Thank you If El Major and Guest.
Chapter 13 - Hollow
The lazy wind pushes against the unmown grass like a child sending dandelion seeds on their way: one o'clock, two o'clock, three.
Above the white wisps trail and the late spring sun brings a welcoming warmth that coats the man as good as caramel over a harvest apple. A weather he is too familiar with, knowing that breeze too well.
His tan cloak was flowing in the wind, the silence was troubling a little bit.
His eyes drifted around, the street's mostly empty. He'd come far, Fortuna was a distant travel from his own humble abode.
The city was populated by old Swedish architecture and French-style country houses.
It looked entirely ripped out of some medieval fantasy, with mismatched gothic churches painting the avenues every so often.
He did not know why this city existed so, only that it served as an optimal hideaway. He came here after his time trapped in the devil realm as a youth.
And, as all things pertaining to fate, that was the time the demons chose to attack his family.
When they were at their most vulnerable, he was nowhere near, the stubborn bastard he was . . . Damn it. His fists clenched as this small reflection reminded him of his worst failure.
Right up-ahead stood Sparda's statue over the main cathedral.
"Your pathetic order . . . This city will burn, I will see to that." He whispered to himself, then noticed his father's famous visage, "People always worship you . . ."
A number of scarecrow-like entities emerged, swelling with insects as a black sickness overtook the sunshine for a moment.
Black magic: He could smell it's foul stench gathering around him.
Humanity's arrogance really knew no limit.
. . .
The closest one to him lunged. He responded with a savage front kick that burst open the diseased sack.
A wheeze came from behind.
Vergil flinched his wrist, moving beyond speed visible, and sliced the thing to oblivion. A snap of his fingers revealed the hidden atrocity, a split second of carnage unraveled the grisly toy.
Another staggered forward and sliced down at his chest. The 3-prong blade came hurling from above, but he took a step forward then shifted his shoulder, and caught the bare assault by the thing's calf.
Left open and pulpy, he dug his fingers in, cruelty grinding into the creature's soft tissue. A red look in his eyes, he rushed forward, effortlessly whirling it back around. It's face scraped against the asphalt.
The entirety of it's body smacked the pavement, lifting up and around, then pulverizing downward in a continued toss at the ground.
The air whipped, his body shoving all the momentum forth into a dark crescendo. It's 'bones' cracked sickeningly against the pavement, and the beast was done.
As a being, it broke apart into black shards of cosmic glass, soon fading away altogether.
Three rushed him, intent to overwhelm with numbers, but he anticipated their simple-minded approach.
He unleashed a force of pure fire, charring out these embers at the expense of stamina that he had to burn.
It radiated in an uncomplicated wave, rippling it's molten energy like a bomb. It all channeled upward in a pyre, lighting the ground afire.
It acted as a beacon of hate to the denizens of this cult, hopefully they'd feel the fear he wanted them to.
He continued walking forward to the statue in the town garden, a flourishing bevy of flowers and fantastical plants adorning the grassy knoll.
A creature of lightning slashed his body, tearing the cloak away to reveal his crimson garb. The robe acted as a buffer, sparing him injury as he revealed two chained gauntlets.
It lunged at his countenance, demanding blood in exchange for kin, but received penance as a fist in it's mid. He beat both cestus as fast as he could against it's crooked form, bashing the natural plating.
Though silver, it's homegrown armor couldn't match his fury as he put his entire arm through it's chest. Sung was it's song, now it would remain silent as it fell to the flatland.
Grace wasn't in these monster's nature.
He kept his stroll chugging, refusing to brake for these lowly pissants. Still, at least they were demons instead of those vile primates.
A grunt came at him, dragging it's ghoulish body across the tar of the road, and tried to cease his walk with a claw.
It's slovenly teeth hung loose from it's purple-skinned mouth, a sheer sexual glee in it's eyes as it hunted for flesh to consume.
He hated Raksha's.
With one raw haymaker, the impact shattered stone.
It's head liquefied instantaneously, drawing out it's eyes from the skull in all directions, and fragmenting the cranium itself into tiny pieces.
Sadistic was his yarn, savage was how he chose to spin it. In a sensational flurry, he ravaged all before him. None were safe.
Tiring of Ifrit, Vergil banished them in favor of his reliable katana. He spun as he drew yamato deep into side of scarecrow.
As he turned, the blade collected another scarecrow, then another, until all four were wedged upon the blade. Time slowed, celerity a swift sense for his evolved genes.
A moment later, the blade warped through while they still traveled together intact.
With Yamato freed, he dragged it back up against the sheath, then placed it back within it's hollow . . . The scarecrows burst to ashes.
Air slowly escaped from Vergil's lips as he straightened his back and looked to the sky, stretching.
The collisions made scars across the well-maintained street, a couple feet between him and them; the remaining opposition.
Yet he looked to his right and saw more creatures emerge from shadow, hungry.
Just an arms length away now.
One of them seemed larger, as if to command dominance among the varied lot.
It screeched the black tongue at him, promising death and retribution against him.
"This is really going to hurt you." Vergil promised with a forewarned wince, an infernal black-toothed grin beneath the stoic surface.
Vergil sprung off his feet, zooming across the thoroughfare with Force Edge elongated.
A blue blur, it pierced the lead creatures heart, and, with malice, expelled a vermillion explosion of energy that shot enemies to the stratosphere.
In a rage, the slayer emerged from the smoke with an airborne rave of strikes, swiping Yamato left and right, diagonal and vertical, with precise abandon.
Each stilted monstrosity exploded into bits of wire and dust as Vergil's rising form delivered a blitzkrieg of hellfire-laced slashes. The magical powers of his fury caustically de-manufactured their bodies.
The release of smoldering hate destroyed them in an instant, a colorful display of crimson and azure.
He grabbed two remaining creatures around their twisted bodies and rotated himself, still flying.
He arched the two of them together, flinging them aloft his head and crushing them together.
With one final barge, he thrashed them into a brick wall, bouncing their durable frames off the barrier. Easily, this re-angled them to meet Yamato.
On his descent, he slashed open each of them, playing ping pong with their mutilated cadavers and the partition's surface.
Black blood spattered the pavement and the wall itself, covering every conceivable object while he toyed with them.
In the end, they ended their existence as empty vessels, departing in a haze of dirt. His blue crush did the job, the poles of transcendent light blinking in and out of existence.
He landed, satisfied from this bout, if he could call it that. His humanity drifted farther away from him, but a sudden flush of images brought it back.
A single female voice dominated his mind, telling him to focus. His task was one of revenge, and it was best accomplished when one was hunting for blood.
His thoughts recollected, he began to ponder this development further.
Why? Why would Elias give some random member of this place his birthright? Was he even being honest to begin with?
For what reason could they really need the amulets? They were created to unleash hell, not better mankind.
Perhaps they too were trying to attain Sparda's power. Foolish men, the power of his father could not be held by their wretched hands.
An ominous boom shook the place to it's core.
His breath quickened, lacking control unnerved him . . . "What was that?"
An ear-piercing howl erupted from the alley behind the statue. Agonizing screams of humankind populated the airwaves as the sounds of footsteps scurrying came his way.
Tears rained down on him like the breath of Zephyrus, a shrieking monsoon of tormented winds.
Hooded denizens came into view, when suddenly- "Everything you can't finish, I fix for you. You'll never be free."
A thick voice echoed clearly in his head, it was so familiar . . . No.
It couldn't be, Mundus . . . The dark lord returned, he'd heard him directly.
It was right in his ear, he couldn't mistake that.
Dread started to infect his mind once more. A cold hand gripped his shoulder.
The silver slayer trembled slightly as he turned around. Who was he who felt so inclined to impersonate his cursed beholder?
"Are you okay, sir?" A random man asked him.
"What . . ."
Vergil flinched back to the street, and there were a number of people walking about, going on with their daily routines.
It was as if his cacophonous slaughter had not even taken place. Were they aware of the existence of devils, or was the grip of the order so strong they'd been bewitched into blissful ignorance?
He winced his wrist, and the man's head fell by the wayside, all the people began to pray as he thought they would not.
Leaving the corpse, he backtracked to where he'd killed before, a double check. The asphalt was normal and clean.
He knew he'd walked a longer distance than he'd come back, what was going on?
"Is this a joke?" He wondered aloud to himself.
Yet somehow, his memory of his time here was no more than certain flashes, vague echoes of certain moments.
With a long exhale, he quickly detected the telltale signs that his brain still sought to wake itself from a nap.
These twisted images were the vestiges of a dream, turning in on themselves in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain. All was gone except the will to be, a reflection in a cracked mirror.
Then, from nowhere, came the memory of where he was supposed to be fighting these dark fiends, clearing all paths.
It played out as before, but the man never came.
The voice?
No time to wonder.
Had it happened or not? He was back where he thought he should be, close to the statue.
He gathered himself, his brown cloak once more severed from him as he continued his road beyond Sparda's effigy. He reached his house, once a fragment in the distance, where he used to live.
Around the corner of a tailor's place he regularly frequented when he finally began to make ample funds for his regal tastes.
The old house was nothing like he remembered, the charm was gone. It'd all been rebuilt, replaced with modern prefab exteriors and the vegetation that once grew so plentiful had all been hacked away.
All that remained were a few strands of grass amongst the long bricks. He knelt down and searched through the sand amongst the cement, until he found the key.
Amazing that it still remained, as it should have been long gone, wasted away like a flower in the wind. But that was what this place did to things, it just held on, remembering all secrets dormant.
Just like how he remembered his time here.
The key looked stripped. Has it been that long? He touched the nordic-looking wood door, oddly the only thing that remained of his stay.
"Is that you, Gilver? Have you finally come back?" The voice of an elder echoed behind him.
He froze in place, it was a familiar timbre. It couldn't be, was he still alive?
Vergil reversed his head to look at the man who had hobbled up behind him, his hand clutching an old cane. Once he saw his face, the old man's look brightened.
"Unbelievable, you've returned!"
"M-. . . Marcos!?" Vergil couldn't help but respond.
The man was ancient by his standards even when he'd first met him.
"The very same." The man let out a hearty chuckle, unaffected by age, "You've grown. Nice new style. Poor Helena would have been happy, if she was still around."
Vergil shook his head and waved at him hesitantly.
The negative look on his face wasn't hidden particularly well.
"Wow, you still are the same talkative bundle of joy." He heard the old man chuckle again, before he staggered by and shakily opened the door, "That old thing won't work, come in."
So many seasons in the abyss had changed his outlook, but the interior hadn't changed as much as the outside.
The house was filled with natural earthy tones and all the hues mother nature can provide. The paintwork on the trim was brilliant white, flawless.
The path wound to a double oak front door, and was made from loose pea shingle.
It's windows weren't the large ones that were so fashionable nowadays, but more the size he used to see in old country cottages, and like them they were mullioned.
But that's where all the old-world charm ended, once across the threshold it was technology and modern design all the way.
The floors were hyper-polished concrete and the furniture Scandinavian, high end designers only. It almost resembled a gutted warehouse, albeit with clarion halls.
The only compromise to modernity was the sheepskin on the floor, so clean it was hard to believe anyone had ever stepped foot on it.
Why was it so clean? Has someone been coming here and keeping it safe? Who?
Helena . . .
It'd been ages since he'd seen her.
It was a one story house filled with the price of half the money he'd ever earned. Vergil began searching for the bedroom.
It was almost a chore, the reckless redesign leaving him without a clue as to the houses's old architecture.
After a five minute period of jutting in and out of rooms without purpose, and others with distinct ones, he finally found it.
His old bunk.
The bedroom was medium-sized, with a gloomy umber color. Strange that it's original flooring had been maintained, as had all the other compartments.
The king size bed was covered with grey linens and blankets. He was never one for color, at least not back then.
His mind drifted, remembering the figure of a woman sleeping there. Her raven hair covering the pillow like an inky shadow over the light.
Her smooth, tan skin barely hidden by royal purple, satin sheets . . .
However the memory was cut short.
Within him, within his mind, that dreaded wrath began to boil up.
The fact that he had to go all over the place just to understand what happened to his brother, the fact someone was so disgusting that they didn't mind going in and disturbing the dead for their goals . . .
He wouldn't do this to his worst enemy.
. . .
Night had fallen fast upon the land. No more than an hour ago, the sky was stained hues of red, orange and pink, but all color had faded away.
Now, only a matte black canvas: No stars to be looked upon.
The darkness was abnormally thick, the lanterns in certain houses hardly lit the path, allowing a number of people to see, at most, about an arm's reach forward.
Other than the darkness and himself, all that seemed to exist was the chilly wind that tested pride. It had a harsh bite, felt through any clothing rather easily.
He could feel the hairs on his arm raise, and the bite of the wind had left its mark in the form of small bumps, though they soon faded. The affect was more than flesh-deep.
A shattered goal filled his soul with a ruthless cry. His blood ran gelid through his veins, and his bones chilled themselves to the marrow.
This wasn't normal at all.
Vergil traversed the main path to the town's cathedral, it's prosperous light shining like an old golden beacon to the humans.
It was something horrid to those wicked few, whose borders could not be crossed for fear of true damnation.
Strange sounds crept up on his way.
It was more like a vacuum sucking the air backwards, robotically chipping the gusts away.
His stroll continued till it grew so loud he could find no solace.
The man stopped, his tall body looking positively unearthly in the dark.
Tilting his head back, he responded "If you're looking for blood, move on."
His demonic eyes can see clearly.
"Somebody help me!"
"No." He replied, then turned his back.
Vergil continued walking away as the boy's screams continued. So it goes.
A number of people had been dragging the poor man right in front of his eyes into some kind of portal. It was a sinful thing, the hellion vortex feeling rotten to the senses.
Once more, he checked his surroundings. It seemed ice began gathered around the roofs ever so softly, crusting chips of itself to the edges. The ground went white, as if it'd been snowing for hours.
The air around him felt heavy once more, like something around the corner would be coming for him. Within one second, a loud bang punched through the fog itself, roaring hungrily.
It left an obvious trail over the houses, like large claws pounced upon them.
"Another pawn? Or someone real this time?"
. . .
"Ghosts, come back for vengeance." He spat.
Like a wave, a number of knights appeared and drew their rapiers.
They took strategic positions around him, boxing him in. With a single hand, the crimson hunter unsheathed Yamato slowly.
"Cute."
The first man came forward and plunged his rapier forward.
It passed through Vergil's flesh, but the slayer barely felt anything. He kept standing in place, looking down as if he hadn't noticed the wound.
He smirked in response, the knight took a step back.
Within a mere millisecond, the dark angel released a kick upward into the stout knight's mid section.
He sailed into an old-world spire, splattering against 18th century bricks before falling back to earth over thirty feet.
With a solitary swipe of his sword, he batted four away back into the rest of their compatriots, carved right in two through their steel plating.
They were nothing more than rag dolls to him, idiotic primitives in outdated armor.
Nobody had told them that 1730 was long gone now, no need for sluggish weaponry.
One knight drew in behind him, bringing it's zweihander down towards the Cambion's neck. Calmly, without even looking, Vergil placed his katana back over his shoulder, blocking the strike.
He sparked the blades together with a twist, forcing the oversized blade back, and the knight off his feet. Vergil shifted back, and brought his knee into the young boy's ribs.
They cracked open, the metal chest plate splitting from the force as he travelled back to the ground sixty feet away. An older knight screamed at him, the boy was his eldest son.
"You murderer! Savior take you!"
"Better protect the weak when they're young, it would've saved him from me you hypocrite." Vergil responded, callous.
Another came at his side, but the slayer was too quick, stamping the man to the ground with a swift heel.
He buried his boot deep into the knight's face, a torrent of red billowing out over all the men's gears.
The older knight screamed, "You'll burn in Hell for this!"
Vergil actually got a chuckle out of that one, and so shoved his free hand onto the knight's shoulder. He was sent back to the ground, hitting the hilly trail with his back. He tried sitting up.
Cruelly, Vergil stomped on his chest, forcibly holding him down under the sole of his leather footwear. He kept chuckling, sociopathic.
"Hahaha, burn! Ah, such a limited imagination. You see this?" He referenced the cutlass still stuck in his side from the first attack, "This is a killing blow on any other man."
Swiftly, he casually fenced off another two knights that tried to save their elder.
He slashed their throats, pierced their armor, tore them to pieces as all the others kept their distance, afraid.
The slayer gripped the handle and ripped it from his side, then dangled the dripping edge over the man's face, kicking off the grandiose helmet.
"This is my blood, from my body. Happy are they who come to my supper." He gleefully growled as the blood flowed off the metal, dripping onto the old man's face.
"Father!" A young boy screamed through plate mail, and he ran forward to the towering demon from their unfocused formation.
Vergil casually whipped the rapier around, and the blade shot through the air, impaling itself through the adolescent's brain.
He fell to ground dead, and the old man screamed to the heaven's.
Vergil gravelly replied, "Yet another life . . . You could have saved."
He then sent a judgment cut through him, dicing the knight in pieces, decorating the ground red. The reality of having killed a father and his two children hit Vergil hard.
Where did that cruelty come from? It wasn't in his nature until now. A strange distance between himself and his actions grew . . . The action's of these people to follow a false prophet sealed their fate.
And yet, his ruthlessness felt equally wrong. Far be it from him to ponder this in a fight, the other's took advantage of this moral distraction to spike him all at once.
Javellins, spears, swords, maces, the entire lot of a town's out-of-touch weaponry shot through him.
Vergil bared his teeth, and in a wild-eyed frenzy, released a torrent of sonic slashes that ended all but one life instantaneously.
Heads rolled, limbs came free, and a lustrous corpse party of a grim current bedazzled the streets of the city.
The last knight fell back on lower spine, cuts deep in his chest as all his friends fell to the ground, hacked to pieces. He began trying to wrestle himself back, but his heavy armor wouldn't let him get far.
Bathed in darkness, the reaper of their souls came forth to his dying breath, katana in hand. Scarlet eyes met him, a symbol of vehement destruction, the end of life.
And the figure spoke to him . . .
"Take a look to the sky, just before you die. It's the last time you ever will."
Breathless, euphoric, he complied, and the stars were beautiful. Funny how such trivial things become so important in moments like this. But something started to happen.
The stars started going out, the sky's becoming blacker and blacker till no light was here. In this new place, not even his mortal death-bringer had followed.
Where he was, he couldn't say for sure, perhaps it was salvation. He began tumbling down a large hole of dirt and buried roots, bloodied still. And as he went it grew warmer, and warmer . . .
Vergil removed Yamato from the man's forehead, his journey to hell surely unenviable.
He staggered about, blinded by the weight of his actions. He wouldn't forget their screams, their faces . . . What compelled him to this violent end?
He was supposed to be fulfilling his brother's task of helping the helpless, not taking their lives from them. . .
Every once in a while, a good one came along, he supposed.
He put these thoughts to bed, straightening himself out as he seemed to completely gloss over the human blood covering his body.
Instead, he followed his senses, to where this creature was going.
It was big, and blind perhaps, the nature of it's tracks made no sense to him. Haggard and breathing heavily, he walked on.
. . .
A labyrinth of phantasm grey mist hung over Fortuna's forest. It seemed as if it had arisen as part of the greenery's wet breath.
Hovering like voodoo vapour in the arcane twilight of the dusk, it was motionless as it surveyed the trees beneath.
Like an apparition one might see over an ancient barrow, it was more than air and less than flesh. Kinless and kith-less, it wove itself together, increasing in density.
The trail of snow stopped there, upon a large hill it seems.
Just as he was about to jump, he heard a tantalizing feminine laugh. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then another laugh echoed.
Sounds of the longing, passionate moans, giggling through the wind.
Vergil whirled around looking for the source.
"Over here . . ." Moaned one of the voices.
He saw them: Two dancing figures watching him, longing for him.
They were two faery-like beings of ethereal beauty. Colored like water, they frolicked on air, nude.
Their long, flowing hair waved and floated, as if they were underwater, making them even more alluring.
Vergil was undeniably aroused for a second, but he knew better and that feeling was pushed back easily. This carnal duo seemed to be embracing one another, openly exploring their luminescent bodies.
They began to run their hands over their supple skin, then gestured to him.
"Don't you want to come? Don't you want to play with us? Come here. . ."
Vergil rolled his eyes, annoyed. Another distraction.
He sighed and walked over.
When he approached one of them held out it's hand, awaiting his touch.
He seemed to raise his palm in response, possibly agreeing to the threesome.
His hand passed her's snaking towards one of them by the hair.
Seizing the frigid, giant lock, he snapped back, pulling her roughly, and dragging a large silhouette from within the snowy smog.
"Hiding behind lust. You really are insipid. Face me, coward." The halfbreed sneered.
The faeries were revealed as simple, luminous traps for a massive, scaly frog-like beast. It growled as it pulled itself together.
"You are smarter than you look." The giant toad spoke, bits of green saliva staining the ground ever so often, "The infamous son of Sparda. I can smell his seed anywhere. They told of your arrival."
"Who's they?" Vergil questioned, "You are the one who kidnapped these people back in the city? Don't amuse me, toad."
It rasped, laughing at his questions. The crystal spikes on it's back revealed themselves, as did other amphibious features.
"The time is almost near. . ." The toad continued, "Daddy will return, you'll be here to witness it all."
"Daddy!?" Vergil questioned him, even more confused.
The anuran shook it's body, flabby joints and skin shaking out of fashion till snapping back into place. Some of the ice on its head broke loose. The pieces fell towards Vergil like bullets.
He drew Yamato, and dashed straight up at the frog, weaving through the icy bullets while they rained from the sky.
The toad started backing up, trying to put distance in between them, but Vergil was moving far faster than he realized.
He zipped straight up to its mouth, then gathered power within Yamato's edge, the katana glowed almost purple.
He circled in place and struck the demon's lower lip with a downward slice. The force of the blow jerked the toad down, almost pushing it's head into the ground.
"Stand aside." Vergil hissed, backflipping over numerous feet, then sending a followup energy slash toward the creature.
The toad screeched and landed on it's weaker front legs, chin collapsing into the ground. The lip of the creature was torn open, bleeding red.
Vergil stood up, watching the creature squirm in pain.
"Is that all you've got, Bael?" Vergil shook his head, and cocked his head to the side slightly, "Disappointing."
Before Vergil could reach him again, the toad took a deep breath, throat expanding.
It swelled to ridiculously huge levels, and it let out a roar, mixed with jagged ice fragments.
Vergil quickly charged against the forced winds and launched up through the air in a black blur, avoiding the deadly shards as they ripped forward below.
He coiled his hind legs as the beast leapt forward, jaws wide open. Vergil darted back, keeping himself just out of range, then rammed Yamato's hilt into the amphibian's chin.
Reversing his grip, he released a backhanded slash upwards, blinding one of it's eyes.
"You little-. . ." The demon growled, "Still, you are going to die here. I'm not. . . defeated. There's more of us."
"Have you bred since we last met? The frost toads are a disgrace to demon-kind."
"Oh yes, young one, I've bred a wondrous world of freezing torment. From beyond this hellgate, my kind is renewed to destroy you!"
The black obelisk behind it stood enormously tall, even larger than that of the creature.
"A time-waster; that's what you are." Vergil prepared to charge once again, not content to let someone else escape. A fog emerged and a figure stepped forward from it.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
"D-Dante!?" He whispered.
The man before him had the face, the cloths: No doubt. However, his skin was paler than usual, potentially translucent.
Dante's lips slowly moved to a half a smile, before he walked away. Vanished down the path forward.
Vergil felt his legs weaken.
"W-wait!" He started following him, ignoring the toad and it's words.
His heart was pounding as he bolted uphill. The shadows of the trees lurched out from the darkness, shrouding everything in a crooked black shade.
The wind yowled, slamming cold blasts of air upon him. He stumbled on every rock he encountered. He wanted to scream against the wind, to banish it like a god.
Finally he spotted the gates of a graveyard, the moon was out, illuminating the pale circus at the cemetery gates.
Through the murkiness, the winds of Salem were whistling through the trees.
The place was empty, having stayed deathly silent for a long time.
"Dante!?" He called out.
"In the field's, so green and so free, the bodies are burning. Seeds gaze up through their husks." He heard a cold emotionless voice sing, it's lyrics twisted out of form.
"The clouds keeps them from the light, and the sky cries white tears of snow. I'm going to come find you . . . I'm going to come find you . . ."
The last lines were stated instead of melodiously chirped, and they grew slower, more dissonant.
. . .
Eva started singing as the boys laid on her lap, each one resting on a thigh. Eyes closed, an unmistakable smile on their faces.
Her hands played with their hairs gently.
"Sweet dreams, my sons."
. . .
Vergil froze, desperate to see where the voice came from.
A figure jumped from the railing ahead.
"I've been waiting for you!" Dante's unmistakable voice addressed him. He didn't know what to say to that, he simply stood there watching him.
His head hurt, like it was about to pop like a balloon.
"Dante. . . What are you doing here of all places?"
"You failed," Dante spoke, pointing a literal finger, "I was right there in front of you, and you let me die. You're nothin' more than a hypocritical freak.
You're weak, you wanna make a name for your self at the expanse of family."
"No, not true." He calmly replied, closed his eyes and decided to walk away. He needed to keep going and search for the Order.
"What!?" It exclaimed, "You're walking away!?"
"Does it surprise you when mind games don't work?" He asked, unbothered.
"I'm your brother, you will listen to me!"
"As much as I'd love to believe it were true, you can't. Don't even try."
With that, the slayer turned his back and kept walking.
Suddenly, a woman cried out to him, her head was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of her every pore.
From her mouth came a cry from so raw that even the eyes of the strangers around were suddenly wet with tears. Vergil snapped his head to the sight, as old-world villagers gathered around a strange woman.
Dressed in black, her blonde hair was flying in the wind chaotically.
He grew closer, the crowd growing thin as they stepped away. Odd they would be here in the midst of a cemetery. They had to be spirits.
At the center, it was Eva, but her face was so pale. He barely recognized her, the grime of dried blood smeared on her face, and she was emaciated - dangerously underweight.
He kept his distance, his knowledge telling him to stay away.
"They took my baby. . . Why!? It should have been me." Eva silently spoke, pained.
From her eyes came a thick flow of tears. Crucified for no sins, now there was only pain, enough to break her. Pain, enough to change his perception beyond reality.
"Where are you Vergil!? What did they do to you?"
The child in her arms tried to pull away from her.
"Let me go mom, I'll search for him." The kid didn't wait for her to answer and broke from her grasp, tearing off into the dark.
As he did, her stomach wrenched open, held together by nothing.
She yelled after the boy,
"Wait, Dante. Don't go alone! Don't leave me . . ." She ended on a whimper.
She then stood slowly, and looked to her grown boy, standing before her. Her gutted figure was stick-like, shrouded by that black gown.
"This is my tomb, this is where I rest. I am interred in a dark place. Why weren't you there? I'm going to come find you." Her voice was deep, uncharacteristically hollow.
Her tears turned to scorching blood, outlining the edge of the incisions on her face; he hadn't noticed before now.
She opened her gangly arms, offering an embrace for him, her revolting body decaying as she took each rickety step.
Vergil felt paralyzed, this insanity from the pain he surely knew, his breaths quickening. He felt his body weakening, the sight itself sapping strength.
What's happening here!? No! Stay away! This isn't possible!
All horrors paled to this, his mutilated mother dragging her entrails with every step.
He heard an axe being ground, her rotted flesh coming closer with every move.
He couldn't hurt his mother, he wouldn't. It was his mom!
Slowly, slowly. . . She was mere inches away now.
Her nose had fallen off, and oversized maggots burst from the flesh on her face. Finally, he could bear it no longer.
With a terrified, impulsive slice, he brought Force Edge crashing down from a personal void. A black scourge of power emanated from the blade.
Her body bisected, falling to ash. It became indiscernible from the snow, and the villagers all faded away.
He fell to the ground and cradled the ashes in his black-gloved hands. Silence.
Force Edge laid there, impaled into the ground. Raw power surged from it's hilt.
He clutched it's handle, holding it almost like a person, down on his knees in the fallen snow. The ashes glowed on contact, imbuing the blade as they disappeared.
The blade was great, feeling comfortable to fall on. But a sharp spleen emerged inside him, the purity of his choler shining through the dark.
"Show-. . . Show yourself! Ulmarag." Once his vision cleared, his voice ragged.
The cemetery felt a lonely shell. The gates were open, blowing in the soft breeze.
"You did this Vergilius." A feminine voice echoed.
He scowled as he climbed to his feet.
With murder on his breath and wrath returned to his heart, the man summoned a black aura from inside himself.
"My mother never calls me Vergilius. Get out here, worm."
The sound of flapping wings filled the air, and the wind whipped around him. The demon appeared at last, a salvo of razor sharp black feather's racing toward him.
Vergil zoomed to his right, easily evading these treacherous shards.
With a smirk in it's ugly face, the horned beast greeted the devil-man.
"That may be the first time someone's referred to me that way. Good to see you've finally come." Ulmarag told him, "You are going to die this day, it's foretold."
His body had healed, but a scar remained across his face. A reminder of their previous battle.
"What are you planning!?" Vergil barked, "Speak, or I'll make you weep in that grave."
"All in good time, dear halfling. You'll find out soon." The demon snarled back, "Until then, sleep. Now."
Wrapped in metal coils, the beast extended it's brutish hand and twisted it to the side.
And with that Vergil's vision was engulfed in darkness. He fell, face hitting the soft powdery snow.
...
The cool light of the hidden moon made the cloudy weather seem even colder than it really was, while the pale gleam filtering through the clean, half-closed windows made him seem strangely angelic.
Almost like a mural in a gothic cathedral, even though his mere existence was sacrilegious to most orders. Moreover, he'd been forced to become more saintly than he ever had been in his life prior . . .
Still, his classical demeanor couldn't hold a candle to Sanctus, whose Pope-like garbs and Vicar headdress made him a truly divine individual to the human eye.
Agnus supposed Sanctus really was a saintly individual, his tenure with the order having only recently begun.
The stammering scientist hadn't really become familiar with the group's goals, much less Sanctus as a person. All of this . . . Any of this.
Perhaps a believer ought to feel something, looking down on the cold, gentle eyes of his mentor.
Yet, the middle-aged fellow had never been anything more to him than someone he should follow, a living, literal parable to serve as a spiritual guide. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Agnus. What have you to say of your findings?" Sanctus addressed him in a cool polite tone. His hands were resting on the desk, checking through scripture of some kind.
"Your Holiness. . . I was t-t-t-told," He stuttered, an issue he couldn't help, "It was successful. The amulet are ret-t-t-t-trieved."
"Wonderful, may the Savior be with you, my child. The time is almost here." Sanctus replied and motioned for him to leave.
Agnus bowed and left the small office.
He rounded right and went down the stairs. At the stairs bottom was a direct door to a freezing, glum room painted grey.
Several empty cages were gathered in the side. His work in the past.
It never bothered him much. He must do what must be done in order to succeed
He'd never held any leader as someone so holy they must be worshiped, no.
The man had lusted and dreamed for the day Sparda returned and ruled over Fortuna, protecting all inhabitants from the nuclear warfare foretold of outside the city limits.
Perhaps the two of them are not so different, he mused in silence. He couldn't lie to himself either. Agnus found himself stopping in front of a coffin like tube.
"What am I going. . . T-t-t-t-to do with you?" He spoke to the figure inside the coffin, clad in red cloths.
This is wrong!
Disturbing the dead was over the line.
Is Sparda really worth it?
Would Sparda even approve. . . ?
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this.
The Author here..: Ulmarag powers are to use his victim's memories against them during the fight. Eva' scene is a real memory from Dante when he faced him before, at least when it comes to the sadness. It is a sight that's cruel to Vergil. A horrible event he never knew about, it's completely unreal to him because he could have never imagined it.
Note: Agnus here is younger, so I figured he cannot be the same insane idiot from the game.
I'm already working in chapter 14, I won't be late like before that's for sure.
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Beta Reader Note (for publication): Hey all, Angel Wolf here. Just letting you know some stuff about this chapter before it goes out.
The title is named for the Pantera song of the same name, but was ultimately written to 'Seasons In The Abyss (song)' by Slayer, and 'Cemetery Gates,' also by Pantera.
Lilian was experiencing writers block as a result of creative exhaustion, hence the long wait between chapters, while I myself was going through a serious depression.
This all boiled down to this new chapter, during which both of us sort of powered through our problems to try and just write at least something.
My idea was to really make this something brooding and dark, I'm not sure what LxJ's influences were at this moment, but they too were of a darker tangent than previous chapters.
Feel free to ask me any questions both privately and publicly, I'll respond to everyone in addition to Lilian. That's all from me at the moment, enjoy it you guys.