DMC still belongs to Capcom
Renorin and Aerion: Thanks for being my first review EVER! I hope I don't disappoint.
Lightning Angel 64: Glad you liked the chapter, although it really was just an introduction. Future chapters will be different, but I hope you still like it. And there will be no Lucia bashing.
I think I'll require at least one positive review per chapter. As long as I think one person enjoys my writing, I'll happily continue. Also, I've decided to change the rating to T just to be safe.
Italics indicate mental dialogue and flashbacks, except for the AN, which will never interrupt the story. Please bear with Vergil's OOCness. It is intentional. Also, there are some minor references to the DMC novels, but you don't necessarily need to have read them to get what's going on. There's also a tiny reference to SMT, but since I haven't played it either, you definitely needn't to understand the story. And sorry for any discrepancies; I'll be playing through DMC 2 again and fixing things as I go.
Dante said he had something to show him… in the middle of the night. It was unorthodox, but it wasn't like he was sleeping. Dante led him into the dining room kitchen and sat him down at the table. He disappeared for a moment into the hall and returned with the strangest sword Vergil had ever seen. It was enormous and curved like the blade of a scythe and covered in what appeared to be flesh and… was that a giant eyeball? Vergil recoiled. The look and smell of the thing reminded him of the demon realm. But it also exuded a strangely comforting aura. It beckoned him wordlessly with a promise of security that compelled him over his fear to reach and touch it. Sparda: his father's sword. Was it true that his spirit resided in there as well? No. Somehow both Dante and Vergil knew Sparda couldn't be in there, though it held their father's power and an imprint of his presence.
Dante silently took off his mother's amulet as Vergil continued to examine the devil arm. The red gleam caught Vergil's attention as Dante twisted the two gems apart. Sparda began to glow bright hues of blue and violet as it shrank down to a form similar to Dante's Rebellion. When the light ceased, Force Edge lay peacefully inanimate on the table. Dante hadn't watched. Instead, he'd busied himself with attaching a golden chain to one of the amulets. Still without looking, Dante took one of Vergil's hands into his and placed the amulet into his palm. There was a painfully awkward moment as Dante ran his thumb over the engraving, "Dante and Vergil." Something was clearly bothering him.
"I kept this safe while you were gone." He seemed reluctant to give it up until suddenly his entire demeanor changed and his cocky smile resurfaced. He took Force Edge and held it, point down, in front of Vergil. "This is yours too. You're the one that wanted it so badly." Vergil looked at him uncertainly. "Go on, take it. I've got plenty others."
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Vergil sat upright on his bed, still unable to sleep, examining his reflection in the blade cast by the dull city lights coming in through the window. The amulet winked shyly as cars sped by with their headlights ablaze in the murky streets outside. This sword was the object of his desire. He'd supposedly devoted his entire life to acquiring the weapon he now held in his hands, yet he felt no elation, no great satisfaction of accomplishment, and the blade in turn seemed to give him no acknowledgment. It wasn't right. Nothing felt the way it should. The only thing that felt right, that felt genuinely familiar, was pain. It was the only thing Vergil was certain he remembered, without any influence from Dante.
He didn't remember doing it. He didn't know if he screamed or if Dante had been able to smell the blood from the next room, but he'd been there almost instantly. He never asked questions, but Vergil saw his eyes widen in shock. There shouldn't have been so much blood.
Dante rushed him into the bathroom and had Vergil press a towel firmly on his wounded arm as he fetched the first aid kit. Normally he didn't keep one, but Trish suggested he get one when they noticed Vergil's demonic traits had been severely inhibited.
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Dante protectively wrapped his arms around Vergil in his sleep. After an episode like that, he wouldn't dream of letting his brother sleep alone. Vergil didn't mind, although something told him he should. He was the older one. He was the one that was supposed to be protecting Dante and avenging their parents. But he had failed, and not only had Dante surpassed him, everything Vergil was had been taken away from him.
He watched his amulet pulse sadly as cars unknowingly passed by. He tried to remember his mother's voice. He could see her face smiling confidently, like nothing had ever gone wrong, but all his memories were silent.
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Vergil waited atop the museum watching the sun rise and contemplated why he'd come here with his brother's sword and clothes and his father's guns. Maybe he wanted to prove something to Dante, or to himself. He'd spent the last year and a half cowering in his brother's abode after Dante had rescued him from Chen's private pet shop of horrors.
He still remembered waking up in that tank knowing nothing, his spirit shattered by decades of abuse. When he slept, he dreamt of torture. Occasionally he'd dream of battle. The ones that stuck out most in his fragile mind were of a white-haired, blue-eyed man dressed in red. He knew this man meant something before he knew anything else, and in the first of his waking moments he saw the man's face in his reflection on the glass tank's interior and became convinced that he was the man in his dreams being seen through the eyes of a vanquished foe. Even when he saw the same face outside the glass, he still had trouble believing otherwise.
Dante spent weeks trying to convince Vergil that he was, in fact, Vergil, his older brother. He'd shown him photo albums and mementos, things he'd kept hidden for years, hoping to retrieve some of the memories that Mundus must've bled out of him.
Dante never stopped to think that all he was really going by was a label on the tank that'd held him. He could very well have been a clone Chen had created for who knows what twisted reason, and if the tank hadn't said "Vergil" on it, Dante might've destroyed him along with the rest of the lab, perhaps even with a particular vehemence for having stolen his likeness.
But Vergil didn't dare tell Dante any of this. The hope in his brother's eyes every time he seemed to remember some old detail or exhibit an old mannerism was almost too much to bear. He could never shake off the thought that anything recovered from his previous life might have been implanted by Dante and nurtured by his longing for his long-lost brother. He also had a secret fear that it might turn out he really was one of Chen's creations and Dante would have to destroy him. Or worse, he might make Vergil suffer for fooling him into thinking his brother had returned and taking him away again. Part of him believed he deserved it.
So was this all just a way to prove he was only a cheap copy? It was an awfully long way to go. But he'd needed to get out of that place, away from Dante and his expectations, his endless forgiveness for Vergil's blunders and supposed past mistakes. He needed to know who he really was, without Dante's blind hope to guide or misguide him, and he wasn't sure when he'd get a better chance.
Dante seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth when he'd gone off on his last mission and Trish went off to look for him. She figured at this point Vergil was well enough to look after himself, but didn't think he would consider sneaking out. He hadn't planned on it.
On a whim he'd gone into Dante's closet and tried on some of his clothes: a red leather jacket and a black vest with matching gloves and red pants. Deeper in the closet he found a dark mahogany box containing Sparda's prized handguns, Luce and Ombra. He never knew Dante had them. Maybe he was afraid hr would break them like most of the guns he used before Ebony and Ivory were custom made. Vergil posed with them in front of the mirror.
Gazing into his reflection was eerily reminiscent, but unfamiliar. He'd never noticed before, but there were subtle differences between him and Dante. His skull structure seemed a bit off, but he couldn't quite say how. He looked a bit older as well, maybe due to his time in the demon realm. They say time moves differently there.
He lay the guns down on the bed and wandered into the shop and sat on Dante's favorite leather chair in front of his desk, one of the few things in the shop kept relatively clean, at least on the right side where the portrait of his mother sat. Vergil took the picture for a closer look. She had an air of confidence in the way she sat and smiled. Trish never smiled like that, and though there was a definite resemblance between the two, he'd never mistake them for a second.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a crash in the shop's window. Vergil rushed to the weapons' cabinet and found Ifrit, Alastor, and Force Edge missing. He didn't feel comfortable with any of the demons acquired in Temen ni Gru, so he ran back into Dante's room and found Rebellion in it's usual place under his bed. He crept back into the shop, sword drawn. It didn't appear that the vandal ever entered the building, but he'd left a cryptic calling card.
A white dagger protruded from the desk impaling a map and vague directions. It demanded Dante depart to an island called Vie du Marli, promising some huge reward. A private plane would be waiting for him tomorrow afternoon. The island was far away and obscure, not found on most maps, a perfect island get away.
Of course he was apprehensive. What would Dante do when he returned and found Vergil missing along with several prized belongings? After all Dante had done for him.
There was a strange coin Vergil hadn't noticed before next to where Eva's portrait had been. It had Trish's outline. She must've whittled it when she was bored. Well, he was dressed like Dante; he might as well try things his way. Vergil flipped the coin, and of course it was heads.
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The sun had risen, casting a warm, orange glow over the cold, abandoned village. For whatever reason, he was here, and there was a job to do. He had a reputation to protect after all, his or not. Casting one last look at the horizon, Vergil leapt off the roof.