Turbo Sexaphonic: Oh yes, I love this picture :) Perfect for the story
Chapter 10 - Becoming
Vergil stood in opposition to Arkham and his forces. So he'd finally arrived.
"What brings you by?" Vergil asked casually in that trademark baritone.
"Anything I cannot control, I must destroy." His former ally said, his voice uncommonly gravelly.
The dark slayer just scoffed at him, but he knew Lady was watching.
"You won't destroy me." He scowled intensely at the resurrected mammon.
The demons scattered, trying as best they could to surround him.
His voice hadn't recovered yet, just barely managing to come out of its guttural resort.
From behind, he sensed a gaggle of flame bats.
"Make your move . . . Devil boy!" The entity shifted into Jester mid-sentence.
Vergil's mouth winced.
He flicked his thumb up, unsheathing Yamato. As it flew out, he grasped the handle and released a whirlwind of slashes.
As the bats circled, they were chopped up, dismembering into mince meat.
An encroaching wyrm felt beheaded, it's draconic mouth sliding off its snout.
He dashed forward and tried to attack his mortal enemy.
There was no need for the cannon fodder, this was between them.
Alas, the jester disagreed, and unleashed a shock wave that blasted the Cambion back onto the stone steps of his shop.
His durability was fairly high, but the impact cracked some of his ribs anyway.
Quickly, the body began to heal almost instantly, snapping them back into place.
All the minions leapt at him.
Vergil shot through the air from his position, and sliced clean on out of three Sargasso's.
The floating skulls withered on the vine, fading out.
He traveled in an arc, flying like an eagle until his boots crashed into the sack an Arachnid-type demon called a Kyklops.
It floundered up as it's sack then split open directly in two.
It was Vergil's trademark handiwork alright, the slice a completely dead-on, perfect line.
Miniature versions of the insect spewed forth and scuttled around.
The man stomped on one of them and felt a wave of pain travel up to his neck.
Really? Even stomping had a bad effect on the wounds in his throat and it gave him forced pause.
As he stumbled, two malformed grim reapers tried to rush him with their scythes.
Deja Vu . . .
A missile whipped past his head, and the two were consumed in a spectral orange fireball.
Lady.
Her Father looked up and smiled at her, that unmistakable jester bringing back all sorts of horrible thoughts.
Arkham began to move forward.
A katana met is throat.
"Take another step forward: I take your head." Jester initially looked perturbed, as if the piddly little fool actually stopped his plan.
The look of worry quickly bled into a knowing, disgusting face of enjoyment.
"Thanks for the tip, brainiac. But I think I'd prefer a female dance partner this time." The twisted man said.
In another instant, Vergil flew back and hit the wall.
As he fell forward, a Sin with scissors emerged out from the ground like a phantom, and impaled him through the stomach.
Vergil gasped, and blood fell from his mouth.
Lady took aim with Ebony.
Might as well use it when you have it, right?
A bullet rocketed through it's cloak and dispelled the entity's defense.
The slayer smiled, he unleashed a sonic slash that dismembered the creature and landed; the wound closing by itself.
But the smile quickly vanished.
He looked back at Lady scornfully, "Get out of here!"
This didn't go over well.
"No, you need my help!" She yelled back, "He's my father!"
A scarecrow wrangled behind him and flummoxed it's massive blade arm into a slash.
Without even looking, the man flipped backward up into the air, dodging the razor that was just inches from his face.
Thrusting his right arm out, he impaled the creature through the head with a thrown Yamato.
It's sewn body burst open as demonic essence evaporated into nothing.
The blade remained, and he grasped the sword's formerly occupied handle.
It was large and curved; a typical scarecrow's blade.
He regained the Yamato in his grasp and dual-wielded the weapons as he battled a myriad of Fausts.
They did their best, launching their red pincers at him. Occasionally, they got off a stab or a graze.
He killed so many, but they just seemed to keep coming.
Two blades were better than one though, so he was able to do well for a perfectly long stretch. But his handicap took its toll.
Every swing shot pain into his sores; every nervous pulse made his swing waver.
He wasn't used to this pain.
It was almost too much.
At least, for the most part, they were unable to touch him . . . at first.
He unleashed a torrential rain of light prisms that exploded into bursts of sword gashes on contact.
But there was just too many, they swarmed and bloodied him, his body running low on energy and his reflexes reflecting this lack of stamina.
Eventually, he collapsed onto the ground, the dual blades proving to be a bit of a cumbersome tactic.
Though he'd thinned the herd, those that remained were still many.
It wasn't looking good for him.
On his knees, he felt three punctures into his left arm, and the scarecrow blade hit the floor. Freed from his grasp.
He fell forward, but used his right hand for balance, the stabs retracting out of his veins.
The rush pulled him forward.
His tendons twitched and he barked in pain.
The pavement became littered with flecks and pools of his human half, the blood refusing to crystalize.
Lord knows he didn't want it to end right there.
But this had to be the end, there couldn't be a way forward.
The beasts were closing in, he couldn't escape.
He was hated.
A salvo of rockets came to his aid, destroying the creatures physical forms partially.
Reacting swiftly, the Dark Slayer unleashed a flurry of twisting slashes that finished them off, using seemingly the last of his strength.
He then turned back to the window to Lady.
"I told you, get OUT OF HERE!" He screamed, a beastly undertone beneath his wrecked voice.
She didn't even say anything, instead repeatedly opening fire on her father and those around him.
She had Uzi's now.
That stupid huntress will get herself killed.
"Why are you still here!? I told you to save yourself!" He bellowed, but she once again refused, this time responding.
"He's my problem!" She retorted, "I told you once, I'm here to stay."
She realized somewhere along the lines that she could just speak normally, and he'd hear her.
Perks of being part devil, she supposed.
'Damn it! Stubborn . . .' He thought to himself.
Though not in a good position, he still had something yet untapped.
It pained him to do so, but he began to call on his other half.
Those pesky throat shots were making him pay a few more dues than he should have.
While it was easier than last time, he still couldn't bring himself to trigger.
It was just too painful.
The brutish, burning pain in his gullet felt like nothing in this world.
Even so, the rest of his wounds healed up quite nicely, yet the throat remained porous.
Summoning that energy left him a bit tired, and he fell to one knee.
Jester strolled up to the man.
"You're looking a little sketchy there!" He said, his face plastered with glee.
Vergil scoffed.
"That's not even a pun." The slayer responded.
"Ah well, whats another hole in the head?" Jester asked, then burst into a fit of laughter.
That one went too far for Vergil's taste.
He scowled at the ground, the laughing making it all the more horrible an experience.
The other demons began to approach, lurking for a kill.
But the clown raised his hand, exerting control over them.
He held the monsters at bay, keeping them spectators for a bit.
"I'll tell you what. I'll let you live for a while . . . if you submit and join me. It would give ya some color at least!" The fool laughed, his statements angering Vergil.
" . . . What!?" He said in disbelief.
Jester stopped laughing.
He looked at the man and stood still, having done a little Harlequins dance in celebration.
The look was sincerely disturbed, made all the more soul piercing by the complete darkness surrounding those purple irises.
The demented stare made Vergil uncomfortable, as the buffoon twisted his head to the side, mouth gaping open, as if waiting for prey.
He took a few steps towards the man, rapidly dodging bullets from Lady with ease.
He never broke stride.
Running his red, inch-long nails against Vergil's chin, he looked him straight in the eye, that long nose coming troublingly close.
It looked like an eagle's beak strapped to the front of a plastic surgery addict.
"You heard me, think about it. You've gotta come work for me, downstairs- you'd love it! Nobody tells you when to go to bed.
You get to eat . . . all the ice cream you want! You get to kill! All day and all night . . . Just like the sick devil you are." Jester finished, just as a bullet hit one of the two bells attached to his head garb.
The ball fell down on the ground and rolled.
Jester didn't even look as he waved his hand, mystically forcing the window and it's shutters closed. Lady herself felt a force push her away from the window, and her own pistol was sliced in half.
The man grew closer, putting that freakish snout nearer and nearer to Vergil's face.
"So kiddo, whaddya say?"
Jester smiled, his teeth just as warped as his personality.
A red-hot metal gauntlet crushed his face in, shattering that huge honker on his face.
Vergil, brandishing Ifrit, put a stop to this direction immediately with a good, old-fashioned right hook.
"I refuse." He put it simply.
The attack ended with a big burst of flame that sent the figure off his feet.
The clown went sailing, whisking through the air all the way across the lot.
He crashed into a tall, barb wired fence gate that blocked off an adjoining alleyway.
The impact bent it out of shape as a result of his unmitigated velocity.
He flipped over from the leftover momentum, landing directly inside a dumpster.
The plastic lid broke beneath him, and he fell into the refuse.
He let out an annoyed scream and sent his minions back into action.
Placing a hand onto the cracked lid, he managed to pull himself up out of the waste, and spit out a rotten banana peel. There was a black trash bag hanging on one of his head-tails.
"A fella could really learn to hate that guy." He said, maintaining his clownish persona.
The first to approach Vergil was a Blade.
The lizard lunged. Nothing a roundhouse kick to the jaw wouldn't fix. He coated it in fire and sent the creature flying.
His boot collided with the over-grown reptile, and tore off it's jaw.
The gloves quickly underwent a reforming, molding themselves further to his forearms, becoming slimmer, more practical.
Soon, the metal dragon's mouths fit snuggly around the flaming gauntlets inside.
Chains manifested, and wrapped themselves around the outside, tightening the decorative dragon design around his arms even further.
His fists burned perennially, but they didn't hurt.
The flame was one with his fighting spirit.
And that was something he had plenty of now.
Following the metamorphosis, he zoomed forward and machine-gun-punched a Nobody's face with thirteen hits.
The mangled nightmare squealed in it's backwards-ape fashion, and he quickly moved to the side, where he shot a knee into it's mid section.
The creature practically flew into orbit, though he leapt after the monster and summoned a second platform from shear energy.
It was a crimson rune with which he launched himself further.
Flying past the Nobody, he delivered a spiteful punch that shot the multi-limbed animal into the ground with a fiery shockwave.
Multiple creatures burned in the light, and the tar crumpled out of order, collapsing into a slight sinkhole.
On his descent, he flushed both hands down, breaking the helm of a leaping reaper that tried to avenge it's temporary compatriot.
It's head liquefied into molten chunks of rock, and Vergil used the body to leap further in mid air.
Upon keeping himself airborne, he rolled through the sky, and lunged on a hellhound.
It did what a mutt would naturally do, trying to overpower him with a lunge, but the slayer's fist punctured it's esophagus, as he sent the attack down into it's open mouth.
The hound's body obliterated into ash around his arm, and he was grounded once more.
A scarecrow came his way, aiming it's leg-blade for his face. He ducked out of instinct and sent a punch into it's torso.
The egde just barely cut the hairs on his head.
Fire erupted from his palm, sending it flying into a gaggle of others of it's species.
Burning his way down, he was assaulted anew by Frost demons.
He quickly glanced over to see Jester working a summon as he wiped garbage and muck off of himself, having climbed out of the dumpster now.
"Insane humorist." He muttered.
Speeding along past another Blade, he delivered a straight punch to the Frost's gut, sending the icy fiend back, though it survived him.
As it recovered, the komodo-esque demon bit unto the gauntlet, but shattered it's teeth on the weapon.
Retaliating, Vergil delivered a harsh slam-strike that cracked the impenetrable crest on it's head.
He followed up with a blazing uppercut. Ending mid air, the attack released an explosion that set more enemies on fire.
The Frost began to melt and collapsed to the ground, it's defensive frost shield destroyed.
Vergil landed with his side to the weakened beast. He lifted a hand to it, and charged up a flame.
After a moment, without even dignifying it with a stare, he released a concussive blast of inferno energy.
Engulfed by the flame, it broke apart, atom by atom.
A group of sinful reapers then appeared within his vision. They were like the ones unleashed during Temen-Ni-Gru, except they were wearing distinctive, jester-like outfits of a royal purple shade.
'Never imagined I'd see these weaklings again.' He thought to himself.
Glaring at them as his jaw set, an ancient power coursed through his veins.
Pulling his leg to the side, Ifrit began to charge power, from his knee down to his foot.
Burning relentlessly.
Hungry for blood.
The savages growled and came forward with their scythes at the ready.
Vergil drove his foot into the face of the first one that dared to get close.
He melted it's face with molten pressure, and his foot caved it's skull in until he pushed it's brain out, searing it out to the stem.
It died on the spot.
Right behind him, near the front door of the shop, she stood.
After taking care of a couple of demons from standing over the window, the bounty hunter had joined the fray in person.
"Damn it, Mary . . ." He grumbled. Thankfully, she didn't hear this from so far.
Lady took cover on one knee, drawing her twin, 004 Beretta's. The knurled grip felt at home in her palms, and she couldn't wait to feel that ear-shattering roar.
She fired off both clips. The bullets snickered through the air and into the flesh of familiar demons.
She rolled aside as her leg swept out, in an effort to catch a fiend nearby. She fired two shots upwards into it's groin and abdomen, it's scythe clattering down on the ground.
Her third shot took it in the head.
She leapt to her feet and immediately taunted.
"Make it rain."
Putting her guns close to each other on opposite sides. Shells poured down to the gravel as their occupants plowed through the demons nonstop. They fell one by one, surprisingly.
You'd think her dad would be smart enough to summon tougher demons.
Swiftly, she released the empty magazines, ready to reload.
Lady holstered them and lifted her machine gun, her mouth twisting in anger as sheer adrenaline pumped through her muscles.
This is her job.
Once again she felt the thrill, the sense of liveliness burst through her.
'Hell yeah.'
She braced her feet with experienced control, and pulled the trigger. The powerful sub began to spray across the street, thunderously bursting out acidic rounds.
In a satisfying purge, Lady murdered all the infernal creatures that were caught in it's range.
Dispatching almost all the red Sins and halving the population of reapers, which crumbled almost instantaneously at the relentless hail of bullets.
A remaining Grim attacked her with it's scythe, the black robes and whiny face annoying her just as much as the smell of the thing.
She countered with her leg, dodging the downward swing and then wrapping her thigh around it's forearm. She crunched it's joint back, snapping the arm like a twig.
Lady held unto the demon, pinning it down as best as she could.
"All yours." She called out to 'Dante.'
" . . ." He reluctantly played along, but answered with silence.
Speeding along, he brought his arm into the demon's chest for a wrestling-style tackle. The tactic worked, blowing out the entity into dust.
Just then, a hulking troll tried to snatch her up, but the slayer defended with a weltered fist.
It's sheer size enabled it to absorb the blow well, though it was still stunned.
Vergil summoned Yamato and pulled forth it's power.
He launched an upward swing into the beast's chest, easily lacerating it's diseased skin and shooting it back off it's feet.
"Pathetic." He whispered. Focusing, he released a judgment cut in it's path.
The demon fell to pieces by the time it hit the wall.
And so he continued his attempts to convince her, banishing the weapon.
"Escape. He's not worth it. He's my problem too." His sentiment mimicked his brother's unknowingly.
He noticed the tone in her legs. All this time, he'd never really looked at her because of how he viewed her father.
No, now is not the time for that.
The man helped her stand, but she rebuffed his statements.
"Thanks, but no thanks."
She stood and placed Kalina Ann's bayonet into the ground. The weapon started charging, almost pumping up for a moment, smoke rising from within.
The shots came thick like a blizzard, hailing over a group of hellion Lusts, hungry for her blood. The tin projectiles cut through the cold air, oblivious to their purpose.
The Lusts were beautiful creatures, resembling the ideal woman for any northern society: busty and scantily clad.
Only strips of dark armor covered any of their exposed top, and their lower body was completely submerged within a skin-tight layer of solidified tar.
Each one missile ripped into something, be it inanimate, or living. From them spilled tree sap, as their bodies were of the same fibers as mother nature.
There was a time that the one pulling the trigger might have felt something; remorse, guilt . . . compassion even.
Not anymore.
These creatures deserved no mercy from her.
Vergil retreated, prepping Ifrit for a new maneuver that popped into his head. The last gaggle of Lusts launched, one at a time.
It was sad for him to destroy something so darkly perfect, as by comparison to human women, at least these brand of succubi were able to provide him with a certain psychological comfort.
They also made for good company on long, lonelier nights, when Mundus permitted his forces reprieve . . .
Though rare, the old Lord occasionally knew how to keep the loyalty of others, outside of fear and brute strength.
He crouched low, then drew his gauntlet back in a horizontal line, sinking it all the way for a full throttle swing.
Throwing his fist out, his whole body moved forward in a red shift.
The operation took the creature apart, his knuckles stopping the body dead.
All it's back burst outward a mix of blood and organs.
The entirety of it's nervous system tore itself apart, flying out and draping over the ground.
He felt his shoulder graze a scythe, but he ignored the tiny sting of pain. He brought his fists together and exhaled.
Eyes glowed a malevolent vermillion.
"My power shall grow absolute." His voice echoed.
Three newly arrived Frost's entered the fray, their powerful cryokinetic aura proving a match for his spiritual flame.
They all teleported away, moving faster than Lady could perceive as she exhaled out her pent up nerves.
She quickly got up to aim, taking out a few more encroaching monsters.
The foursome had really seemed to disappear.
Out of nowhere, they rematerialized on the surface of a building, colliding in a spectacle of hellfire and permafrost.
The explosions between them were almost as amazing as how they'd just completely disregarded the meaning of gravity.
They were fighting high up on the side of the structure.
It was the tallest building in the area, an apartment complex by the look of it.
She opened fire, trying to kill anything, but they soon disappeared yet again, leaving behind frozen flames and char marks.
Odd.
It was like playing the waiting game.
She killed any others that approached, often finding it difficult to concentrate on whatever it was when the party would randomly reappear, often with neither dominating the other.
Eventually, as Jester continued to summon more monsters, she was forced onto the defensive.
No more Dante to rely on anymore, he was preoccupied with his elemental counterparts.
Those new gauntlets were certainly spiffy.
Undoubtedly a new aspect he'd taken from his experiences on the island.
It reminded her of Beowulf, strangely.
As she protected herself with the Kalina Ann once more, they zipped back into being, Vergil finally being overwhelmed as ichor surged from his reinstated neck wound.
One of them got off a lucky shot with a projectile ice shard.
His legs buckled and he fell to the floor, coughing and rasping, the spike melting but still lodged in his neck.
"Damn it!" He growled, not even resembling a human.
Now it really looked bad.
Together, the unholy trinity combined their powers and overcame him, covering him in blasts of glacial vigor.
The cold showered over him, suppressing the spark of the Devil Arms.
In time, he too felt himself become slowed and stiffened, until he was surrounded in a strange, crystal like substance that was clear as frosty glass.
Vergil was stuck, frozen solid inside ice.
Lady let out a gasp of shock as the trio worked their magic, leaving her truly alone in this fight against Jester's somewhat-rejuvenated forces.
Where did he learn to do that anyway?
Arkham was certainly powerful before, but this was beyond him, beyond the ability of humans.
She had to think.
Could she blow him out of it with a missile? No, he'd probably shatter.
Shit!
Dante was essentially beyond saving.
Was this really how it ended for him?
Dad zipped over, remaining in his comical outfit.
"Well! Hello there toots, haven't seen you in a while!" He was so jovial it hurt.
She raised her launcher at him but he overpowered her, just like old times.
The fool twisted her around and put an elbow into her back, sending her into the ground.
"Really? You think I'd fall for that old trick again? Fool me once, shame on you! Fool me twice . . . Er- still shame on you!"
She didn't find him funny.
"Once a bastard, always a bastard." She responded pointing a pistol at him.
"Oh-ho! Cute! I missed this little game of ours. But how about this? You put that gun away . . . and give daddy a kiss?" His face got that demented glare back, eyeing up her body.
His tongue slithered out, licking his razor-thin lips.
Oh god.
He wasn't serious was he?
There's just no way . . .
"You're disgusting! I would rather kill myself!" She said, harshly rejecting the notion.
"Hehe, come now Mary, either way, incest is a game the family can play." He retained that sick look, making her realize, to her horror, that he wouldn't care if she was alive or dead.
He laughed at his little rhyme, dancing.
"N-No! You sick monster!" She howled at him, refusing to even acknowledge that he was her father.
"That's right, kiddie! Daddy's home . . ." His grin turned the most sinister it'd ever gone.
He would get what he wanted any way he desired.
It was just a matter of what shape that body was in, really.
As he took a step forward, and she shot off as many rounds as she could.
He flashed over, grabbing her by the throat and throwing her up against the wall of the shop.
"You have matured into an even finer woman than your dear mother, Mary." And Arkham was back, the clown receded, whispering, "You'll make a excellent ritual."
He ran two fingers up her thigh as he kept her head pressed against the wall.
She screamed for anyone.
Then, they both heard a sinister growl.
It was that of a beast's, raging far above their level as the street lamps vibrated and the ground began to tremble.
In one moment, a sudden burst of pulverized ice exploded out, tearing through numerous demons, save for Arkham, who shielded himself, and by extension, Mary.
The Frost's were unharmed by there own element.
There stood a blistering being, in place of Vergil.
Driven by vengeance, his skin was basaltic, horns coiled back over his skull from his forehead, and his body was accentuated with golden armor.
In place of a normal set of facial features was a solitary eye; the dragon's eye, from Ifrit's outer-shell.
Much like his brother, Vergil tapped into the weapon's true power, breaking beyond his previous limit.
Arkham simply stared.
"That's a problem." He commented.
Motioning lightly with his fingers, all remaining devils lunged.
They all died to his fists.
In a hailstorm of sulfuric wrath, Vergil slew the lot, unleashing meteors of his own life force.
Happiness slowly found it's way to him.
The thrill of it: this new power was just what he needed.
On the outside, the eye that graced his face blinked once, as he raised his left hand and sent pure, scarlet versions of his summoned swords their way.
Unleashing a psychokinetic field of them, he impaled every living demon, eradicating everything but Arkham and Lady.
Nothing was spared, and he stood there at the epicenter of the carnage, completely emotionless.
Tranquil, even.
The pure rage in his attacks and the burned nature of his new form intrigued his old ally, who watched inquisitively as he systematically destroyed all those in his dominion.
When the purge was complete, the dust cleared, and he scanned for the source.
The Bald man finally appeared in front of him.
"Scum. Die . . ." A drastically different, indescribable voice rung out. It sent chills down Lady's spine, and he charged toward the object of his recent obsession.
He had once timed himself at six strikes per second using Beowulf.
Even though Ifrit was a slower beast, at that moment, it felt faster and more satisfying to him.
Surging with the fury of Sparda, he pounced. A double palm heel blow to both of Arkham's cheeks ripped downward along the skin and collapsed onto his throat;
stepping under and into his instep, Vergil shot an elbow upward into his abdomen, past his flailing arms, taking his center;
transitioning into a palm heel strike to the groin that popped something like a bubble;
and back into a rising elbow to the underside of his chin, scraping off flesh;
arcing down into another palm heel onto the bridge of his nose.
The victim had bitten his tongue in half on that last one, completely and utterly dismantled.
There were no wind ups, no wasted motion. Each movement was designed to roll naturally into the next.
The opponent's body jerked from one direction to the other, in rhythm to the opposite lines of each attack.
Blood spattered from his nose, and his whole face warped and crumbled. A mystic fire burned his throat ever so slowly.
"Every little thing that you've ever done to me, to her . . . you're feeling now." Vergil snarled, looking down on the destroyed man, "What brought you here?"
He was sociopathic; disturbingly calm.
It didn't bother him to hurt this man, not at all.
In fact, it felt good to get this aggression out of him. He'd been repressing it in Patty's midst.
Arkham trembled like a meek flower in the wind.
As if he were a windup doll, he suddenly brought himself up on his knees.
There was a sickly crunch when he did so. Every bone was broken.
"You never cease to amuse me, blue one. Still, you can't realize it, can you?" Arkham chuckled.
Continuing, the hideous man boasted.
"After all these years . . . 'You took a great trouncing Vergil.'" The man recalled his other voice, and a quote from long before.
"You've let revenge cloud your vision so easily. To the point your own mind can't see what's right in front of you." He continued.
Vergil froze, confused by his words.
He knew Arkham would never say anything unless there was a meaning behind it.
See what? What was it he couldn't realize this time?
"The hour is near when the Lost son shall come forth, And the Red soul will ride out from the North. But dark is the path appointed for thee . . ."
Arkham blurted, half laughing.
He began to shift into his alter ego.
A line of light split the air behind them.
It was enormous, almost filling the whole field. It rotated upon itself, and traveled high up in the atmosphere.
Vergil was caught partially in the column and felt a change.
"You scumbag!" Lady screamed, charging at him.
In the midst of her stampede, she felt a strong palm clench her head, coming from some supra cosmic plane almost.
Her eyes saw colors, and she felt her body slam into the pavement roughly.
She moaned in pain, her guns were lost from her hands.
Vergil remained still, fog clouding his eyes.
He tried to do something, anything at all.
He tried to help her stand up.
But . . . every breath had encouraged him to take Yamato out and slit his own throat.
He suspected this was his own madness: the terror that releasing his power would cause him.
Jester looked down at her with his usual, manic grin.
"Time to sleep, my darling daughter! You'll finally be reunited with your mother . . . After I have what I want, of course."
Vergil snapped out his Devil Trigger, the urge relinquishing him back to reality.
As he came out of his stupor, his sight took hold of Arkham.
Lady gritted her teeth, and, without much thought, she slid forward and swept her leg around, catching the man off guard.
Her powerful leg ceased his balance, and he clumsily toppled back.
Vergil, resolved, came forward and slammed his foot down on the sadistic man's chest.
They could hear his ribs re-break.
"Time-. . . Time to get some answers from you." He spoke coldly, a bit exhausted.
However, within seconds, the manipulator's body started bloating until it exploded into colored, silly confetti.
Dead silence dominated the place.
Lady pushed herself up, breathing heavily, and she sat in an adjusted lotus position.
"Well, that was different." She panted.
Vergil stared silently, and leaned over, grasping his chest.
His heart didn't feel completely right.
After a while, she eventually spoke up again.
"How could he come back . . . ? Why was he here?" She asked, terrified by all the implications of this encounter.
"Good . . . *inhale* questions." Vergil replied, feeling haggard and worn.
His throat wounds had gone though.
"How did you heal like that? I thought bullets from your gun made long lasting injuries on demons." She asked, eyeing him over curiously.
He sighed, banishing Ifrit in favor of Yamato again.
"I cauterized the wound using the flames." He replied, a certain cynical tone hung in the air.
"Stupid question, but that hurt, right?"
"Blindingly so. I almost fell unconscious. You're lucky I managed that at all." He replied to her statements.
At least in these post-battle throes, they could be friendly with one another, and Vergil did feel it was a nice reprieve.
Perhaps they could become friendlier again in the near future.
"However you did that . . . Thank you." She was resplendent when kind.
He hadn't noticed that before.
In any case, he straightened up after a few minutes of lingering.
"Right. Go home. You need every ounce of rest you can get." He didn't feel like standing here anymore, what he heard had bothered him.
His guts screamed, trying to tell him that something life-changing is about to happen, but what was that?
He began to walk to the shop's doors, uncertain.
"Dante?" He stopped and looked back at her, half his face bathed in shadow.
"I-. . . Want to apologize for shooting you before. It's just what I feel-, you barely can trust anyone when it comes to this stuff." She stopped to take her breath.
What she said next, took him by complete surprise.
"And the mere thought that my own friend could . . . 'Turn' . . . Like my own father? I can't bear that. I'm sorry."
Vergil took a shaky breath, then stiffened up, as if it hadn't effected him.
"Since you apologized, fine. But I'm not your partner." He said, but decided to spare her fragile feelings.
Experience with Patty taught him wisely.
"But it's good that I can count on you in these situations. I probably would've been in serious trouble, had you not interfered." After a little bit, he mustered it up, "Th-Thank you."
She blushed a bit, and then gave a closed smile.
"You're welcome." The Lady responded, then sarcastically added, "You should know me by now."
one hour Later
Vergil walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hair.
"Finally, peace and quiet." He whispered, after closing the front door. It felt like forever since last time he'd been here.
He went over to the couch.
From the moment he sat there, the coffee table nagged his mind.
The dust lay thickly, as if a volcano exploded ash all over it. It was a depressing, dirty grey.
"For the love of- Come on, Dante. You don't care about your office?" He rolled his eyes.
Speaking of the place, it was about time to do a serious change if he was going to live here for awhile. It's too much for his tastes to keep returning to such a half-empty, unprofessional office space.
He stared at the desk, and his mind went over several thoughts of what he could do here.
"I got it." He shouted and left the couch immediately.
Time to work, just a little bit, before he could fully rest here.
He searched through the drawers, until he stumbled upon a magazine in the last one.
Skimming through the pages, in a hurry.
Just to see if something could catch his interest.
"There." He picked up the phone from the desk receiver and dialed the number.
It still felt odd whenever he had to use newer things like phones, but he was adjusting okay.
"King's company, for the best furniture and fast delivery to your liking. How may I help you." He heard an unenthusiastic man's voice come through the other end.
He'd done this before, obviously.
"Yes. I was wondering if you can deliver my order tonight?" Vergil replied.
"Um, all right . . . Can you give me an address?" The employee questioned after some silence.
Vergil looked around. Of all the things not to be written down.
"Hold please." He set the phone down on the table and immediately got up to inspect the outside area.
After ascertaining the information, he returned quickly and told him what he wanted.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh . . . Weeeellll, Sir, it looks like you are in luck. We don't have many jobs tonight . . . But, we won't arrive to your place until, like, *hushed muttering* I don't know . . . Like, 4 hours?"
The man was unprofessional at best.
"I can wait, I'm a patient man. I'll give a good tip if you're honest with me." He spoke calmly, almost politely threatening the man, "So let me ask you again. If I place an order, will you deliver tonight?"
He exerted a certain amount of mechanical rage in the second half of that sentence, the supernatural rime behind the words . . .
Beautiful.
They made the man suddenly step back in line.
"Uh-uhum, yes sir! S-Sooo, what'll you choose . . . ?"
After a moment of silence, he replied,
"I want the cinnamon-cherry finished desk, and the dark burgundy leather chairs. There should be two black wicker ones included for the chess coffee table. Throw in some country-shade bookcases."
". . . Nice choices!" The man responded, impressed, "Anything else?"
"Yes. I'm thinking . . . Deep indigo curtains and two copper table lamps. Huh, maybe four actually . . . How much will all of this cost?"
He could here tap noises.
"With all said and done, arooound six grand, Sir. A discount, since you ordered more than one item. Are you sure about this?" The man had become a much better employee on the spot.
"Yes." He answered, albeit hesitantly.
"Alright . . ." Some more tapping, and then, eventually, ". . . Okaaay. Aaand thank you for choosing King's, I hope you'll be comfortable with our stylish furniture."
Vergil breathed in hard and hung up the phone.
One thing is settled.
At least one.
He started to empty the content of the drawers. Papers, faded photographs, outdated case files. Jeez, Dante never got rid of the right things.
And in the middle of them all, he spotted bill papers.
Ignoring the others briefly, he zeroed in on the statements.
"Seriously Dante? A months worth of Pizza . . . A 'compensation for destroying someone's fancy car,' never seen that one verbatim before, and . . ." He stopped.
He refused to believe what his eyes were seeing.
No.
No. No, it can't be real. That can NOT be real.
This must be a twisted joke for him.
In which case, it wasn't funny at all.
"Strip club notices?"
His hands scrunched the papers.
"I- No . . . No, no, no, no- Betrayaaaal!" He yelled at no one, "Bee-trayal! Betrayed me!"
Of all times, now was when his voice cracked on him.
No other word came to mind.
"Betrayal! I can't- No! No! I can't believe this- That didn't just- I didn't read that!" His cold voice reaffirmed itself to it's usual tone, like he was about to murder someone.
"Good grief. For shame Dante, for shame! You're Sparda's son! Hell, aren't you Eva's son? What would mom think!? Anti-Christ! You'd lower yourself to shady clubs?"
Then again, he realized he doesn't know Dante that much.
He has no idea what happened to him, having only caught up when the two reunited again, roughly a decade ago.
He swallowed a lump in his throat and closed his eyes.
A poor attempt to hide his displeasure.
"I think I just threw up in my mouth."
He imagined the way this town's clubs would be.
Gangly women with all kinds of disease dancing to the sound of trap music.
Sweet Black-fricking-Sabbath, the awful trap music.
He'd been to one of these a while ago, not by choice, mind you.
It'd gone over about as well as a car crash, strippers giving 'private' shows for money, just suck on men who neither looked handsome nor visited the gym.
Then there was the drugs. People snorted cocaine everywhere. Like, all the damn time. Out of the back, there was this guy who was selling heroin.
He left it a burnt hole in the ground.
The concept itself just grossed him out after that.
He spotted another recipient on the bill.
Morrison.
"Oh- Oh come on! You're supposed to be a legitimate business man, not a low-class pimp!" He complained.
However, he did recall his own companion.
A young raven-haired woman. No whore that's for sure.
Actually . . . come to think of it, she reminds him a lot of Lady, barring the different colored eyes-
"No! No-no- way, not allowing myself to even go there."
So anyway, he had this woman, for a short time. It never went anywhere, a mistake he ended fast.
He never knew what she did for a living, she always told him she worked as a legitimate dancer down at the ballrooms across town.
That was a good point, he never did question if she told him the truth.
He was just too preoccupied with his own goals at that time. Not to mention, he isn't much into relationships. He preferred loneliness, and likes the time alone with his thoughts.
Or at least he used to.
There was something about the way he and Lady operated today that had him questioning that part of himself.
"I wonder what happened to her?" He wondered aloud, "It's for the best that she never saw me again anyway."
Focusing back on the task ahead, he took the frame from the desk and placed it on the ground next to the other.
Holding both sides, he carried the desk and went for the front door.
He placed the worktable close to the door. Who knows, maybe someone will take it and use it for something.
He returned and closed the door.
"I should call someone and put a proper lock on this thing." Glaring back at the wide office, the floor was kinda clean but . . .
Nah, still too empty, and unlikable to his eyes.
Perhaps a carpet that goes from the front door to the desk.
Maybe another one over the sitting area.
And the lights . . . He had to do something about that. Maybe have a chandelier in the middle to give the place a much better look.
His tastes were gothic, as he viewed the gothic fiction era in America with favoritism over the common drawl of the modern author.
Huh, the more he had this time to reflect in such a foreign environment, the more he realized certain things about himself.
Would that be normal in a human's eyes? Not many people like that era of literature.
. . . Or even literature, anymore.
Anyway, his preferences for this style was reflective on his taste in atmosphere and environment.
"Most of the money will be gone over fixing up this 'lame' place." He rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot, brother. I don't know what were you thinking when you collected all that outstanding debt, but . . ."
His expression once again changed into confusion. Remembering what he heard from Arkham before.
What did that little poem mean?
Red soul? Lost son?
Son. . .?
Within seconds his eyes widened like dinner plates.
"That's not possible, he must be trying to play me, and nothing else. That's inconceivable."
To be continued
Thanks for reading this! I hope you enjoyed this :)
Note: I know this chapter had a really dark twist of event there, Lady is in her dmc 4 appearance in case anyone is wondering, I did describe her as such in earlier chapter. Anyway if you guys believe it's too dark to add this to the story, tell me. How do you feel about it?
I can update a version with that part removed, I have a different approach there.
StableGenius TR: Thank you :) It's just I'm trying to keep Vergil realistic and in character, I mean he is a man now, not the same teenager hungry for power. He matured. Not to mention what started it all. Dante's death. Yes you are correct his thoughts about her changed, no way like he imagined, and after this chapter he is even more comfortable with her. Oh wow I'm glad it does benefit the story so far. It's what I planned from the start to have flashbacks and more of a heartwarming memories, after all what happened within the first chapter. Part of the plot. I have to work it good and thank god it's flowing so far.
Thank you very much, I love your in depth thoughts you share with me.
Special thanks to Angel Wolf, my beta reader, for helping me.