A/N: Thanks Snookens5 for pointing that out to me, I knew I was meant to exaggerate something with Lady! I'll just try and make up for it in later chapters...

Chapter 3

The Mark of His Humiliation

That awful dream. What do you call awful dreams? Nightmares. And he was reliving one.

On the outside he was producing an abundance of sweat, and his face twisted up an awful lot, he was distressed. However, on the inside, oh how he wished it was only sweat that was pouring out of him in buckets. On the inside, his night terror, the dream, played out before him. Crimson red was a frequent colour in them; it was the colour of blood the colour of life even, and most times death. Or was black death? Did it matter?... Humans had it demons craved it! Especially his own, being the son of Sparda and all. It was tough, and he fucking loved it. He would trample over all the demons that came him way, one after another, they were merely weak obstacles that came in his way from time to time; those brave enough to do it anyway. And he disgraced every single one of them of their name, their race. Honestly now, for a full fledged demons to be easily beaten by a half-human? Now that was humiliating. And it only increased Vergil's vanity... Back then.

Now humiliation is all that defined him.

That's what the prideful twin got for deciding it best to descend further into the Nether world than to accept the only help he had from his brother. Pride, was a sin, and ones sins must be punished. But did he really deserveit? Or was the penalty he received enough, having been defeated by Mundus. (Like that was punishment), not many could defeat Mundus after all, Vergil.

Except your father.

And that's what made it a form of punishment to him personally, for not having the ability to level up with his renowned father's accomplishments. To do what he did. And he resented himself for that, for being unable.

He wailed in agony, the pain filtering through him excruciatingly. He couldn't describe it, he couldn't imagine the words for such incredible pain. So I will. The anguish came over him in waves, the next always larger than the last. No mercy, no mercy was given to the half-demon. He rasped out a deafening cry, his throat ripping inside of him. His body couldn't bear the pain anymore, it just couldn't, simple as that. Withstanding such torture, only a God could possibly do that. Mundus was present, the three blinding lights casted over him, exposing him to all. The light hit him hard, taking over his body without his permission. The pain increases, heightening to levels unimaginable. It was all just a test on his endurance, just how far his pride could take him. And it didn't take him far; the demon, his most treasured form of power, torn out of him. Robbed form his body and soul; it was punishment for failing orders. Torn out and thrown into the bottomless abyss beneath, the Nether just kept going. He roared out, the action triggered the strong feelings of resentment deep inside him. Pain and remorse grew within him, an ambivalence of feelings stirred within his unstable mind. He couldn't handle the emotional pain, let alone the physical. Everything he ever held in high valued, stolen from him. His pride, his demon side, his beloved power. Gone.

The sight was horrendous, his body battered, tossed aside like filth. He could see himself now, he wished he couldn't, but he couldn't shut his eyes... The dream – nightmare – was also punishing him too; forcing him to watch the very thing he despised. His humiliation. What the demons did was unforgivable, of course it was! They were demons, opposers of the divine... Casted from heaven, and brought down to hell; they dwelled in evil, did their foul deeds and committed them with greed. Wanting to do more, wanting to make others suffer and then moving on to the next one, and the next. Vergil was no different to he others, just another damned victim.

His clothing scarce, his body contorted beyond repair and recognition. They even took his sword from him, his precious Yamato; the sword from his father. He'd lost it. The demons would plunge their ghastly weapons into his flesh, piercing the ground beneath through his body to keep him in place for the next time they came. Came again to play with him.

And he wouldn't do a thing to stop them, he couldn't, he was useless when it came to stopping them. Vergil blocked his ears for the next part; he knew what the sick creatures were going to do to him. They always did that to him. Always.

He said – Mundus said he wasn't worthy to possess demon blood. He knew nobody would cry for him on that day, not after all he's done to the innocent. This was the path he chose, the path to hell. And hell is what he got in return.

"NO!"

He half expected waking up to retched demons awaiting his consciousness to abuse him once more. But it never came, fortunately. Instead he was met with an old wooden ceiling; it stared down on him from above, still and unmoving. Better a ceiling than demons. He momentarily grunted, pain shot through him; what a brilliant way to wake from slumber, harsh rays of sunlight seeping through curtains were better than that. He clutched at his arm, wet and moist. The wound must have split in the midst of his nightmare; he manoeuvred himself over; resting on his good arm.

Vergil's jacket was gone along with the top underneath it. He wouldn't miss them; they were nothing like his teal trench coat, which was a one of a kind.

Red oozing out of him casually, his face blank; lost in deep thought. Vergil's hair stuck to his paling skin, the sweat dampening it down, he struggled to rise; forcing his body to do as it was told.

He cursed himself for being so damn weak; if it wasn't for his inability to perform he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. Once again, he had allowed Dante to defeat him. Dante. The devil that embraced his weak worthless human side, which would only debilitate his powerful demon side, that was Vergil's opinion on the matter anyway. But who was he to say such words? Look at him; he was defeated by Dante more than once. Some of those times being out of his control; but they still counted.

In the bathroom he slouched over the sink, out of breath. What came over him all of a sudden, was he really that weak? He thought he was ready for the fight, apparently not.

"Is that all you got? Come on! Get up! You can do better than that."

His eyes darted to the mirror, his twin staring back at him mockingly. He clenched his jaw, tight. His hair was down, just the way he hated it. Ignoring the dull pain he ran his fingers through his hair, slicking every strand back only to watch some fall again. He wasn't going to persist on them, he could do fine without them standing, at least he didn't look like his brother anymore. Well, at least there was a distinct diversion between the two, them being twins and all.

Vergil blundered backwards onto the toilet seat behind. He began to work on the messy bandages on his arm; unwrapping them and cleaning it out before he caught an infection. He had to do things the long way now that his demon side was currently unavailable for use, alongside with his super demonic healing powers. What a pity. "Tch," he pinched too hard on the damp material; it was sticking to the opening of the gash, pulling at the sensitive area as he tugged. 'Such terrible skill at bandaging,' he thought as he traced his deft fingers over it. This person couldn't dress a wound, even if his life depended on it. His eyes locked with the mirror again. This was Dante's place, how could he of not gathered that much in the very beginning? The cheap furniture, the tiny bathroom. Of course it was Dante's. Who else would of dragged him out of that abandoned building? Surely no empathetic demon.

Could his day get any worse?

A fresh set of clothes, a few bandage rolls and antiseptic to clean off the wounds, brilliant. Now all he needed to do was get up the stairs and get in that room! The room Vergil currently resided within. Dante shut his eyes and casted the bad thoughts out on command, his mind went through many scenarios of how Vergil would react after seeing him come through that door, of course non of them went the way he wanted it to turn out. That wasn't a very nice way to treat the situation now was it, it was his fault anyway. He's the one that brought him there in the first place.

When he reached the room, second door on the left; the room that held the problem. Vergil wasn't where he'd left him, instead a spreading patch of questionable liquid stained his very white sheets, a very welcoming sight it was. If someone else were to take a look at this very scene they would've thought all sorts of madness... The rush of the water emitting from the shower just made itself known Dante's ears; he was just far too concerned about the blood dampening his creaky old bed. He placed the clothing down a top a wooden dresser and waited patiently by the bedroom door like an... Angel. He couldn't keep hiding from him now could he? He's awake; Vergil would have come downstairs after his shower to confront him anyway. Better he do the confronting than leave it to his brother, it would make him look... Stupid if he didn't, was one way of putting it.

His pale eyes focused on the bed sheets, it was like watching paint dry; except it wasn't paint. He wondered what would get out blood stains best, hot water? Cold? Lots of soap perhaps. He wasn't that keen on cleaning could just buy new ones and throw the old ones out. It was a perfect solution! Except, he was lacking the money to do it. How much were bed sheets? If he looked really hard he could find some for a couple bucks; less than eight if he was lucky. While he was at it he could do with a new pair of-

-Oh, the door was opening. Steam seeped through the small gap; he could smell the faint fragrance of cheap soap. His favourite. Whatever smelled alright was good enough for him; his brother probably hated it then.

Vergil stood in place, one hand on the doorknob and the other keeping his towel wrapped around his waist tight. His footing stumbled slightly when he saw Dante behind the bathroom door, a little shocked; a little surprised, It was all the same thing. He leaned on the door handle and averted his view from him. Windows were the craze, who would not want to look through them?

Was this embarrassment from the oh-so-prideful Vergil? Dante tilted his head a little, dumbfounded. His wide eyed gaze raked over the body in front of him now. Dante didn't notice this before... He gulped stupidly. He was speechless damnit. This would make anyone's mouth without words, the angry bruises; the ghastly scars. His body distressed him... His body was... revolting. He couldn't help it, Dante was disgusted and there was no other way to put it nicely.

Before, when bandaging up Vergil he hadn't even noticed his torsos state. He was too busy wrapping him up at a ridiculous pace just to get the hell out of the room. He didn't want to be there when Vergil woke up that was for sure; but neglecting this? Dante was appalled with himself. "I-It's not polite to stare." Did he just stutter? Dante met his eyes for the first time since he entered the room. They held something, something of great emotion; he wasn't too good with these things. So he ignored it, and looked away from the tortured soul. There were just so many cuts, especially around his legs, thighs to be exact.

"Right, well um." He forgot why he even came. "I-er, clothes! I brought clothes." Motioning towards the table. Vergil took them instantly, he may of had a battered body but he still had his will in there. He wasn't all that broken, he could still move no matter how much it pained him to do so. He pulled them on, piece by piece. He didn't even care is his brother was watching over him change, he needed a cover; the colourful wrapping to the present because it wasn't pleasant. Teal blue, just the way he liked it. Though he had to admit the clothes were a little too much on the 'human side'... He looked like Dante, just in blue is all. Thank God for the trench coat, something he could finally feel most comfortable in. He almost looked like his old self or younger self rather. Either way, he was still missing many things that once made him feel... How to put it. Sufficient with himself.

He peaked up, sneaking a glance Dante's way. He was watching him with half lidded eyes, dazed. How peculiar, if it were anyone else they would have had their back turned while he dressed - covered his damaged body. Oh he knew Dante was disturbed by his appearance, don't get him wrong.

Dante soon spoke, "We need to talk."

"Is that so," he replied slowly, lowering himself to the bed. Unfortunately for him, he was in no fit condition to battle this out with his twin. Even if he wanted too. So talking it was.