Chapter 8 - Mister Sandman
Vergil sat on a bench.
Patty was resting her head on his leg for a brief nap. She was fast asleep. Sweet little girl. There was seldom a moment in which she did not appear cute as an average button to the slayer's darkened mind, somehow penetrating the years of his destitute youth with her own puckish charms. It was that childlike mirth which so captivated his near-parental fascination. He soon grew to become drowsy himself, head hurting and mind adrift.
Vergil's thoughts found themselves on foreign shores, looking elsewhere than now.
...
Small child wandering the demon world; bereft of love or familial protection.
Fear and dread engulfed every thought.
Anatomy repaired itself without care to excessive damage; humanity wasting.
No Father. No Mother. Not even that stubborn bastard.
...
"The past!" he whispered panic, calming himself with a reassuring re-utterance, "That was the past. They fear me now."
However, his eyes caught the sight of a woman.
The prostitute.
"Hey, babe."
He gave a signature slagged scoff.
"What in Sparda's name," he trailed off, angered by her presence.
"Sparda. Handsome devil, he was. But I want you," she replied.
His left eyebrow rose. "Excuse me?"
The woman was roughly thirty paces away; had to have been with how vile she was, the miasma from her flesh strong enough to murder the strongest of cattle; and yet suddenly, she appeared to walk across his depth of field, proclaiming her foot right beside him and then so too her entire person, taking one step to stand right above his skeptical eyes. She knelt down over his lap and ran her hand up the length of his inner thigh, grasping the phallic prize she sought.
He immediately seized her wrist and pulled her arm away.
"Do not touch me, whore," he snapped.
Patty's head rested but a few inches away.
"And just who do you think you are to refuse me? Devil's sin. So sin, maggot," she barked.
Her eyes bled, droplets first, then soon coming in powerful streams. Irises glowed a spectral orange. She thrust her palm to his throat, holding his head back. He choked, suddenly unable to reach her as her arm elongated and her body moved a million miles away. Or did he? He couldn't tell, zipping through spacetime as reality stretched, pressured by unseen forces, demonic forces he was certain.
There he hung, above a chasm of nothing. And he felt the urge to scream.
"Useless being," he heard a familiar voice boom in his ears.
The red soul's blue eyes shot open.
Just a dream . . . A nightmare. A nightmare.
He rubbed his lids and massaged his aching forehead. Next to him, Patty still slept. Gently, he nudged the girl's rosy cheek.
"Hey, hey. Wake up," his voice was soft.
Patty frowned and pushed his hand away.
"Mmmm-just five more minutes . . ." she mumbled.
He rolled his eyes and forced her up, propping her with one hand into a standing position.
"The sun isn't even out yet," she sleepily stumbled.
Vergil didn't waste any time. He simply couldn't.
There was a cold shift in the air that made his blood run cold. Something so familiar, the familiar taste of poisonous fear. He took off sprinting, dragging Patty with him over his shoulder onto the sidewalk, behind wooden paneling put out for construction. Evil was in the air, all around the slayer. Above them, a steel walkway shielded their fair heads. Measly protection such as this would do no good.
"Whoa! S-slow down a bit!" she said.
Well, she was awake now.
She realized quickly the slayer was much more awake than she, as wide awake as someone needed to be. The only time she witnessed such alert in an individual seemed to be when danger was near. Patty gulped. She could swear he was as sound asleep as she was not too long ago. Vergil's eyes looked tense, filled with concern, sharply pointed in many directions. Senses powered to new heights, heights he thought himself not yet capable of in such a state of elongated weakness. He knew what was about to come. Hopefully, the child would have the stomach to survive it. The girl's vision became clouded by something. Amid their sprint, something began closing in on them.
A fog or a shadow. A cloud of smog was the block within her view.
She brought herself closer to 'Dante's' side, terrified, overpowering all in her way.
"It's alright. You're alright." She heard his voice comfort her. "Fear is your superpower, remember."
Patty let the words play in her mind for a moment.
So she tried her best to toughen up.
However, her tiny courage wasn't enough.
From an imperceptible void, nowhere, she felt a rough substance wrap itself 'round her leg and drag her back, away from the scarlet slayer; nowhere at all did she recognize but a blackness that swallowed her eyes whole. It happened so quickly, almost instantaneously. Such an evil feeling in the air, as though the life of time itself became stripped of the flesh and left outside the universe to rot, put to death by the hands of a demonic God not of this world. Helpless screams ripped through her dry throat as she tumbled forth, incapable of seeing, still running. Her sweet little hands reached out for anything, anything at all that they could find. Nothing. Tiny knees hit unseen flooring, and Patty rolled on her side, but managed not to scrape her knee. Strange. She knew she hit a floor. Once the rush had ceased itself in her ears, there became only silence, wherever she was.
Defiantly, she stood. Patty was not to be defeated by gravity or blindness.
She opened her eyes, believing she'd merely tripped after shutting them and had gotten lucky in evading a nasty scrape.
Yet still only nothing.
No light, no Dante.
Her breath pulled back in her throat.
She had fainted; even so, all consciousness had not gone, for she wouldn't admit it, but there was hope that perhaps this was a dream. It simply felt too real. That was the trouble. What of it there remained, she couldn't define. What her mind told her could not make sense. It was certainly similar to a deep sleep, yet she knew she must be awake with a pinch of her wrist. Pain was hard to fool. Everything around her she could feel.
If that made any sense, anyway.
"Dante?" she called out to him. "Where did you go?"
An echo of laughter startled her on the spot wherever she was standing. Trying to walk, her shoes touched the edges of a glass mirror growing on the floor. Once her eyes had found it, there in the reflection was Dante. But . . . he was different. The deathly grip of evil had seized hold of him and twisted his mind, perverted his flesh, torn his body apart and stitched it back together, not knowing the dire consequence of such surgery. That smile. That smile was the most disturbing, horrid thing she'd ever seen; an emaciated eagle eager to pounce and feast upon her quivering heart. His sunken cheeks graduated from razors to saw blades as the fat wasted away, twisted up by jagged teeth such that he resembled a comical Harlequin's mask, pale face enjoying mirth from desolation and death.
"D—Dante?" she whispered and placed her hand on her chest.
"Hehehehmmm," he cackled, crooked. "Poor mistreated you. You're just an afterbirth, Patty, I'm so sorry," it hissed, "You're going to die here. You will pass from life by my hand, child. In this world, nobody wants you."
"Wha—What happened to your face!?" she exclaimed, her fear ignoring such horrid statements.
"This?" he said, regarding his twisted appearance. "The thought of taking my blade to your throat gave me so many happy thoughts, my face just," he paused, "stayed like this."
He spoke so differently, acted almost as though he were an entirely separate person from the one she knew.
Was it really Dante?
Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes, even if it wasn't true.
"Why did you say that?" her voice almost broke.
Dante cocked his head to the side slightly.
"Oh, no tears, please. It's more a waste than you already are yourself. You don't even realize, do you? You believe yourself to be better than the other snot-nosed brats, you truly are a spoiled dog that deserves to be put down. Your own mother rejected you because she hated you. Thankless little bitch, it's your fate to die by my hand. I'll scrape the flesh from your bones!"
(*.*.*)
Through a crimson shift, he arrived inside the building. The place looked like a normal construction site, converted by unknown hands to an old, abandoned church. It was dimly lit by several dusty candelabras, spiders making it their home. Cobwebs. Brilliant. Upon an alter, hanging high pulsed an embryo truly alien in form. 'Twas a soma, an enlarged cell wall filled with red light. Suspended in it by some kind of magic hovered the chosen child, Patty. Her golden hair was gently floating, as though beneath the ocean's tides. She was motionless, almost sleeping peacefully, had it not been for the pain on her soured face. Something was tensed behind those closed eyes.
"Just hold on," he told her. "I'm here."
Vergil took a solitary step forward but blew back against wind; black, beating wings filled the air. The demon revealed itself to him, descending from darkness next to its prize. The small girl was so helpless. The creature was one he recognized, those stygian wings black as a raven, body built for destruction and abuse, wide and thick in muscle, leather armor of an embittered warrior adorning its broad, broad self, with the grace of a nimble speaker, a philosopher; perhaps what it might've been once upon a time. Upon its turgid shoulders sat the head of a horned-gargoyle sadistically glared at him.
The creature grinned madly and murmured to itself, "Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the lord my soul to keep. Give unto me the word you die before you wake, then pray the lord your soul that I take.
"Off to Never Neverland," it began. "Hello, boy."
"Ulmarag," Vergil spit the name. The Sandman.
"Yes, boy. Say it again."
"No."
"The same old Dante,"
"What do you want with her?"
"So . . . you do care for this flatworm. I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost that old spark in your step. Weakness, boy. Weakness. But, at the very least, you're here, Dante." Its words were almost sarcastic, coated in warm honey by a deep, smoke-addled voice, the monstrous tonality of hell's fallen angels. "Like what I've done with the place? Or are you here to question me once more about your dear brother?"
The man stiffened up when he heard himself invoked. The demon crossed its arms and laughed.
"I told you I buried him in a hole of fear a long time ago. You should've listened to his tiny cries, calling for mother! Aahh . . . It brought me soooo much pleasure. Especially when I told him that mommy had abandoned poor little Dante. The look on poor Vergilius's face. He was a pathetic little worm, more pathetic than you. Feel proud at the very least you never shed a tear such as he."
It revealed a forked tongue, which flicked out and rattled like a snake's. Across its chest coiled its gothic battle armor; a tunic of leather and small-sized skulls woven in. Likely children. Two black spikes decorated its bulbous chin, and those red eyes mocked him as ever, vaulted face knowing in every choice of word. Black leather armor adorned its forearms and lower legs, ending in an attached spike at the knees. Everywhere else was bare, showing diseased, sallow-brown skin. It spoke so confidently, the creature a horrid undead thing of masculine perversion and twilit pain.
Vergil remained silent, unsure what to make of the revelation it had laid bare for him.
Dante sought revenge on his behalf.
Stubborn . . .
"There's no use, Dante," the demon continued. "Killing me wouldn't wash away your guilt. Vergil will always hold it against you. You weren't there for him."
There came again the feeling in his chest. Choking him, corroding . . .
"You've wrapped Patty in one of your eggs. What's your motivation, eh?" Vergil said.
"Why don't you come find out, boy!" mocked Ulmarag. "But don't expect me to be as easy on you."
Vergil wouldn't want it any other way. He would gladly slay the beast, if not for Patty, then for himself.
It dared to hurt him; it dared to torment him; when he was just a boy; now again, as a man.
"I guess you're next on my list. Let's go," he said, monotone.
He flexed his right arm, his hand lurching back. Vergil's face became set in its ways, hard and concrete, daring the gargoyle-creature to make the first move, which it gladly did. But it didn't take that route, he thought. Rather, instead, it flew upward towards Patty. The dark slayer immediately rushed toward it, launching himself fist-first. Ulmarag swooped around the egg's orbit, and the slayer missed a diversion. Down came its arm, slamming Vergil's midriff with metal coiled claws. Crashing to the ground, the man left a depression in the concrete as it crumbled.
Kipping-up, he returned to his feet, but was sluggish on the draw, and the demon pummelled him with a barrage of fists.
Trapping hands became the four-wall defense of his choice, and well-placed elbow counters absorbed damage efficiently, weakening the assault's early ferocity, catching the beast off guard. He singularly focused on the creature's rudimentary patterns, noting it couldn't seem to attack in anything but a straight line, and he caught a left-handed haymaker that went wild, pulling himself around and striking it across the face with a vicious right hook.
It didn't work.
Though he exposed a weak point in the monster's offense, when he struck, it was unaffected. It spiralled upwards, wings unfurling and batting away the slayer unexpectedly.
"Do you think I've forgotten, boy!?" it said as he thrashed into the statue of Christ.
He tumbled a bit, shocked, though no worse for wear.
"I won't forgive our last meeting," it said, feet resting on the ground as it regarded a vicious scar across the right side of its face. "Unlike others, I am no coward, son of Sparda."
Arrogant. Probably because it held the upper hand. For now.
Vergil hated that. He realized now; the Beast had a longer history with Dante than he presumed.
It flew forward at him before he could summon his blade and grasped him by his throat.
"Where are those toys you call gauntlets? Beowulf was a great warrior. You? Are an exercise," the beast declared, snarling in his face with those blackened teeth.
He kicked himself. 'I knew I should have grabbed that infernal Ifrit.'
So, he resolved to prove it wrong.
Vergil channeled his father's devil and punched its hand-wrapped knuckles. A crimson fire burst out from the point of impact. The pressure created a sickening crunch within the beast's wrist. It shouted in pain. That was unexpected. And so it tried for another haymaker, bringing the rejected fist back. He ducked beneath it, sidestepping the demon as he darted from its horizontal swipe. The strokes looked powerful, but they were slow. Everything those enormous arms touched turned to debris.
The thing would squash a normal human in his place to the pavement.
Reaching for its backside, Vergil rammed a powerful, savage elbow into the small of its back.
The creature's whole body shifted forward, spasming in pain for a few seconds as it roared.
A small trickle of scarlet dripped from the welt. Enraged, Ulmarag shot back, launching a backhanded swing. It dozed the young slayer on his chin, knocking him off his feet. He crashed against a pew and rocked back to his feet using the tilting bench's momentum. The beast rose a few feet above the ground on its black wings and thrust its claws forward in a flash of light. The air flashed orange around him and glistered spectral hues of fire. The man looked to see his foe.
Ulmarag spat from nowhere, "Time to face my wrath, boy."
Through the light, figures formed before him. Slowly, the people of Dante's life appeared, and eventually, the floor became engulfed with shadows. First his mother, despairing for his aid. The figure of his father came next, looking at him choleric. And the third one was his own doppelganger, bizarrely enough. Blue clothes and all.
"Help me!" Eva cried, falling to her knees. "Please!"
"You are nothing without me," Sparda spoke, taking steps forward. "How dare you stand where I stood. You left your own brother to die! You will pay for it, I promise you!"
His own doppelganger came forward.
"I loved you Dante. I wanted us to be a dynamic duo. Unstoppable. I wanted you to be safe with me."
Vergil took a step back, utterly confused. Ulmarag really had no clue how to imitate his speech patterns.
Dynamic duo? What was that? No wonder Dante could fight against this monster's mind games.
"How did you repay me? You killed me," it said.
Well, that was closer, he supposed.
Vergil thought about what the doppelganger said for a moment. Were these his own words, is this what he really felt? No, he felt his father would probably be disappointed or proud, depending which thought process he subscribed to. His mother was far more than just a whimpering, useless woman. This had to have been Dante's guilt, manifested to life, not his own. Viewing them as inferior beings, the slayer walked past them with little thought to their words. Each one of them malformed, trying to pin him down. Their eyes grew as big as saucers; hysterical. Their mouths twisted into impossible grins, and their hands grew talons, and they used them to maul.
He lost track of Sparda, and it sliced him up through the collarbone.
He staggered back, grasping his shoulder.
Ulmarag, watching from afar, gave an excited laugh and pumped its arm enthusiastically.
The slayer took a breath, and as they forced him to the ground, his own twisted self pushed his head against into the floor, clasping its aberrant paw around his face. His fists tightened, his eyes glowed crimson, and his teeth grit themselves. With a yell, an explosion of molten energy surged outward, killing pain. The clones disintegrated, breaking apart back to dust. Ulmarag grumbled and swooped back into the fray.
It had advantages in both height and weight, but Vergil was no slowpoke. His speed and agility outranked the tormentor.
They traded blows; the entity refused to let him get away. Vergil knew Ulmarag wouldn't go down easy. He threw out a punch, and their fists collided.
A burst of negative emotion shuddered through the drywalls. It shrieked in surprise as the slayer's fist sent damage traveling up its entire arm.
Glowing red from the cracks formed, the demon clutched the limb and stumbled back.
Howling at him, it swept its hand and became hidden behind a wall of shadow.
New clones materialized. They lunged for his weak points, scratching, biting, then snagging, scraping, and manhandling. His doppelganger slashed open the back of his leg, forcing him onto one knee. Infernal thing it was, it thumped him across the face, but he showed no reaction. It tried again, but Vergil caught the wrist. His wound healed, closing up, and he stood eye to eye. No, these cracked reflections would not best him, not again.
In a rage, he punched a hole through through its left eye, leaving it to wrangle backward in pain. His mother charged at him, screaming like a banshee. He dodged a downward slug and shot his knee into her stomach. It sputtered, suspended in air. Moving like a bullet, he seized that false mane of hair, and threshed her in whirlwind till hurling her at the brute's hiding spot. The copy shattered into razor-pointed shards, lacerating Ulmarag's face mightily awful.
It screeched. Not so smart now, huh? Couldn't see that one coming.
"You little bastard!" it heaved at him.
Sparda came. The two clashed together, locking fingers in a power struggle. Purple energy erupted from them, the illusion possessing greater power than any of the others. But still just an illusion. Sparda seemed to dominate the slayer, overwhelming his son with sheer force.
"You dare hurt your mother!? You pathetic worm!"
Vergil's eyes glowed, and Sparda's eyes betrayed him: fear.
"And you aren't good enough to wear that face," he replied.
He readjusted his grip, clasping through its clawed fingers onto its knuckles, digging his fingers in. He stood easily, measured in pace. The construct twisted with fright. He twisted his hands forward, placing more and more pressure on the entity's wrists.
Slowly but surely. Crack.
Both Sparda's joints snapped like twigs.
'Dante's' eyes glistered hostility.
The clone fell on its knees, shaking.
Looking up at him, it met Vergil's merciless gaze.
"Begone," the man barked, grabbing both sides of its head. He compressed the skull inwardly, crushing it to dust.
He grasped the disintegrating body and launched it by the lapel behind him, eyes of spite consuming him, and it, too, collided with its encroaching master.
Ulmarag had attempted to get the better of him from behind. The body broke against it, slicing through the tendons in its legs and blinding it.
"Aaah!" the beast cried, and came to a steady halt, tumbling on the ground toward him.
Vergil grabbed its arm and leg mid spin, and traveled with it. When it had turned sideways, he placed his knee before him and plunged down to the ground. Ulmarag hit the floor, the ribcage splintering inside beneath the slayer's weight. Hip dislocated, as did its left shoulder-blade. The man let go, batted away by the creature's oversized pinions. They carried the injured savage back to the cool shadow, seeking to bide time.
His back turned, his own clone assaulted him, tackling atop his back and shoulders to force him off-balance. The thing had recovered, still held together by mere strands.
It wrapped its arms around his neck, driving him to the ground.
This pitiful manifestation tried so desperately to choke the life from the slayer, but the true Vergil rammed the hollow gut with his elbow. It disintegrated into unreality.
"I will crush your bones beneath my nightmares, Dante! You think I'd take such a beating this easily? You mock me without your father's blade, child!" Its smoother qualities disappeared, revealing a disheveled, rusted-out growl.
The creature sounded like gravel being set on fire. How wonderful.
With that, he had enough. Vergil summoned Yamato.
He held the blade at this side in anticipation, hidden from sight. Gathering the power within the sheath, he waited for the right moment. A cobalt shine cut through the bleak fog. Judgment cut, a power nothing but the smallest atoms could escape from. The man held the blade, pouring within it his hate. In an instant, he released a vortex of azure energy, and forever banished the darkness, ripping apart the candelabras and the other church apparel.
Before him, the demon revealed.
He lunged forth, speeding off the ground, and brought with him a sonic slash.
The cut stung, sending a spray of blood into the air, as well as a few white lights. Ulmarag's glaring eyes missed the sight.
"Your soul will be mine, Dante!" it brayed, flying forward, twisting around to gain momentum. It foisted a power-infused slug at his frostbitten mug.
Its fist became diverted to the side, caught by a vigilant Yamato.
"I'm. Not. Dante," he growled, eyes shimmering scarlet.
It retreated a step, returning its feet to the ground. Eyelids widening. That blade.
"What!? No," it began. "No! That blade . . . those eyes . . . How!?" it stumbled, terrified.
Vergil strode carelessly forward, consumed with hatred.
"Because I despise you," he answered, his aura growing larger by the second. The demon's thick fingers coiled into fists once more.
Brawn overcoming cowardice, it growled and snivelled at the old victim returned, diving at the man; dismemberment in mind. It met a salvo of summoned swords, piercing its armor through to its thick hide, and bellowed with rage. With malice in his heart and madness in his palms, the slayer flexed his fingers and the spectral blades shattered in caustic explosions. The beast felt torn, stabbed by life to oblivion, bouncing around like a ball within a sadistic machine.
It survived, holding itself together somehow.
Recovering, it rushed toward him and grabbed his throat, lifting the man off the ground. Hot electricity crackled at its grip, shunting through his neck and sending him into seizure. He felt himself growing weaker and weaker. This old technique. His demonic energy stolen through siphon. In a spiteful thrash, he yelled, and Yamato fluxed. A bright and unflinching wave of violet murder pulsed from the edge as he brought it up for a slash. The force broke Ulmarag's hold in an instant. Its stomach tore open. The strike burnt through its armor. Any advantage it might've once held became lost. Ulmarag stepped back, squirming as various lipid-covered veins exposed their nerves to the open air.
Enraged and driven to psychosis, Ulmarag roared and summoned from within hellfire.
It cauterized the wounds, foremost. Despite the hurting being far worse than anything it ever knew, the tactic brought strange immediate relief. Through suffered breath's, its face clenched and became afflicted by dark tendrils of unlife's power.
Vergil fell to the ground on his knees, somewhat stunned, holding his throat.
He always hated that one. It kept him weak, made him incapable of escape. Just like the Sandman loved.
'Come on. You are stronger than this. You're above this lowly pain.'
He shamed himself.
Ulmarag smashed its fist across the face. Broke him from concentration. Metal wires had emerged from its skin and wrapped around its knuckles. Hurt that much more. It knocked Vergil off balance, and it followed with a welt to his stomach, ramming the reinforced duke as far as it could. He sailed back into the wood pews on the side. They came apart easily against the velocity of his weight, fragmenting. Yamato worked furiously to aid the man in regaining his composure. A sudden burst of power cascaded through him. His eyes blazed a furious vermillion. The blade surged again, clearing the debris away. Curious, he knew not where this strength came from. Vergil pushed himself to his feet. He drove forward, Yamato coated in silvery-violet energy.
He met Ulmarag head on.
Slashing downward, he cut through the front of the demon's leg, leaving a giant gash below the ocher-trojan-kilt.
The monster pushed the man back, raven wings carrying it high to the ceiling. A black aura emanated from it. The shadows of the place cried out to the beast, the entity trying to leech them for new strength. But Vergil was faster. The Cambion embraced his darker half and caught them all one by one, overpowering the demon's pull with his own. Oh, how they felt welcoming, the cool shade rejuvenating the marrow deep within his thick bones. He'd lived in the dark for a long time. The umbra obeyed him; respected his stygian spirit.
And the air trembled with an unseen force.
"You ruinous half-ling, I should have killed you when I had the chance!" hollered the brute from above. It charged down.
Vergil flipped himself backwards with routine hops, placing distance between them and baiting the beast with renewed zeal. Led the thing on far away from the girl. It proved fruitful; the beast followed out to the edge of the unfinished building, thrashing through stacked pipes and carts with equipment. There were no walls here. Then, the man did something it didn't expect. He jumped. Wrought with rage, the Sandman vowed it would not let the boy escape its grasp again. It tore after him, speeding along, clawing at him.
Vergil smiled back at his pursuer.
A tainted scarlet erupted from the man's body, and soon it changed. He released the beast within. The Majin. Ulmarag lurched back, horrified by the change. Body broke, bones shifting, ligaments realigning to more efficient use and size, humanity wasted away, physique contorting to become something wholly inhuman to match the creature he so despised, and soon grew larger. Four wings of a dragon's violent body burst from his back, and his body became covered in inky, insectoid armor.
Violence had arrived.
He lashed out again, releasing a spine from within his arms, a burning blade of power slashing the demon across its chest. Followed immediately by a sparking-crimson meteor from his other hand. Shot the damn thing far above into the air, and he flew after it. This was his prey now. Seizing it by the throat, Vergil flew the beast beyond the roof. Forcing the form into the pale moonlight, he glared his silver menace into its eyes. Ulmarag was so small now. He laughed in its struggling face. Then, without warning, he dragged his foe down, carrying the pest by its throat. Down, down, falling to the ground through the unfinished structure it had brought him to, into the construction's least-worked settings, slamming the body by its neck onto a set of metal rebars.
Blood spewed. The creature howled.
Vergil towered above the defeated creature.
The demon gagged on its own bodily fluids, while Vergil shifted back to human. The son of Sparda held the creature's head up.
Sneering, he said, "So, how have you been?"
It coughed, "I'll kill you for this."
"Like hell you will. You'll forget about this girl, and the person who employed you. Unless, of course, you would have me finish the job."
A laugh broke through the demon's shredded throat, ending in a fit of coughing.
"Hehehehehehe . . . you don't know the truth of it, do you?"
Vergil shoved his gloved hand on the demon's throat, forming a tight grip.
"I don't like jokes," Vergil spoke bitterly. His eyes returned to evil, and his voice deepened. "Talk. Whatever you think punishment feels like, I promise I can take you closer to home."
"Ah—Alright. The girl you're protecting is nothing more than a ploy," it growled through troubled breaths. The slayer loosened his grip, and it grasped for air, showing gratitude for the return of function to its lungs. Coughing further, it continued. "Gah, a ploy," it spat up, blood dripping down the side of its face. "—For the real Patty Lowell."
What?
"This one I caught? She's the descendant of Alan Lowell, a sorcerer. A magnificent trophy, truly. I desired her flesh," and it laughed. "Why bother making a deal with a human if it's not for something special?"
"What!? Who is he!"
However, Vergil could not question the demon any longer. It grasped the slayer's head and released a pulse of bright light, the burning sun blinding him. He staggered back in pain, eyes burnt out of his skull he could not repair till he triggered once more the source of his demonic power. But when his vision had restored, the beast had already vanished, taking the top half of the rebars with it. Enraged, Vergil scoured all that surrounded him, but could not discover where it had gone.
He screamed to the sky, and smashed his hands down on the blood-stained cement block, crumbling it to tiny pieces.
The egg's shell broke apart below.
Patty hit the ground crying.
Sanity restored itself to his mind as Vergil heard her wails and sprinted with all his speed towards the girl. Searching for her, he found the girl once more minutes later, the building's unfinished traps a maze of uncoordinated half-thoughts, and he saw the child sobbing to herself flat on the ground.
He ran to her.
"Hey," he said. Her cries persisted. "Hey! Look at me; just look at me," he repeated till she listened.
He could see it on her face, what she'd seen. What Ulmarag had forced her through.
"What?" she stammered, oddly enough spitting an attitude to him, as if he'd told her to go to her room.
Well, at least her willpower held out.
"Whatever you heard in there, whatever you saw, it wasn't real, okay? Look at me," He said again, and she did, still hurt. "I didn't say those things, nor do I feel them true."
He knew that's what she had seen. He knew there could be no other reason for her defiance. The denial of love. Her shaking shoulders shivering in the cold. She'd seen twisted reflections of himself and those close to her, for it was the same as his own nightmares, the ones conjured by the Sandman to torment him in his youth. At this admission of shared experience, her glare softened and became a child-like look of hope, wondering, longing for the comfort of the tilted temple; the house that Jack built.
"R-Really?" She said, wiping away her tears.
She couldn't be certain if it was him or another demon that she would have to meet.
"Yes, really. It was," he struggled for words. "It was only a nightmare. There was an evil man." He told her.
"An evil man?"
"Yes, a very evil man. And he was cruel. He abused for fun, torturing people in their dreams. He wanted to hurt you, so he put you in that place."
Her breath stifled a bit, doing that little rapid shuffle Vergil often found annoying, usually. But through that cherubic face of innocence, she made it adorable.
"How do you know?" she asked, wiping at her eyes.
"Because he put me there too, when I was your age."
She looked at his face. It was horrid for him to recall.
"How did you get out?" Patty replied.
"I didn't. I had to stay in there, alone," he said, sadness reflected in those blue eyes. "That's why I came after the evil man. I couldn't let him do that to you, or anyone else."
His heart bled for her, for the pain they'd gone through. The girl had won over his heart. Should it force anyone else to do so as well? He once thought so. He used to believe everyone deserved the pain they received, and that running from said pain was the sign of weakness. No more. Patty took a moment to breathe. Her hands immediately tugged on the necklace. Those watery eyes enlarged, and the hairs on the nape of her neck bristled.
"I think—I think it's going to be fine then," she whispered, burrowing her head in his clothes.
He didn't know what exactly she should do.
It was unusual for a child such as her to become so attached to him, not that he was averse to another human's touch.
Vergil slowly placed his hand on the back of her head, soothing her pain as he did his.
"Hey now, don't—" he began gently. "It's over. It's all right."
It took a moment for her to understand exactly what he'd said.
Patty lifted her sleeve once again and examined her marking. Before her eyes, it slowly vanished like magic. Grain of sand.
She started laughing. Slowly, she adjusted, and he set her down on her feet.
"Finally, I didn't think—" she couldn't even finish her sentence, she was so happy.
Vergil watched her sadness evaporate. Indeed, it felt nice, and that chuckle was light on the air, cute as a button, holding those tiny hands together. His lips moved to half a smile. It struck straight to his spleen that the truth of the matter remained: someone had forced this girl into such an ordeal, traumatizing needlessly the untraumatized. He clenched his fist tightly, but kept his anger hidden. Poor girl, stuck in the middle of this mess. Ulmarag's escape fed the urge to kill, and in his mind, he knew what he must do when he found the bastard responsible.
Out In The Street
Noises started gathering down the empty boulevard.
Normal life began again, and Patty could not feel any happier. It was all over. She could be with them again. However, to her surprise, 'Dante' took her hand and kept her insistently by his side, assuring that she stayed by him even if the black creatures of hell had purged from her long, long trail, and he forced them through an alley, rounding to a marketplace. It was an open space, quite nice, but out of the way of their goal.
"Wait, why are we here?"
He didn't answer. He just kept leading her on until they stopped inside some place. She didn't bother looking at the sign as they entered.
Here, they stopped in the middle of an empty store, a large freezer in front of them.
"Pick one you like," he grumbled.
Really? The son of Sparda reduced to buying ice cream for a child.
They stacked the freezer high with all of Patty's favorites, chocolate, french vanilla, metropolitan, chunky monkey, raspberry ripple, cookie dough, cookie's n' cream; the list goes on. Even tin roof sundae was here. As her breath fogged up the glass, another customer entered, abruptly cutting in front of her as she tried to decide. She took a step back and waited until they had gone; didn't enjoy rushing for something such as this.
Vergil suppressed his desire to kill, but the 'rude' woman stopped and looked at him, sensing his prismatic charisma. Most devils manifested such magnetism when taking human form. She was there with her son, who was oddly around the same age as Patty. She was thin, blonde, and sweet on his eyes. She caught him staring and smiled at him, prompting terror to overcome him as his eyes widened. He didn't know what to do.
"Oh, sorry, did I cut in front of you? We're new in town," she said to him.
"Like that's an excuse," he muttered.
"Yeesh, I didn't mean it personally. Sorry," she replied.
"Oh," the man realized when she'd heard him, "it's alright. I'm just—it's been a long day, I'm sorry. She needed some cheering up. Had a bit of a fall on the—um—playground."
He wasn't so good as Dante with lying. 'Going with the flow' wasn't an ideology he subscribed to.
The woman relaxed, and that smile returned, sweet as honey. His social awkwardness was endearing. At least he wasn't rude. There was a nagging fear he might've been, though it disappeared. Patty kept mulling over the decision, not paying any attention. She'd narrowed it down to 4 flavors of choices.
"Ah, yeah, I know what that's like," the woman said. "This little guy gets cranky if the drive's too long. What's your name?" She said.
"V- Dante," he replied.
"Dante, huh? A bit out there. I'm Jessica, this is Ryan," she said, motioning to her son.
The boy looked at him aspiringly. He thought his red coat was just the coolest.
"You look awesome, mister," the boy declared.
Vergil still didn't have a handle on what to do, so he just smiled.
"Thanks," he thought to say. "It's—er, sort of a gift from my brother."
It wasn't as painful anymore to recount, but it didn't pain his heart any less.
He felt nervous in his stomach. This was a woman who was neither a prostitute nor that confounded Mary.
What was wrong with him, he could be comfortable? If Dante could do it, so could he.
"This is Patty," he said, relaxing his shoulders.
The child turned her head, wondering why he mentioned her. She saw a cute boy about her age, and about the most gorgeous blonde she'd seen in a while, not since her mother; perfectly proportioned, with a healthy tan to her skin and maroon nail polish; a face to die for wearing a brown jacket over a green dressy-blouse tunic, and blue jeans with cowgirl boots. She looked like a classy Texan girl. She wanted Vergil to get into that.
"So, where are you visiting from?" Vergil asked.
"San Antonio. We're here on vacation, though I'm looking into staying longer, maybe," the woman elaborated.
"I see. You here with anyone?" he asked, easing into a Dante-like drawl. "Or is it just you two?"
Vergil remained reserved, but not too closed off. God, balancing between himself and Dante was hard. Still, it was getting easier.
"Nope, it's just us. I'm single, so vacation-time is easier," she said, casually dropping the information.
"Well, this town's as good a place as any," he replied, then felt a tugging on his coat.
He looked down to see Patty.
Vergil could see the gears just a'turning in that little head.
"Uh, have you decided yet . . . sweet-ie?" Oh.
Oh, that just felt wrong. No. No, he wouldn't say that ever again.
She nodded her head, regardless.
A young, gawky teenager came out with a misspelled nametag reading 'Jardon.'
"Hey guys, can I get anything started?" Jardon addressed them as one family unit.
Vergil felt uncomfortable again.
"Oh no, we're not together," the woman corrected.
"Oh sorry, is anyone ready?" he said.
"Yep, I'll have a—" and as she and her son ordered, Patty wrote something down on a piece of paper, then handed it to Vergil.
Vergil groaned on the inside. This sucked.
Trying to do one pleasant thing and it turns into a production.
As the guy behind the counter fixed up their ice creams, the little girl approached Jessica.
"Excuse me," she said and poked her hip.
"Oof, hi there!" the woman replied. "What's up, honey?"
"My daddy's shy," she said.
Vergil's head shot forward, and his eyes zeroed in on Patty wide as a full moon. Oh dear god, no.
"Uh huh . . ." the woman said, a bit confused but captivated by that adorable earnestness.
The girl motioned with her finger, and she leaned in as Patty whispered in her ear.
Vergil heard every word.
Every.
Single.
One.
The woman smiled and stood back up.
"I see. Well, thank you very much," she said to the girl.
The boy at the counter interrupted.
"Okay, your total today is gonna be 10.68," he said.
She pulled out eleven dollars.
"All righty-then, and your change is thirty-two cents. Thank you, come again, ma'am!" He said enthusiastically as the two left.
Vergil looked down at Patty, horrified.
"Okay, sorry about the wait folks, what can I get ya?" the clerk said, turning his attention to them.
"Whazat—?" the slayer slurred, barely turning his head to look.
"Hmhm, what would you like, sir?" Jardon said, chuckling a bit.
He looked down at the paper she'd handed him.
She'd decided that nothing beats cookie dough or cookies and cream. So she wanted both. In a cup.
A tall cup.
With the store music playing softly behind the noise of the pedestrians outside, she laughed in her head at the stupid covers of the magazines next to the counter.
Well, nothing left to do now.
"Are you sure?" he asked
"Yep," she said with a wide a smile. That settled it.
The two took a seat outside the store. There were a few metal tables and some chairs, so they grabbed two. Patty sat with a pink spoon and her tall cup, eating. Each bite was just frosty goodness. In a tall cup. Her joy was boundless, but eagerness was a sin in some cultures, and she wound up getting some of it on her cheek. She didn't notice at all, looking like a girl who was trying ice cream for the first time. Vergil was scowling, and most definitely noticed.
She stopped when she realized he was staring at her.
"What?" she asked him.
He stayed silent, taking a napkin and wiping off the schmutz off her face.
She laughed as he rubbed it on her face and evaded him.
"Would you hold still, child?" he grumbled.
"Yes, sir," she retorted, suddenly stiffening up like a board.
He wiped the substance away fully, then threw the napkin in the trash receptacle behind him.
"There," he said, glad she was clean. "That's better."
Vergil stayed scowling, sitting back in the chair.
Patty kept on enjoying every bite, seeming to know he was still scowling and just reacting this way to get on his nerves.
He kept himself reserved, and he just looked at the ground. He decided this was the best thing to do till she finished up.
He heard footsteps.
Good, was it another demon?
"It doesn't hurt to smile, ya know." It was Jessica.
Ryan was in the car, just a few feet away.
Greeeeaaat.
"Oh, uh hello again," he said, somewhat positive, but lacking all confidence.
"Hey, cheer up. Your little gal's looking all better already. Speaking of which . . ." She said, reaching for something from her black purse.
He got antsy.
"Here!" the woman said, beaming a smile at him. "You can thank that girl right there for that."
She was boastful of Patty, like she was his actual daughter.
It was her phone number, signed Jessica S. Mero. That's from Texas, all right.
His cheeks lit up. A strange buzz entered his stomach.
Really? How could he have become so affected by these humanistic flaws?
"Uh, um, thank you," he said, unsure how to reply.
"Ahehe, I know you'll come out of your shell sometime," she said. "See ya later."
And like that, she walked to her car and drove away, her boy in tow. Good grief, how awkward was that? Should he tear it up? Her hotel information was on there too, written on the back. It was the hotel's greeting card. Maybe it was better to keep it. He could always use the hotel as a hideout, come the day. Or he should just rip it up. Or maybe not. Or maybe he should.
God damn it.
She liked him. For some odd reason. He couldn't figure out why, but she liked him.
'Well . . .' He weighed the options.
Vergil pocketed the number in his jacket for later, and instantly received a look from Patty, who'd finished.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," she said, all proud of herself.
He scoffed and threw her trash away.
The two walked off, getting back on track.
There wasn't much time left now.
To Be Continued.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this :)
Thank you to my beta reader Burn The Priest