awkward drama, we'll see.
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Darkness.
All Vergil saw was darkness.
Save for the bleeding sun in the sky, the landscape was comprised of darkness.
He felt as though the very air was ink that was threatening to fill his lungs with shadows and stain them black.
Just like back then.
A roar reverberated through the air. The roar was that of a panther, tinged with the echo of demonic power.
A shadow. A glimpse of a past long since forgotten.
A flash of three red eyes, replacing the bleeding sun briefly.
For but a moment, Vergil was back in hell. Suffering whatever pain Mundus decided would please him the most.
A shadow nipped at Vergil's legs, but he felt none of it through the suffocating metal encasing his body.
Whatever room there was inside the armor was filled with the ink that had long since stained his body with black lines and cracked features.
Claws rakked themselves across the armor, tearing three long gashes into it.
Instead of granting him freedom, the ink simply poured itself into Vergil's mouth again. His lungs filled with it and it coated his stomach.
He gagged, throwing it back up into the metal suit, where it would stay. Mundus never released Vetgil from the armor, meaning he would spend his days sniffing and breathing the inky substance that had also been inside his stomach and lungs.
A flap of wings reached his ears, filling his head with mocking laughter and taunting that made Vegil want to wretch.
"Hey there, metal face! You having fun drinking your own puke? Good luck trying to catch me when Mundus finds out you tried to get out again!"
No. Not again. The pain was unbearable.
The memories of metal being grafted onto his skin while still red-hot flooded back into Vergil's mind like the ink that invaded his body.
He then felt the burning pain touch his chest.
He wanted to scream. To yell out to anyone. Dante, his mother, his father, anyone.
"Anyone? Truly?"
A voice came to Vergil.
It was not the bird, nor the evil tyrant. Not Dante or Sparda or even Eva.
Just someone Vergil had forgotten.
He opened his eyes.
-Transition-
Vergil jolted awake, nearly screaming in his terror.
After a quick evaluation of his surroundings, the elder half devil found himself back in his room.
Vergil sighed, not paying any mind to his wild and undone hair. His body was drenched with sweat, but thankfully it didn't remind him of the shadowy ink.
He placed his face in his hands, trying to forget the nightmare.
It would not leave him for the rest of the night.