Title:
Personal Hell
Author:
Britani Gael (sterlingsylver at lj)
Fandom:
Devil May Cry
Theme:
#36; Hell
Characters:
Vergil
Rating:
PG
Word
Count: 245
Author's
Notes: I like this one less than the one before. Ah, well, I
have ninety-eight to go, I've got plenty of time to nail Vergil
better.
Thanks Hester, Bustahead, Devil Sunday, and Sylla for the reviews!
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He thought he'd been defeated by Dante. He'd been wrong.
Defeat felt like this.
Defeat felt like having all the bones in both legs shattered, it felt like rivers of blood rushing out between his lips, it felt like the crushing terror of knowing he was fighting an enemy he could not beat.
It felt like having the Yamato pried from his fingers.
It felt like death without dying.
The battle had long ceased, and he was still fighting. He was fighting to breathe and fighting to live – without his demonic blood he'd be dead so many times already, and for the first time in his life his curse was doing him no favors. He'd been in this place for hours, weeks, days, minutes?
This was his father's home.
He did not belong.
He was too weak to survive.
And it wasn't his blood, it was his damnable pride that was never going to let him die.
"When are…" It hurt to talk, it was agony dragging words through his ruined throat. "When are you going to… Kill me…"
He wondered if he was still conscious. He didn't know, he couldn't see, he couldn't tell. But even when he wasn't awake, even with his ears torn off and left to grow again, even with his brain numbed from the torture, he could still hear the response.
Maybe it was only in his mind.
—When you beg me to.
Because he'd known it, already, anyway.
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