Brother Never Cry
Summary: My take on how Vergil becomes bad, Dante becomes responsible, how the events of DMC3 transpired. Ignores DMC1 completely due to ignorance of the game.
Disclaimer: Capcom owns everything I'm writing about except the plot, the weird wax demons and assorted OCs.
A Word From the Author: 15/10/05: First part of exams over, so I've got some time to write. I hope I'll be able to finish the story by end of the year…
Thanks to:
SaiyAsianMaki: Yeah, summat like that. Coz he feels that Dante indirectly led to the death of their mother, and then he gets even more angry when he thinks that Dante is too soft in his attitude towards her murderers…who aren't really her murderers at all, if you read between the lines, last chapter, part one.
Sutremaine: Okay, I didn't know that. And thanks for the info. However, I doubt I'll be able to lay hands on such a comic, due to where I live. Ahhh welll. Cookies for the long review, and for the spotting of my mistake last chapter. Fixed up now. As for the mental link, okay, may be that was a little far-fetched, but then you know there's all this stuff about twins being psychic and tuned in to each other's emotions, and since Verge and Dante are kinda special twins, I figured maybe they could hold a mental conversation. Considering how I used it, it's become a big part of the story. Anyway, could you tell me the name of the comic?
VergilSparda666: I hope so too. I've got a biiiigg exam on the 31st.
To the anonymous reviewer: Only in my story anyway. I don't know about canon.
Blademaster16: I just read Past's Nightmares. Sorry I didn't read your work before, but y'know, I was occupied by my exams and all.
ShadesOfBlood: Indeed. Your enthusiasm is contagious.
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Chapter Six: Shattered
(earlier)
There was blood everywhere.
The towering figure standing in the middle of the cell looked up from his carnage and sneered as he heard the sound of boots stamping hastily up the steps. There was no pity or regret in his gaze, but contempt and a raw hatred. With inhuman strength he wrenched the metal bars out of the window. A few kicks out a steel-shod boot sent bricks flying away, leaving behind a hole large enough for him to exit.
"Halt!" The crimson sunlight of the setting disk pouring through the enlarged hole blinded the three men who entered the dingy cell, glittering off the raised barrels of their guns. He was an ideal target, silhouetted against the light. But then he did something none of them expected. He threw himself out of the hole.
Ineffectually the guns barked, and the next few seconds were a mass of confusion and panicked shouting as the horribly mangled pieces barely recognizable as human were discovered and the echoes of the gunshots drowned out the shouts of the leading officer. Finally they regained their heads, and rushed out to look through the hole…only to see some very puzzled and frightened passers-by, and a pristine sidewalk. There was no sign of the man anywhere.
Because they didn't look up.
He was flying…it was glorious. The feel of the wind whipping against his body, the sheer power of it all…it intoxicated him, made him dizzy. He stared at his demonic body, discovered in a fit of furious rage that had brought adrenaline surging through his veins, all the anguish and bitterness of finding his mother dead compressed in a single instant that had brought the demon out.
Oh, how he reveled in it…
"You poor, ignorant souls," Vergil told the multitudes below him, gloating, knowing in that moment that he was more powerful than them. "Scurrying around, making love, waging war, working, in that eternally clockwise life of yours as if all of that holds any meaning. Ignorant of the larger power all around you…" He surveyed his extended claws and smiled. And then anything that was left of who he had been passed, completely, into what he would become.
The burning sun slid below the horizon, and the lights in the city flickered to life, dot of light in the darkness, a reflection of the night sky above strung with stars. Vergil continued to muse, almost unconsciously. When he got into a 'pontificating mood', as Dante had laughingly told him once, (such a long time ago!) there was no stopping him.
"Denying the darkness, all around you…trying to drive it back with your candles and lamps." Vergil stared at the city with blazing eyes as he flew leisurely, barely skimming the roofs of the houses. And if anybody saw him, they put it down to the case of overworked nerves, overexcited imagination, fear of the night…it was amazing how many excuses the humans invented to convince themselves that the netherworld didn't exist. It was there, teeming with life, below their feet and in the abandoned alleys. On North Street a girl was being eaten, trying to scream as she died through a torn throat. East of the library a man summoned dark magicks that resonated through the night and Vergil's soul. All this and more his demonic senses told him. And it excited him.
He wanted to be part of that world.
"You were wrong, Father," he whispered to himself, as he headed to the place where he lived. "You thought the demons were the villains…but they weren't." A bitter grimace peeled the half-demon's black lips away from sharp white teeth.
"It was the humans…all along…"
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Vergil was in sight of the house when they attacked.
Part of the night themselves, waking shadows, Vergil was only aware of their presence when a cold sensation, like ice water poured on him, slid up his body, and was immediately followed by intense pain that rocked him. Gasping, he tore away. Blood trickled from his shoulder, but he didn't have time to examine the wound as more pain wracked him. This time bleeding from a neck wound, Vergil's first thought was fear.
Then anger.
Vergil scanned the skies, his anger molding him into a ball of bunched muscle. Whoever doing this…would pay. They had no idea whom they were dealing with. Despite his instincts screaming at him to flee, he held still, waiting.
A flicker of motion, to his right. Vergil spun, his clawed hand reaching out…into something, barely tangible, and cold. The freezing sensation spread up his arm, but Vergil ignored it, keeping his purpose first and foremost in his mind. Then his claws found flesh. Malleable, slightly sticky. But best, real, solid.
He began to squeeze.
There was a sharp squeal of pain—heard not by Vergil's ears, but his mind. Before he even realized what he was doing, his eyes registered another flash of movement and his arm was swinging, and the second creature dove straight into the body of its companion. There was a sickening thud, then teeth sunk into the skin of the hand holding the creature. Vergil did not lose his grip, or his head. He opened his mouth, and his fangs flashed, long and silver, in the moonlight as he inclined his head.
And met flesh.
There was a RIIIIP sound that thrilled Vergil's senses as the meat in his jaws tore easily. He pulled his head away, spat out the thing in his mouth. Demon blood, black and cool and smooth like velvet, stained his lips and pooled in his mouth. He licked them with a black tongue.
A weak cry of agony, and the teeth slid out of his hand. He caught the retreating creature in the other. And thought.
He had known that he was more powerful than the humans. But it had not occurred to him—that he might best the demons and devils of the underworld as well. As he held the two weakly struggling demons in his claws, he felt a thrill. He could do this! Lead the demons, lick them into shape, send them on a grand crusade that would remove every human from the face of the earth. He remembered the news, the histories of every petty and meaningless war the humans had caused. Hiroshima. Pollution. Global warming. Murders, rapes, suicide.
"Is this the glorious world you envisioned, Father?" he asked the long-dead spirit of his father now. "Don't worry…I'll save it for you."
Vergil tightened his grip. There was an explosion of blood, and the two minor demons went limp and flaccid. He tossed them away…but not before they abruptly dissolved into stinging mist that burned his eyes and skin. He howled in pain, even as he lurched blindly towards his house, and his fading eyes registered a window before he dived through and lost his senses in a shattering of glass shards.
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"I thought so," Dante said quietly. There was no trace of surprise in his expression, just a stone cold regret.
"Glad you finally used your brain for once," Vergil said coldly.
Dante looked at his brother. The stress of the past few hours sent his mind reeling, his heart in turmoil. But one thing was very clear to him.
First he asked. He had to know, if there was anything left of his big brother, or he would never forgive himself. He took a deep breath.
"What are you going to do now?"
It was a loaded question. More than it seemed. Vergil's eyes flickered; he knew Dante's meaning. "Take a bath," he said flippantly.
Dante's eyes bored into his brother's. "That's not what I meant, Verg…Vergil." The old nickname no longer seemed appropriate for the hunched, blood-splattered man before him, eyes filled with shadows and death.
Vergil sighed. A soft sound, like the wind passing. His expression softened a little, as though he could see all of Dante's thoughts written on his face like a book. And he probably could. The bond wrought by the blood of brothers could not be thrown aside that easily. Not even by hatred…and there was plenty of it, Dante was beginning to find, stamped in Vergil's expression the day after Eva had died; in the pit of his own stomach, twisting his guts…
"Stop it, Dante," Vergil said almost gently. "There's nothing you can do for me now."
And Dante knew, with a sickening feeling, that Vergil was right.
…So he stopped trying.
"I guess…" he said slowly, "there's only one thing left to do now." The blade virtually seemed to leap into his hand as he swung it to graze his brother's throat. Dante had snatched Rebellion from his room earlier, never dreaming that he would have to use it against Vergil.
"Are you going to kill me, Dante?" Vergil was smiling at him, a blank, empty smile that was horrible to see. He was making no move to escape, or resist; just sat there, his cold, cold eyes fixed on Dante's face.
Dante swallowed. "Yes," he said clearly. "You're just like the rest of them now."
Vergil's smile twisted into a smirk. "And for that I'm glad, Dante," he sneered. "I wish to have nothing to do with the humans that are destroying this world. You may defend your precious humans all you wish, my brother, but you can't deny that fact."
"Our mother was human!" Dante shouted, Rebellion wavering dangerously in his hand, and cutting fine red lines into Vergil's skin. Almost desperately, he sought Vergil's eyes, looking for…what? Some flicker of the person Vergil had been? He really, really, didn't want to do this…
"She died," Vergil said simply. "Betrayed by her own race."
Dante's lips flattened. "Not everyone is like that." He thought of Hermissa, Jeremy, his classmates. "Goodbye, Vergil." He thrust.
Several things happened simultaneously. Vergil gripped the blade, and crimson rivers meandered down his wrists and arms as he violently propelled himself backward. Rebellion, its edges stained red, shot forward over Vergil's head. At the same time, the half-demon's hand shot outwards, and Yamato arced into its master's grasp. As Dante regained his control and resettled into a fighting pose, Vergil rolled to his feet, his face white with pain.
"You don't understand, do you?" Vergil asked, his voice soft, almost pitying. "I won't let anyone get in the way of my vision. Not even you." He cut at Dante with a flurry of strokes, forcing him to back away. Vergil had always been the better swordsman…still, Dante eyed the numerous wounds on Vergil's person, and the deep cuts scarring his palms, the profound exhaustion underscoring Vergil's stance, and realized that he might have a chance. Vergil, too, knew that he had to end the fight fast before he tired beyond battling capacity. His wounds were healing far too slowly for his liking; despite Dante's many faults, he was a decent fighter, and might best him.
And he couldn't allow that.
"You've already avenged Eva's death," Dante told him, sidestepping a particularly vicious stroke. "Do you have to kill the entire population of humans to sate your thirst for vengeance?"
"It has nothing to do with our mother anymore," Vergil spat, cutting at Dante's knees. Dante leaped over Yamato's flashing blade and kicked at Vergil's hand. It sent a tremor of pain through his slashed hand, but Vergil was able to retain his grip on the tachi sword. "Her death showed me the true nature of the humans, and the way."
"Was Father fooled, too?" Dante asked angrily.
Vergil shrugged. "Whatever the case might be, I will complete his work for him," he said, staring at Dante with his pale eyes, and for the first time Dante identified insanity in them. "I will be my father's son, while you—" he snarled out the word contemptuously, " will be the son that did nothing."
Anger became cold rage. It burned through Dante, but it did not fog, instead sharpening. Dante charged at Vergil, and surprise registered in his twin's cold eyes just before he swung the tachi up to meet Rebellion. For a moment, they stood, locked, gazing at each other through the crossed blades.
"No," Dante said quietly, "I'll be the one who saved the world from a misguided soul. You." The words sank in, and Vergil's face hardened. Before he could say anything, however, Dante planted his feet, and shoved.
In prime form, Dante would never have hoped to defeat Vergil with a significant amount of luck. This time, Vergil was tired, bleeding, and unstable. Vergil lost his balance, and his boots made a screeching noise as they scrabbled for purchase on the bloodstained floor. Instinctively, Vergil's attention turned to regaining his balance rather than his foe, and he threw his hand out.
Dante struck again. The momentum of his charge sent Vergil careening backwards, the edge of his boot sliding backwards until it touched the wall. His back hit the remnants of the broken window—and then, empty air. Vergil's eyes caught Dante's, and Yamato sang through the air as it snagged Dante's belt with incredible precision. Without a moment's delay, Dante found himself en route to the ground floor along with his brother.
They slammed into the ground in a tangle of limbs, their blades flying from their hands and spinning aimlessly through the dust. Without hesitation Dante jerked his head upwards and had the satisfaction of hearing Vergil's gasp of pain as his nose shattered. The older twin located his hands and threw his brother bodily away. Dante winced as he hit the hard surface for the second time, causing his bruised body to scream in protest. Instinct saved him; a cool breeze on his right cheek caused him to quickly roll to the left. Yamato sank into the earth where he had lain a half second later.
"Damn you! Why can't you leave me alone?" Vergil hissed.
"Uh uh. No can do." Dante regained his feet, and spotted Rebellion, shining dully in the dark. Unfortunately Vergil was between him and the sword. The older twin seemed to realize this, and deliberately kept himself in the middle when Dante tried to edge to the right. He looked less than Vergil Sparda than ever, his handsome features distorted by cold anger and the broken nose, his hair and clothes stained with demon guts and human blood.
"Right," Vergil said, musing. "That's not your nature." For a moment he almost smiled. "You always did like to annoy me, didn't you."
"Still do, Verg, still do," Dante corrected, almost forgetting that he was locked in mortal combat with his brother, and falling back into easy banter easily, so easily, that he wondered why it had to be this way. Then Vergil's nostalgic smile faded, and the darkness surged back in a torrent.
And. That was why.
Dante looked around wildly. The backyard of the house was all stone and no cover; nothing in sight he could use to defend himself. And Rebellion…
Vergil charged, arrogance stamping itself onto his features in anticipation of an easy victory against his unarmed brother. Adrenaline surged through Dante like a wave, and a single crazed thought ripped through his mind, COME HERE, DAMN YOU!
It was the one discipline Dante had never been able to master; summoning his sword. Vergil had learnt that relatively early, but Dante had never understood exactly what his father had meant when he said to treat one's weapon like a piece of one's soul; that summoning it was like asking a portion of yourself to come back and reunify with the rest, a natural and instinctive impulse. Then Sparda had died, and there was no one to teach him…
I need you. Return to me.
Dante grew calm, his thoughts settled in the face of Death. And for a moment he thought he saw, in his mind's eye, a girl, with wild black hair, an ankh around her neck. She held his hands, and said, "No. Now is not your time…"
He was back, and Rebellion outstretched in his hands, and surprise and horror in Vergil's eyes. Unable to stop, Vergil impaled himself on the blade even as, with his last strength, he swept Yamato at Dante. It came within an inch of his throat, and sliced into his chin. Shocked, he released Rebellion. Vergil sank to the ground, the massive sword buried to its hilt in his chest. He went still.
Dimly, Dante noted that the eyes of the skull adorning Rebellion's hilt burned red. But even as the thought crossed his mind, the glow faded.
It was over.
Dante took a few staggering steps away from his brother's corpse, and then collapsed. He brushed sweaty hair from his eyes, and the cut on his chin stung where salty perspiration dribbled into it. Exhaustion bled into his bones, he could barely move. Intense pain that had nothing to do with his stretched muscles and numerous buts filled him, weighed him down with lethargy.
Then Vergil moved.
Dante blinked again, certain he was seeing things. But no…Vergil straightened, dark liquid trickling from his lips. He grasped hold of Rebellion's hilt and pulled. It came out with a wet squelching sound, grating agonizingly against tendon and bone. He screamed as he dropped it to the ground, then scaled wings sprouted out of Vergil's back. The older twin swung his head to stare unerringly at Dante, and he saw that his face had become that of a skull's.
I'm a goner.
Then, the demon stumbled. Its black lips twisted in an expression Dante couldn't read. It fell to its knees, then lurched upwards again. Grabbed Yamato, turned its face towards the sky. Still dark, but a brighter blue at the fringes of the night…
It spread its wings, and flying awkwardly, left him lying, hurt and alone, in the backyard. Leaving him wishing that he were dead. He closed his eyes, and everything was just a greater blackness.
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Author's Ending Note: 17/10/05: Whew! Glad that this chapter is over and done with. As you can tell, it contains practically every single thing I used to build the premise for this story upon: Vergil's reasoning in reviving Temen-ni-gru, my interpretation of Dante's words ("No matter how hard you try, you'll never be like Father."). And of course, a big fight between the two brothers. I didn't really like this chapter though. I think I turned up the angst a notch too high here. Whadya guys think? So far, I think that Playing With Fire was my favorite. Anyway, see you next chapter.
Added 18/10/05: Oh yeah, the 'girl with the wild black hair' Dante saw was Death of the Endless and a reference to Mr. Gaiman's great comic series 'The Sandman'.
COMING SOON (I hope): CHAPTER SEVEN—PICKING UP THE PIECES
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