Dante came to the end of the journal. He carefully closed it, and put it in the nightstand's drawer. He knew the truth now. Knew that it was indeed his brother he'd killed. And he swallowed the knot in his throat he'd tried to ignore all along.
He also knew, that as one last act of rebellion against the master who'd forced his ways onto a child too young to understand or fight against it, that his brother had left the one thing that could give him the means to defeat Mundus. The amulet. The other half that his brother had worn since the day their mother had given the halves to each of them.
He wore it himself from that day on. It was part of her, part of his father. He never understood the power of that amulet. In halves it had no real power. But together...Together, it allowed him to become the Dark Knight. It allowed the sword Force Edge to become the true sword his father had carried until his own death, Sparda. The sword of a Dark Knight.
Now, Trish carried it, and the sword. He hadn't the heart to take them from her. She looked like his mother, indeed she did. Even acted like her in many ways. Mundus was far too intuitive as far as that went. But his intuition backfired, in the most bizarre way.
Dante had grieved over her body, Trish had given her life to save his. An act of humanity. Something someone evil should never have done. Giving one's life for the sake of another, was an act of selflessness. The ultimate act...Of love.
As his mother gave her life to save his, so had Trish, and apparently, so had his brother. He sighed, and stared at the open drawer, the journal rested there and it wasn't the place for it, somehow it just didn't seem right to lock it away in the darkness. Even if it were in his nightstand.
He reached out and touched it, and thought again. Vergil, his brother...The brother he'd only known for a few short years in his lifetime, and would always miss, and wonder "what if?"
When he'd left Trish laying on the floor, of that cathedral where Mundus had resided, he'd left Sparda, and the amulet with her. It was symbolic: his family was together again. His mother rested in her, his father in the sword, and his brother in the amulet. It had been his chance to finally say goodbye.
He quickly swiped at a tear that had managed to sneak past his control. He felt the knot in his throat loosening, and picked up the journal again, "I forgive you, Vergil. I know it had to be tough. At least...You found your way. And you were wrong, you did have some humanity left. Way to go Bro." He whispered, and taking the book with him, he walked out of his room.
He had a place for it after all.
Ω
Fine'...