Chapter 24 ~ Battery

First, the inky darkness sank into the bone marrow. This was followed by bursts of lightning raging across the streets. Steadily, it made its way from one end of the city to the other.
Sometimes flashing bolts of pure energy stood for long moments around the metal buildings. Temporarily, they held prisoner all the people inside, dangerous cell bars of heated light.
Counting one, two, then three, and then came explosions of thunder in great waves of discordant, demented booms. They rattled and cracked windows, and made all hearts tremble inside their chest.
The wind raised to the level of a thousand hellhounds howling all at once. No one could speak, fear transformed intelligible words into agonizing moans and worthless defense mechanisms.

The stench of death hung heavy in the air and it all seemed to explode from place, a darkened hall of malevolence.

"Keep moving!" A soldier lead the people away the moment the winds began to kick up once more. They were moving in a straight line, seeking one another's comfort from this disaster.

The storm that the sky had been foreshadowing this whole month had finally arrived. The war was here, warned only by a few meager attacks and minor casualties.
It seemed no one could stop it now, the cities were running red with the blood of hapless victims, their homes no longer a safe haven as monstrosities destroyed the foundation.

In all this time, straining humanity cocked a sting unto the back of the populace's back, hiding certain facts as if it were acceptable.

Memories of corpses and dead dogs filled their minds, the big city's business buildings being torn apart by flames and a mad jester, the rain unable to quell.
Like a predator in the wild, the beasts flooded the streets now revealed for their true names, the wulver. Wulvers, sins, jungle fiends, all manner of beast had arrived.
Some men drank Hennessy. Some just lost their minds, so many dying in the streets and no way to stop it.

So it goes.

That son of Sparda was a bipolar son of a bitch. A lost cause.

Manah stood atop the ledge of an old building. He supposed it might have been considered a skyscraper once.
No sense hiding his true form now, he let his animal instinct shine true, razor sharp teeth and all.
Most of these ants fled through the streets like little toy soldiers, smelly primate cowards postponing the inevitable.

Their military doing what they could do best: nothing.

The wind surged enormous gusts, flowing through his mane and ruffling his black coattails.

But it was in unnatural patterns, occasionally breezing through then blowing into massive flurries.
It was an anthropic uncreation, some kind of black magic that forced this wind here, it felt ancient and lifeless.
Manah rolled his shoulders and kept thinking on what could have caused this unbalanced mess.
Someone somewhere had tampered with something, the world itself was out of sync, and the air just wasn't right.

Was this even real? Why would this happen now?

Manah wasn't sure what this crucifixion meant, he only knew who might be responsible.

And that wasn't the person who'd shown up.

This was wrong, all wrong, fate twisted out of form somehow. He would find out why.

His mind drifted out of the present, traveling backwards to just after he had lead Vergil to the woman he sought, searching for his own answer.

. . .

He stood in front of the door. He heard the conversations inside clearly.

"I win again." Patty laughed and clapped her hands.

"Oh shoot, you're a mean player, ain't ya?" Tony replied, "I owe ya ice-cream again. I'll be broke have mercy."

"No way. You promised ten ice-cream cones. Come on, do it." She told him.

"Fine, fine . . . Tomorrow, alright?" The man said, somewhat irritated.

Manah smirked and opened the door, "Hello everybody." He said cheerfully.

The duo, sitting opposite each other, looked to him. Patty stood up, eyeing suspiciously.

"Where's Dante?" She asked, looking behind him to catch any sight of the slayer.

He rubbed the back of his hand and continued. "Don't worry about him, he's off doing his own thing. Last I saw him, he was taking a walk.
I've got to go do something for just a couple of minutes, but he's fine, he'll be around sometime, I think. I don't really know, he does what he wants."

"Got it," Patty replied, sitting back down.

Well, that sounded a lot like Dante.

"Why do I think of the devil every time I look at you?" Tony asked him.

Manah chuckled aloud, it seemed his reputation remained despite the human guise he put on, "There are some things in this world you're better off not knowing."

Tony himself stood and faced up to him, "Stop treatin' me like I'm the help, I only work for Dante, not you. One more crack like that and I'll flatten ya."

"Aheh," Manah chuckled, "Oh really? Anthony Romano, the same man who left his fiancé in financial trouble and embezzled money from his former employers.
You pinned it on your boss and fled the state, then you hid yourself inside some shady casino to start a new life. You began an affair with the owner's wife: classy.
You slept with a platinum blonde two nights ago and you ate Sushi for lunch around the corner. That sound about right?"

Tony's face went white, how the hell did this guy know so much about him?
Had he been spying on Tony? It couldn't be, he didn't look familiar at all.

"Stay away from this boy." Manah told Patty, then left Tony with these words, "As for you, maybe this place will straighten you out."

Stepping outside, he walked off to the right.

It was time for him to meet the clown.

What fool dresses themselves in purple? It was such an ugly color in huge doses.

His feet left the ground, landing on the building behind it as he began building speed, searching for the jester, the crooked man's presence surprisingly close.
It was lurking in the shadows somewhere. He kept heading further into the city, moving on from one place to another until he was close to the city harbor.
He could see the sea was strangely frosty, islands were further off in the distance beyond the frigid waters.

His sharp eyes could see orange and red hues across the sky, unaffected by the bizarre seasonal change in the city.
Winter's call was trudging toward them, somehow coming here unaffected by time. It meant one thing; war. War is coming soon.

"Scary, isn't it?" He heard a mocking voice speak to him, the source leaning back against a crane with its arms crossed.

Jester's smile screamed at him, completely unfit for his relaxed posture.

"Nothing can stop it now. It's all coming to an end." The mad man said.

"Let's cut the bullshit, clown." Manah barked at him, "You're working for someone, a little mongrel like you doesn't just fall out of the sky. Who sent you?"

"Oops, did I say too much?" Jester put one hand over his mouth, then burst into laughter, he jumped forward from the wall and did his little dance.

"Jester's gonna spank your butt, spank you on the bu-"

A set of knuckles crushed his teeth in, Manah's own rage a mistake to provoke. His human guise fell away to reveal the horned beast.
The purple man hit a set of tin trash cans, and he sat up, spitting out his teeth.
Placing his spindly fingers around his crunched in nose, he forcibly pulled it back into shape.

"Gah! I never to get to finish saying that!" He yelled.

Manah grappled Jester by the neck and lifted him off the ground, a set of devil wings bursting from his back and looming over the harlequin.

"You've played far too many games for me to let you live. Speak up, did he send you after me? Does he think you can steal my power?"

Jester squirmed a bit in his hand out of momentary discomfort, "Easy there, this isn't a game of choke the hooker out, now is it?"

The grip triggered a false pain response.

"You can't stop him, not tonight, I've made absolutely sure of that. The first sign is the devil boy's dwindling health, the second sign will be the Southern Cross."

That was the last he heard, then the Jester appeared to fall apart in his hands, completely gone. He'd turned to ash.
Damn it. There was more to do. Once Manah had returned to the shop, he heard the voice of someone screaming.
He saw the aftermath, Vergil's near strangling of Modeus and the destroyed ruins of the shop.

"I leave you alone for a half hour . . ." He muttered.

. . .

There's no point now. If only Vergil's temperament were different, he could've calmed him and there might have been a chance things would end differently.

Now, there was no way to salvage him.

"Ah well, I'll do it by myself as usual." Manah shrugged it off, "So much for 'partnership.'"

He floated high above the city and watched it for a moment.

"You can't run away from me, Jester."

. . . The streets froze over, illusions born of dust plaguing all that try to escape . . .

Lady moved on, killing her way across the city. It was cleanup time. A number of demons fell to her guns, turning to ash in the wind. The Wulvers returned.

"This feels wrong, I wish this was different." She mumbled, wishing anything that the wolves would come to their senses.

Wishing it didn't make it so.

The source of them was scattered, there was no way to see exactly where she could go, no method of determining if she could even put a stop to it all herself.
These things always happened to her, never to Dante, never to Vergil, never to anyone else, just her it seemed. Why? Was she just cosmically cursed?
Maybe, she certainly felt that way recently. Once a steady gaze and charming smile had been buried in trauma and lies. Took her years just to make her motives clear anyway.

Her campaign to clear the streets was one that might get her killed but she was determined in a way that set her apart from others.

This wasn't suicidal, this wasn't overconfidence, this was just experience and dedication to a job she really didn't figure to be concrete.

Was it all a lie? Was her spine on account of bravery or loneliness, a longing?

After so long, she just wished people would talk to her. Anyone. Just someone to talk to who would understand that life she'd lived.
Maybe that was the lie. She'd told herself this idea so many times over the years she'd come to believe it, she knew a part of herself realized it.

She was meant to be alone, there was no happy ending for people like her.

So many wolves gunned down, either in cold blood or twisted satisfaction she didn't really know anymore.
Guess it would be a good paying job had anyone actually offered her a payday. Usually the city pays up in moments like this.
But that was then, when the tower had risen, no one knew what to do, it was like a nightmare that wouldn't end.

Now it was the same. In fact, it was almost too similar, she was once again battling demons in the street in a troubled state of mind. Maybe there was such a thing as fate.

Suddenly, lightning cracked the sky, landing far off down town. It seemed to continue endlessly surging down in one spot, repeatedly striking a single point.
Black winds picked up around her and the smell of death shook through the avenue, right then and there, she knew where she would be going next.

She knew who'd be there.

. . . Behind the cemetery gates, two devils warred at each other . . .

Fear wasn't an emotion Baul had considered when he first set off on this venture. But now was as good a time as any for him to experience new things.
He didn't feel like this when he obliterated hordes of powerful demons chasing him, nor did he feel this way when facing his own brother for the first time.

That was what he thought Sparda liked in a warrior, fearlessness.

Not even when he stormed Mundus's castle, bursting out from the dust and chaos into the warm sunlight, did he even feel one fraction of fear or anxiety.

His skin tingled with hope and horror. His hands jerked and jittered back helplessly against Vergil's might. His own lips murmured pointless advice, silent encouragement.
Above them, Modeus shoved, stabbed, shouted to the point his voice turned hoarse, and he just kept swinging away. The Majin always seemed out of reach.

Bringing one of his blades to Vergil's side, he tried to cut into his ribs but he countered the swipe with the red lance of energy from his forearm.

The devil in white thrust his other blade forward, just trying for an easy slash on the chest, but the devil's fingers gripped the unearthly steel.
Without warning, Vergil jammed his knee forward and Baul felt himself leave the ground, spitting up a blood trail as his back collided with a tree trunk.

On four wings of fury, the slayer rode after the man and smashed his face back, forcing the man's head into the bark.
Releasing the blade from his other forearm, he drove his right arm to the man's stomach, powering the blade all the way through.
It burst out the other end of the tree as the devil took pleasure in his victim's pain, grinding the weapon around.

Retracting the extension, it hid away inside his arm just as he drew his right fist back and punched Sparda's prodigy. Head driven by fist went through an entire section of the tree.
His head seemed intact, a startled expression attached to it as he dropped both his swords to the ground. The man felt another fist pound his stomach, then he was no longer near the tree.

He'd been moved, staggering forward and then turning around as he tried to gain his balance.

Vergil placed his claws around the trunk and lifted it up off the stump it'd been severed from, the blow having knocked out a perfect row of the wood so quickly it had just landed back in place.

Tilting the thing forward, the slayer darted forward, ramming the dead wood into Baul's torso. The impact picked the white devil off his feet as Vergil slammed forward into the cathedral's bricks.
It crushed Baul against the wall, the slayer's strength merciless as held the improvised weapon in place. The pain was so great, it forced Baul to wake, and he drove his hands into a seam in the rind.
With a scream, he pried the wood apart and the ram broke into tiny splinters. He came forward, only for a giant fist to greet his tan face.

He managed to duck below it, taking advantage of the Majin form's superior height to evade.

Corrupted knuckles cracked the stone wall, and Vergil looked back over his shoulder.
Baul had summoned one of his blades, it flew across the battleground into his clutch.

With an eager stab, he plunged the blade through the devil's flesh. A scaly growl escaped the slayer's mouth, but he brought his entire arm back for a backhanded swing.

Stumbling backwards, gripping his jaw, the white devil ripped out his blade. Stepping away, he parried a stab from one of Vergil's arm blades.

He drove it off to the right as he crunched his jaw back into place, and began testing it, opening his mouth and closing.
It was clicking repeatedly, but it was mostly back in place now. He placed his hand out, and the other weapon came to him.

He caught it just in time as the slayer came at him with another downward slash.

Blocking with the other blade, he managed to carry the momentum of the sword's journey into a rightward swing at the Majin's waist.

He missed, Vergil having darted backward suddenly. Rushing forward in the same second, he pushed forward his elbow superhumanly fast.
The attack caught the white devil off guard, and he careened off into a headstone. His face went right through the plaque, collapsing half of it while the rest remained to catch his fall.
He sat there draped over it, dazed and confused. Groaning, he lifted his head as black claws closed around his hair and lifted him up. Red rage ripped through his chest.

Vergil forced his crimson spike forward, tearing a hole into the man.

Retracting the blade when satisfied, Vergil battered the man's back with another punishing welt.
He crashed into the gates head first, traveling in a straight line over the entirety of the churchyard.

The chains rattled and snapped, breaking free against his weight.

Blood poured liberally from the man's forehead, a new gash formed within his flesh. Forcing himself up, he pushed his arms against the ground, yet they trembled.

Sweat poured off his body, the mere act of moving now a chore.
He thought back on the things he'd done, trying to recall what lead him here.

A foot landed on the back of his head, his nose broke against the ground a second later. Lifted again by his jacket, he felt something welt his stomach.
Another fist. His eyes widened and he slowly drifted down to the ground on his feet. Clutching his stomach, saliva and blood slowly fell out of his lips.

"N-no . . ." He choked on air, ". . . This- this wasn't how it was supposed to be . . . !"

Vergil's left hand raised itself and smacked the man across the face, contorting it as if crushed against glass. He fumbled over, staying afoot but rickety.
Another back hand hit him across the side of the other cheek, Vergil's right hand this time. He turned to the other side now, a cut left on his cheek.

More followed, Vergil's hooks ruthless as he kept up the backhands for another fifteen feet.

He smashed through every boundary, his hatred twisting all he was into a lunatic fringe obsession, the circle of destruction crushing down every retort.

Modeus stood watching, his fingers twitching. He knew if he did anything, Vergil would kill him without remorse. But . . .

That was still his brother.

Through the haze and through the broken gates wolves roared. Some of them were looking at the battles in the sky, the surging winds and the threatening rains.

Slowly, more and more corrupted dogs crept into the graveyard, observing the one-sided fight without aggression.
So slow they did not even attract Modeus's initial attention, he suddenly realized they had surrounded them all too late.
Drawing his crimson sword, they charged toward the man in black, no longer a spectator.

Modeus's eyes shimmered red, a blinding aura overtook him in an instant as he shouted, "Et sanguis sanguinem meum et vocavi te!"

From within the fog, a demon was summoned. Faceless he was, with a long tail like a great serpent, and the legs of a large dog.

"Ronove, I request your aid." He spoke to the behemoth.

No words need to be traded, it simply nodded and charged at the man's enemies, conjuring great winds to force them all to float.
In the blink of an eye, it smashed them all to bits, thrashing its giant fists down like mallets on meat; a powerhouse of energy.

Modeus stood beside it, warning it not to attack the slayer as the devil pummeled away at Baul.

More came, and more felt the wrath of Ronove, flung across diseased air upon sculptures so hideous, the beast's battery unmatched.
On the walls, they leaned outward, screaming and shaking, their blood spilling all over the stone surface of the great gargoyles.

Sparda's other pupil was behind now, no matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to just fall away.

A great brute of a demon by most standards, he seemed tiny, weak and brittle in the terrifying company of Vergil's ill humor.
Baul still stood on his feet somehow, the beating endless and soul-crushing. Nonetheless, he found the will to stay afloat.
The rolling heads drove him to madness, poor creatures undeserving of this harsh end. The wolves were beings he did not know he had to protect till now.

The man in white knew something very odd was at play, the wretch before him wasn't anything like the ailing boy he'd crushed into the ground sometime ago.

One child couldn't be the reason for this, it was like he was fighting a different person.

Placing his hands together like a prayer, Baul seemed to mutter incoherently pure gibberish as Vergil loomed close by, stalking closer and closer.
After a moment, a bright white circle flashed around the man, lighting up a runic pentagram on the ground around him.
The white devil's eyes came alive as he forced both palms outward towards his enemy, releasing a ginormous burst of blue flames.

The wave impacted the surface of the Majin's skin and birthed a catastrophic explosion, surging flames searing past all others in the now-crowded cemetery.

Modeus had barely managed to seek cover behind a crypt.
Ronove hadn't even looked around to see the flames, nor had the wolves.

The grounds were blackened by the war machine: fire, an ancient tool.

When the smoke cleared, Vergil still stood unchanged, unmoved.

Great deadly wounds inflicted onto Vergil's flesh closed before Baul's eyes. The speed of it was greater than any demon he'd ever faced.

It was like looking into hell whenever those eyes glared at him.

"Nevermore . . ." Vergil grumbled, absentminded.

Rushing forward with a sonic wave, the slayer brought his brimstone fist around once more, and he bashed the swordsman's face in.
Baul hadn't even had time to react, taking the full brunt of the raging bull as his body collided against hallowed walls.

He grimaced, collapsing against the wall he'd just crashed into. The man lurched helplessly on the wall of the church, using it like a crutch.

Baul was merely dragging water now, barely any kind of vanity remained.

Vergil was brooding silently, stomping forward an unholy magnificence to signal it was time to die.
Raising his right hand, he prepared to deliver the final strike. Clenching his claws closed, he released the vermillion blade from his arm.
But it only hit bricks.

At the last possible moment, Baul jerked his head to the left and the stab missed him by just a hair.

Turning his right hand out, he summoned one of his heavy blades to him and slashed forward as hard as he could.

It bounced off the Majin's abdomen with a resounding clang.

Baul stumbled back again, his tired body leaning against the church.

Vergil stood there and taunted him with a stare. He knew he could kill him, he just wanted to bask in that fact.
A dark chuckle escaped Vergil's lips, and soon, more followed like a string; like tortured birds strung up on a wire.

His black wings of death relaxed by his side, seeming so gentle in the nights torrid commotion, seeking soul empowerment.

"You blind coward." He spoke amid his chuckles, "I was bred for killing without care."

Baul seemed to accept it, slowly joining in the laughter.

He placed his left hand against the brick wall behind him and slowly built up some kind of power. Mystic energy came back to the front of his palm.

So confident, the slayer's confidence soared with each arrogant chortle.

The laughter continued and when Vergil decided it was time to strike, Baul hissed, "I got you!"

And from his hidden hand came a bright gate that shined blinding light into the slayer's eyes, so bright it burned his skin like the sun.
Baul launched ravenous blows all down the Majin's side, hacking away at the devil from his shoulder down to his shin.
He continued hacking and slashing until a great pool of blood formed beneath him, the devil's own blood a sign of renewal in the duelist's confidence.

Cleaving through the son of Sparda's paranormal armor, Baul punctured Vergil's ribs, the steel splintering bone apart as it lacerated fiendish innards.

Then came the last chop, threshed even deeper inside.

The slayer spat out a spray of black blood across Baul's face, the substance beginning to burn him as the man recoiled.

This wouldn't crush his will, not now.
The swordsman shouted a feral grunt.

"You must die! I have to kill you." Baul growled, breathless.

Thunder shook the air in a roar that made their voices almost vanish. The smoke and fog cracked open to reveal a pantheon of stars in the sky, unfettered by the city's lights.
Four suns lit themselves brighter than any other in the cosmos above, and brilliant, divine rays scattered between them, forming solid lines of radiance until the shape became clear.

A cross.

It shined in the sky, spreading it's light from the south down upon them all, all the wolves, all the humans, all sinners and all innocents.

Screams surged, frantically howling cries rising together to become a funeral symphony.

From the very fabric of the sky, tremendous bolts of lightning struck down and centered into the Majin, who rose his arms up as if he'd created this scene.
The thunder grew even louder, so loud it pierced ear drums and blood flowed freely from the lugs. Electric bolts striking his body increased their frequency.
More and more they continued to strike down on him, as if he were the focal point of all God's retribution.

Finally, the voltaic procession came to a close with a triumphant bellow from the devil, and dark winds raged out the smell of death.

A galvanic blast erupted from his black form and tore the ground to shreds, flecks of dirt and rotten corpses flew in all directions, accompanied by crumbling head stones.

Baul gazed blankly, all emotions vanishing as the wave of raw power engulfed him and spat him out through the cathedral's mural.

Modeus maintained his cover and closed his eyes, the light so bright it burned him as well.
Waves of electricity scattered themselves all across the city, street lamps blew themselves out and generators malfunctioned.
A massive shock wave blew out from the necropolis, blowing out building windows like tissue paper.

It left nothing the same, all things had fundamentally shifted.

At the epicenter stood Vergil in his human form, the Majin burned away.
The soil so disturbed, it was as if some cataclysmic war had just swept right on through.

The man was wholly relaxed.

All manner of wolf and man had been beholden to the strange event, wondering what it had brought.

Modeus knew that sign, the one created in the skies so briefly.

The storm resumed itself, closing all around them in the skies, and soon, colossal rains began to pour.
Water bore down mercilessly upon the heart of the city, pounding on the rooftops and turning the cobbled streets of the downtown district into a warren of slick stones and muddy rivers.
The temperature nosedived, crashing harder than any meteor or stock could even hope to. Through the air crept this frigid sense of lifelessness, the end of all things free.

A familiar sight in the cathedral was made hazy by a bone-chilling mist that settled back down, clinging to every surface.

"Vergil . . . ?" Modeus whispered, his eyes tried to stay fixed, but the mist became so thick he could no longer locate the halfling.

What happened?

From within, the slayer appeared ever so slowly, sauntering towards his father's student.

Modeus himself couldn't speak.

The man from the fog had bloodshot eyes that twitched uncomfortably under his mess of silver hair, stained with blood.
Crimson veins climbed his crooked neck beneath his corruptive grin. His red and black clothes remained, perfectly stitched back to their original quality, as if never torn or stabbed.

"This isn't ideal, but it will work." He said, his voice not his own. It was cruel and vicious, but all too familiar, "Such fools, all of you. He could never have stopped this."

"Wh-what?" The man in black asked.

"Baul was never quite that bright, but I admit, I missed his mistakes. Even I couldn't account for how gullible you all are." 'Vergil' said.

Thoughts began connecting themselves inside Modeus' head, ". . . Who are you!?" He yelled.

"It should be obvious by now." The slayer replied, and another cross appeared again, glowing its four points before the bottom disappeared, leaving three in a triangle, "The ruse is over, old boy."

It couldn't be.

No.

How?

"M-Mundus . . . " The man whispered, trembling, "This- This is impossible!"

The man from the darkness could only smile.

"Mmm, it does feel good to hear the name again." Mundus said as he rolled his arms back and loosened up his spine, "I've finally returned, overdue."

Everything about the man was different, he stood totally relaxed, as if he held no fear at all within him.

"There were some hiccups, but you all came through with flying colors. I couldn't have asked for a grander set of oafs." He continued.

"What? What?" Modeus murmured, "No-no-no, no, no, no," The man rubbed his temples, "How could I-. . . How could I have let this happen?"

Mundus simply laughed at him.

"You honestly didn't see it? All the signs were there. His failing memory, his odd headaches, that black shadow standing behind him that you and Manah both saw . . .
Who else could have reawakened the wolves? Only those with the will of Sparda can do that, as it happens, I now fit that distinction. It was amazing watching you all play right into it.
I didn't even have to try, everyone just assumed it was because of the nature of his return, he still had some 'kinks' to iron out. How do you think he even came back to begin with?"
Mundus closed his eyes and held up Vergil's fists by his side.

Modeus fell back on the ground, "No! No!"

"Deny my presence as much as you want; you failed humanity, you failed your master. I have returned to reap all that you and that bastard have sown." The Devil said, measured and controlling.

It made sense now, it all made sense.

This was why the wolves had activated, this was the cause for all that had happened. Vergil had never been free of Mundus to begin with.
It was in front of his face the entire time, yet Modeus couldn't see it. The Dark Prince had risen again, his completed sigil made to burn in the sky.

"There's one thing I want you to know before I begin . . . You could've stopped me at any time." The Dark Lord told him.

"No . . . No . . ." Modeus cried.

Baul was right, he knew of this and had been trying to stop it. He was the good guy, not Modeus, they should have been working together. To think, it was only words away.
But they could never communicate. It was the sibling's curse, to forever fight one another, rather than band together for the betterment of all.
Now there was no one, no person who could stop him, no hero who could win the day, for the hero and the villain were simply one and the same.

'If you really are like our old master, you must be thinking of what should be done . . .' Clearly not.

No.

This wasn't fair.

A new feeling emerged inside Modeus, a kind of purity he couldn't describe. It wasn't the urge to save someone, nor the call to duty.

He just felt the urge to beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

Trembling turned to tension, chattering teeth became clenched, and a whimpering coward transformed into a headstrong warrior.
The man got to his feet, pulling his cardinal broadsword from nowhere as he took note of his summoned creature's demise.
Adorning an old samurai's pose, he rested the blade in front of him, gripped with both hands, and he settled his hips and knees into a strong, mountainous stance.

"No. I've let so many things out of my reach . . . No more! I will not let you get away with this!" Modeus's voice rose to a guttural scream.

In a blur, he tore across the ground, bringing his blade down to try and crush the demagogue's skull.
A red energy splashed and the force edge greeted his blade. Vergil's face looked at him and smirked.

Modeus always hated that.

"Come and try." Mundus spoke through.

"Rah!" The man screamed as he broke away, bringing the sword around to Mundus side, but the devil just adjusted his grip and swerved the edge around, their steels clashing again.

Moving fluidly into natural strikes from here, Modeus enlisted an aggravating number of strikes to a quick-paced flurry, but the devil king just yawned and fenced him off with one hand.
Metal on metal crashed against each other again, but this time, Mundus redirected the man's attempt off to the side and hauled out with a front kick to his ribs.
It knocked the wind out of him, throwing Modeus to the ground like a rag doll. It felt like his mid section had liquefied. Undeterred, the man kicked up to his feet and struck rightward.

Sparda's blade devoured the belligerence once more, fluxing back an indigo compression blast that blew the red brand back around so hard the man nearly lost his grip.

Savage tactics bit their target and Mundus plunged the blade into Modeus's gut. The very tip pierced through the man's abdomen but traveled no further.
Unexpectedly, the dark pupil caught the weapon with his left hand, bearing the pain for long enough to force the sword back out.

Stumbling backwards, the let his cut palm hang open to the side as his stomach bled. Mundus stood back and beat on his own gut, mocking the wound.

Baring his teeth, Modeus came back with a wild stab, but the crooked daemon stepped aside and ran the Force Edge along the side of his opponent's neck.
'Almost decapitated' was a new sensation Modeus disliked very much. He felt the air from his windpipe exit a new slit in the side of his scrag.

He coughed, and the possessed slayer completed the motion with a heel into his back, sending the man flying forward on his face.

The man in Vergil's body swung the blade around with traditional form and loosened up his wrist.
Looking into the chrome polish, he derided the reflection as a visage he hated, though it would do as far vessels went.

He heard a groan from the ground and looked back to his enemy.

"Had enough yet?" Mundus said.

Climbing back up, Modeus used his sword to help himself stand, and the man spat out blood to the side.

At least the wound on his hand was beginning to close. The cuts made with Sparda's sword were known to last far longer than ones made with the average devil arm.
He felt like giving up, truth be told, but he knew he couldn't. It was a pointless stand taken a against a hidden enemy he should've pre-empted somehow.
Though tired, he struck another stance and answered the question posed with a yell as he charged forward with another swing of his blade, receiving a counter of a million stabs.
The blade must've passed through him that many times, as he felt violence drench him in pain, one cut adorning his right cheek, thousands more incising themselves through his chest.
Another swipe of the blade and he knew it slashed the instep of his left calf.

He truly embodied the word 'useless,' like a piece of unwanted trash that was finally getting taken out after years of horrid decay, soon to be forgotten in life's miserable atrium.

In all of that, however; he never felt his master's old blade run through him fully. Mundus was just playing with him. When the salvo ceased, Modeus earned another kick, this time straight to his face.

Meters away, the grass welcomed him.

Still he stood back up.

"Amazing. You keep standing even though you know it is pointless. Why?" The Lord asked him.

Modeus clenched his fists tight around the handle and resolved to finish the fight somehow.

"Because I have to. If I don't, who will?" He said to him, adjusting his stance to Ko Gasumi, the hilt parallel to his cheek, gripped with both hands,, his feet perpendicular, and his knees lightly bent.

Sparda taught him all that he knew of swordsmanship. It was about time he made use of it.

"You poor, weak thing," The devil king taunted him, "You couldn't do anything without Sparda."

Modeus stood proudly, holding this position vehemently, panting as rain drops slid down his face.

A storm that had built up over the last month had come to fruition, ebony clouds reforming themselves before this fight had begun.
It was no ordinary storm, it was blackened by vengeance and hatred, the roiling tumult of a life wasted rotting on a burning throne.

"My brother was right to try to kill Vergil. He knew, before it was too late." Modeus replied.

"Hmph, yes, he was the perfect foil in the end." Mundus agreed, "You should have stuck with your code, this is all because you chose to intervene."

"Yes. I've made many mistakes. I remained blind to horrible lies until they could no longer be unbound. I chose to intervene where it was not my place or time to do so.
But that's why I'm fighting. There's a lifetime of mistakes and wasted potential inside, and I must redeem myself for the things I've done!" Modeus yelled as he charged off to war anew.

Bombarded with a sonic shower of sword strikes, Mundus was forced to a grander defense though he still never used more than one hand.
Eventually, he pushed into a counter and forced the opposing blade to circle around him, stopping at eye-level to his left just as the pupil reached back his right hand and fell to the ground.
With one deft maneuver, Modeus balanced all his weight on terra firma with his right hand, launching his left leg up at the devil king's face. His boot punted Mundus square across the jaw.

The silver-haired dictator stumbled back, his guard down.

Pushing off his right hand instantly, the dark swordsman flowed back to his feet like someone had reversed the footage of a long fall.
Back on his feet again, he squared up and swung straight forward over his head with all his brawn, slicing through the rain itself.

There was a slight noise and the man felt a tug at the edge of his weapon before it stopped.
So focused on execution he had been staring at his own hilt, Modeus looked back up at 'Vergil.'

He had his fist against the blade, catching the bash with his bare hand.

Looking back at him, bloodless, he smirked again, shoving the sword back up towards Modeus chest, the man refusing to let go.
Modeus's own armament cut into him as the devil bulldozed him back off his feet, flying through the sky's tearing downpour.

The earth had become slippery, soaked by rains not of this world. He slid on impact, dragging and rolling along till he finally stopped.

"An excellent attempt." Mundus commented.

The man in black laid there, spitting out dirt while the blurry world spun around him.

. . . The red soul awoke somewhere, far away from the world . . .

"Where am I?" Vergil said, staring out into a black void.

"Is this another trick?" His voice rung out.

He tried to move but his limbs weren't there. They'd gone away.

Something had taken his sight, taken his speech, taken his legs, arms, and ears, even his flesh.
The world was gone, all he was left with was himself, his thoughts, and a void: one.

"Ulmarag . . . ? Is this your doing!?" He yelled out, hearing it echo but not feeling himself say it, "Show yourself!"

No response.

Oblivion silence.

"Answer me!" He bellowed, but it was no use. No one would answer.

Time passed on, so slowly. Eventually, he gave up screaming. His threats went unanswered eternally, no one was there to here it.
So he carried off the screams till silence returned, and silence did come back so swiftly, he had no recourse from this terrible emptiness.

So, he tried to speak again.

"Hello?" He heard himself say, "Is anyone here?"

Once more, there was no reply.

" . . ." He bid his time, where ever he was. Someone would come . . . soon.

So many eons without any kind of sense of being, just his own consciousness in some void, not even drifting anywhere. He'd been in the cemetery, battling Baul.
That's right, Baul was there. Modeus was watching. Good, he hadn't interfered in there fight, at least not that he recalled, but something was missing between then and now.
He couldn't remember anything and he couldn't even tell if this was unreality or just a dream.

"Baul!" He screamed out suddenly, "Baul, you will taste your own blood! I'll get out of here and sever your damned head!"

Maybe he hadn't called the right name, the thought occurred to him.
So he screamed and screamed again, calling for his foe's blood.

. . . And still no response came to him, only his own voice morbidly echoing back to him distorted.

He trailed off his rampaging thoughts, wondering where he had gone to. What happened to his body? There was no sense of control, there was no sense of feeling.
A terrifying epiphany entered his head as he realized too, there was no heartbeat here. He had nothing, he felt nothing, and he was nothing.
Playful little thoughts came into being, inviting chaos as he began to lose his grip. Panic set in, anger subsided, and he began to scream for anyone.

"Modeus, you bastard, let me out of here!" His voice reverberating out, "I swear on my father's life I'll rip out your throat!"

No word back for the little man.

"Manah!" He raged at the darkness, "You damn pest, just wait till I find you!"

Self haunted the lone regions, his words reached nowhere.

"Tony! You little creep!" He screamed, "Where are you hiding?"

Rats, rats, rats; the emptiness gnawing him just like rats.

"L-Lady!" He cried, begging, "Where are you!? Let me out! Please let me out!"

Nothing at all.

"Dante!" He growled, "You rotten weasel, I'll spit on your grave! Where are you!?"

No.

"Patty . . ." His screams turned to anguished yelps, "Someone."

. . . A vision broke across his view, echoing horribly, it was only brief . . .

Vergil didn't even have the strength to look at the coin. He slipped it in a pocket and collapsed over on the floor, slamming face first.

The morning light reflected upon the back of his hair as he lay asleep, but his fingers began to twitch.

Red eyes opened and he slowly rose up, another person's sight looking out of his skull. He looked over to his servant's haggard apertures, awaiting his bidding.

A jagged smirk surfaced.

Fog gathered around the eyes in front of the desk, and from within it, Ulmarag stepped. The Sandman kneeled.

"My lord."

'Vergil' shook his head . . . Annoyed by this, "Cease the theatrics, you know what must be done. The order have been depending on you. They must acquire Dante's body today."

"Yes, Mundus." The Sandman said as he vanished.

. . . So, now he knew the truth . . .

"No . . ." He whispered in the dark.

It all went clear.

"I-. . ." Vergil realized, bodiless, "I was never free. Dante was just a bystander. A servant till I fall . . ."

Lunacy had found him, clung to him like an old flame.

His rage burned nowhere, and though the blind prisoner had no mouth, he had to scream.

To Be Continued

Thank you for reading everyone, this was one hell of a chapter to write and I hope you enjoyed it.

What do you think of the twist? :)

Guest: I wanted to do something like this to be honest with you, but I already did this with his search for Dante and I wanted to move the plot and reveal the twist as I Planned.

..Thank you fan for informing me. The more I hear about the game the less excited I become, to be honest, but we will see...it won't be long now.

Thank you StableGenius TR, Tell me about it. Just why would they do that, seriously...?

Thank you Turbo Sexaphonic, Yeah. I should probably try to stop worrying about that and just keep moving and working in this.

Beta Reader Note: For those confused, the first two scenes are set in the aftermath of the third, sort of like this idea of reverse chronology.
The chapter was written to Battery and Disposable Heroes, both by Metallica, and Blunt Force Trauma by Damageplan.
Drag The Waters by Pantera makes a return here, as does Metallica's Of Wolf And Man. Tried to give this chapter thematic resonance with previous ones.

Also yeah, big twist – I know. The signs were there, this was something planned from the very, very, very beginning of this story and we worked super hard on the execution.
It had to be just right if it was going to work properly, and I hope it has. I've got no expectations for this, mostly because I just haven't seen it really done much before.

Anyway, that's all I have to say on this chapter, hope y'all enjoyed it.