Bother
Lady Mars
Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry. I never imagined I would ever get this far with this series, but it has gotten a hold of me and won't let go. Since I've danced around Dante and Trish for a while, I thought I'd try my hand at Vergil. No, not Nero Angelo, Vergil. It will end up with Nero Angelo, but I'm not really focusing on that aspect. I also don't own 'Bother.' I'd like to thank Stone Sour for that song and this bout of inspiration. Enjoy.
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I wish was to dead to cry
My self-affliction fades.
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater.
You don't need to bother; I don't need to be.
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on, I'll never let go til it bleeds.
He sat quietly in the shadows of the long pillars in the hall. He was too scared to move, too wounded to care that he was still there. He had spent many an hour sitting in that spot, contemplating his fate. He knew that as each moment passed, he was being drawn further and further into the endless spiral of misery and death, but he couldn't run; he wouldn't make it out alive if he did. His 'master' would make sure that he never made it to the surface, let alone to safety alive. He had too many minions to carry out his doings and he knew of his plan.
The youth pulled his knees up closer to him, pulling further into the shadows. He was trying to hide from the being, but he knew that the stronger knew he was still there. It frightened him to know what the demon was planning, but he knew that he couldn't defeat this being on his own. He was too much like the being to defeat him; he was feeding off of the other's power. It scared him to know that he was becoming one of them, but now there wasn't anything he could do about it. He had nothing, no one left.
It was hard to imagine that they were all gone. He had seen his father slip off peacefully when he was young, but this didn't compare to that, not in the least. All he knew was his mother had died in a display of pure gore and his brother had been viciously murdered on the streets. He fingered the red stone of his pendant; this object was the last tie between him and his family, the family that was no more.
Wish I was to dead to care
If indeed I cared at all.
Never had a voice to protest,
So you fed me shit to digest.
I wish I had a reason; my flaws are open season.
For this, I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying.
You don't need to bother; I don't need to be.
I'll keep slipping father
But once I hold on, I'll never let go til it bleeds.
He ran through the halls of the deserted castle, his white hair whipping behind him from the wind he was generating by running. His blue skin was tainted with the remnants of fallen tears. The saline burned his flesh as it fell and slid down his face before coming to an untimely end in the edges of his shirt. The fire still burned through his veins; the thoughts still tormented his soul. He was slipping further and further into the pit that wouldn't let him go.
The evil influence had been coursing through his veins for some time now; he couldn't stop it from happening. The more he tried to fight, the more it sucked him in. It was toxic, but he kept coming back for more, Mundus made sure of that. The evil overlord kept the youth on a short rope. The further he tried to run, the further he was drawn back in. The evil lord had a hold on ever fathom of his being and wouldn't let go. The resilient youth would fall soon; he couldn't hold out forever.
He came to a stop next to the massive statue that loomed in the entrance. His knees gave out from all the running he had been doing and he landed with a slight crash onto the marble floor. He braced himself on the cool marble of the statues base, but that would only last for so long.
He wavered, trying to keep his warring emotions and power under control, but he lost in the end. His broken body crashed onto the tile floor with a sickening thud. His eyes shifted in and out of focus for a few moments before his vision cleared to give him a pristine few of the wall on the opposite end of the hall, tainted in red.
The blood was slowly staining the white tile below him, but he didn't care. The marble was cool under his heated flesh. Nothing mattered anymore; he could have died right then and there and been happy. He would have been better off dying at that point.
Through his weary gaze, he watched the Shadow dart around the room, sniffing occasionally. His breed had been trained to home in on the blood of the devil, the blood that was pooling all over the floor beneath him.
The beast drew closer and closer with each darting movement, but he made no attempt at trying to get away from the being; nothing would pull him off of the floor. The floor was his sanctuary from the rest of the world and nothing could take that right away from him.
The wolfish creature now loomed over him, breathing in his essence like a fine perfume. The viscous drool dripped from the creature's foul jaw and splattered on the side of his face, but he didn't care. The demon reared up to go for the kill, but it was stopped by the iron clutch of its prey. He tightened his grip around the beings throat, letting the foul power seep from his fingertips. The being squirmed under the ruthless grip, but he didn't yield. After a few moments, the beast fell limp in his hands. He launched the carcass across the room and slowly got to his feet. The power of his master flowed freely though his veins; nothing would stop him now.
Wish I'd died instead of lived,
A zombie hides my face.
A shell forgotten with its memories
Diaries left with cryptic entries.
And you don't need to bother; I don't need to be.
I'll keep slipping father
But once I hold on, I'll never let go til it bleeds.
He watched as the man entered the room. This wasn't the first time they had met, but he knew for sure that this would be the last; he would be sure of that. Returning to his master as a failure again would not be an option. Either he would drag the carcass of the son of Sparda back to his lord or he would die before the minions got to him. He watched his adversary popping joints, loosening himself for the fight ahead. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was crying for him not to do this; that it was wrong, but it was lost amongst the thoughts of victory and pure revenge.
The fight went on as a blur of red dancing around black with bolts of blue. They knew the other's movement like they had been doing this for years despite this being their first meeting.
The power of the demon flowed within his veins, giving him the speed, strength, and uncanny knowledge needed to take down the man in front of him, but something was holding him back. Something was preventing him from plunging his sword into the man's chest, ending it all for good. That would be his fatal mistake; his one weakness.
He felt the cold steel of his opponent's blade pierce the thick skin of his armor. He stumbled backwards, clutching at the wound in disbelief; he wouldn't let himself be defeated by this Halfling. He pushed himself back to full height to start the assault again, but was driven back down by a barrage of bullets. They ricocheted off everything. It was too much for his broken body; he had lost. In one last fleeting effort, he fled; succumbing to the power that allowed him to escape so easily every other time. As he disappeared, the pendant that he always wore clattered to the ground, severing his last ties with reality.
When he came back to the semblance of consciousness from the void of the warp, he began tearing off the armor that had protected him all this time; if he were to die, he was going to die as a member of his fleeting past. His white hair was plastered with sweat as he stumbled across the main hall. His body gave out half way across the sprawling floor and he landed with a merger thump on the cool floor that had served as his friend so many times before. His breaths came in ragged gasps; this was the end, the end of it all.
He was succumbing to the cold, black oblivion of nothingness when the clack of someone walk towards him broke though the darkness. He cracked his eyes open to see the gleam of black leather standing before him; it was her. The woman leaned down, her blonde hair dancing into his view.
"I was sent here to finish you off," she purred. "But your death is fitting enough." She stepped over his prone body and began walking away. "I have bigger fish to fry." He listened to one of the large doors swing open and shut again before beginning to give in again. 'I don't know why she bothers, she'll fall as easily as I did.' With the last of his strength, he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. 'At least I know that my lie is over now. Go get them bro, show them hell in the name of Sparda.' He shut his eyes and slipped away silently; nothing would keep him from peace now.
You don't need to bother; I don't need to be.
I'll keep slipping father
But once I hold on... I'll never let go of my deceit.
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