The One You Feed.
"Is it yours?" There was childish wonder in his voice. The sword shone in his view, brighter than a thousand suns.
"It was." The man's gaze was distant, perhaps contemplating what had been and what would be. He looked at the kid as he sheathed the sword, as he sheathed the power he renounced.
"Do you want it, boy?"
The words echoed.
Vergil woke up to a concrete ceiling. The dream faded.
He blinked, blearily, and stirred. The aches in his body ensured his return to reality was unpleasant; sharp pain gnawing at his abdomen teamed up with the immense soreness coursing through his every limb to make his awakening miserable. His situation was worsened by the pulsating pain stabbing his head relentlessly.
Vergil wasn't someone keen on allowing pain to overwhelm him, still. Where was he? He forced himself to sit up and took in his surroundings, confused. The room was dark, and quite small, with carton boxes of unknown content in every corner, some of them with various books over them. There was a seat close to an office desk in the middle of the room, with what Vergil recognized as a computer monitor resting on it, a system unit beside it. The walls around him were somewhat cracked, and the window at his left was covered by wood blinds, with minimal gaps allowing a small amount of what had to be daylight to enter.
The room was a bit of a mess, truth be told. How did he end up here?
He looked down. He was on a sofa, though it wasn't particularly comfy. His clothes were nowhere to be seen; his green pants had been replaced by cotton gray ones. His arms, chest, and abdomen were covered in reddened bandages. The memory of curved claws slashing through garments and skin came to him, followed by his body's failure to heal what should have been a trivial wound. The pain in the areas covered in bandages indicated his healing factor hadn't improved, but these, along with the pants, made him wonder…
"Who?"
He focused his efforts on finding any recollection to answer the question, but none came. The only things Vergil could recall from last night made him grit his teeth, shut his eyes, and bring his trembling right hand to his forehead.
Kiryuin…
His confusion and his questions were sidelined as soon as he remembered her. His first instinct was to abandon the sofa, touching the cold tiled floor with his bare feet, overtaken by white-hot anger.
…This anger morphed into hopeless surprise when a rubbery sensation spread throughout the entirety of his legs, catching him off guard and bending them against his will. The next thing he knew, Vergil was on his knees, hands on the floor, having just prevented his face from hitting it.
"What?!"
The headache chose that moment to strike harder than before. Vergil bit back a miserable groan but authorized one of his hands to clutch his scalp.
"I wouldn't move around too much."
"Shut up! I will move when I please!" Vergil snarled. "It will take more than physical discomfort to stop me from…"
He caught himself when he realized someone had talked to him. Vergil's gaze snapped to where the voice came from, finding an unknown man standing by the room's open door.
"From what?" he asked, and the dull tone of his voice gave off the impression that he didn't care much about knowing the answer. It didn't matter, though, because Vergil responded with another question:
"Who are you?!"
The man seemed to be middle-aged. He stood with a bent back. The reflective glasses on his face hid his eyes from view, and he wore a white, long-sleeved shirt, accompanied by a tie and jeans colored black. His appearance would have been utterly simple, and unremarkable if it weren't for his blue hair, a total, unkempt mess.
He scratched his head, looking at the side for a moment. "Eh, no one special…"
The man's gait was unsteady as he headed to Vergil. The latter didn't take this well and forced himself to rise to his feet, an animalistic snarl escaping him through bared teeth. The man, to his credit, knew better than to keep walking to him and stepped back, hands up and beside the head.
"Easy…"
The voice was less dull, much firmer.
"If I were here to hurt you, I wouldn't have tended to your wounds in the first place."
He aimed a finger at Vergil's entire upper body, making his point.
The half-demon still stared daggers at him, hostile, but more than that, wary. There were too many questions spawned by his distressed mind to allow anyone close at all, and the extreme weakness in his legs paired with the absence of his katana brought a sense of woeful vulnerability that triggered instincts deep within, instincts that readied him to lash out at any possible threat.
(The part of him that stuck with pride and demonic supremacy scoffed at the very notion of feeling threatened by what he recognized as a puny human. The part of him that recalled Satsuki Kiryuin's existence? Not so much.)
"I have no recollection of this, or for that matter, asking for your assistance." The venomous distrust was almost palpable, both in his words and in his eyes. "I don't know how I ended up here, and I don't know who you are."
The man, for his part, nodded, stepping further away.
"Okay, I understand. I'd be confused too if I were in your situation," he said. "Care to tell me what you do remember, then? Before waking up here, I mean."
The sequence of memories from yesterday struck again; Vergil recalled his arrival at Honno City, his encounters with various demons, Cerberus, the students from Honnoji Academy, Satsuki Kiryuin… The three armored warriors… His humiliation… The Yamato being taken from him…
Then…
Then…
KILL. KILL. KILL THEM ALL.
…demons, wrath, bloodshed adorned by rain and lightning.
And then he woke up here.
"It's none of your business." Vergil didn't feel like recounting his rememberings — much less those regarding his defeat — to the man. "Where am I?"
The man showed no signs he cared about Vergil's refusal to answer his inquiry. He listened to Vergil, and responded, "You are currently at my humble abode. It's not too much, but I'm willing to bet it's a hundred times better than the ice-cold streets outside, where beds and sofas are scarce…"
He glanced at the sofa.
Vergil glanced at it too, sideways.
"…and where monsters roam around, eager to sink their teeth and claws into our flesh."
The towel — that had gone unnoticed before — covering the sofa was white, but it was soaked in so much blood that someone could have easily said it was red.
"So, when I found you out there, lying on the mud and with your guts spread everywhere, I decided to act like a decent person and bring you here."
Vergil focused on the man again.
The half-demon considered the information given to him, thought about his next words carefully, and spoke, "You found me unconscious, then."
"…You could say that."
Vergil opened his mouth.
But he couldn't say what he wanted to say, because a coughing fit chose that moment to attack, mercilessly and unexpectedly. He brought a hand to his mouth, body tilted forward as he coughed. His abdomen ached at the movement.
When Vergil stopped coughing, he stared at his palm. It was stained with saliva, blood, and a purple-colored substance that alarmed him as soon as he laid eyes on it.
"You really shouldn't be moving around, friend."
Vergil's disturbed gaze snapped to the man.
Then, against the pleas of his weakened limbs, the half-demon darted through the room, getting up close to the man. He could do nothing to defend himself as Vergil's fingers clasped his neck hard enough to elicit a pop and lifted him off the floor.
"You…" he growled. "What have you done to me?!"
"N-Nothing!" was the man's choked answer. "You…were poisoned! I wanted…to help! I swear it!"
Vergil kept holding him by the neck for a little longer.
He wanted to kill him! His demonic instincts demanded he killed him. He was vulnerable. He didn't trust this human in the slightest. If he killed him right now, he wouldn't have to worry about him. He would be able to focus on recovering from whatever was affecting him. Yes. He could kill him. He had to kill him!
…But if he killed him, he might find it harder to know what was happening to him! He said he was poisoned, didn't he? Maybe he could elaborate on that... The human mentioned he tended to his wounds, and even though Vergil remembered none of that, the bandages over his abdomen were there for him to consider. If this human helped him, would it be right to take his life, all because of his selfish distrust, because he didn't feel safe?
When the man's face began to turn blue, clutching his forearm, Vergil realized he needed to choose.
Feh! It was just a meager, inconsequential human!
No! This was unnecessary! The human could help him, had helped him! He couldn't just… He couldn't…
A hopeless snarl escaped Vergil as he set the man free, letting him fall to the floor. The man fell on his butt, gasping for air and glasses falling off his face while Vergil stepped back, his muscles aching and begging for rest.
He leaned on the sofa and waited for the man to catch his breath. The half-demon found himself coughing again. The two remained miserable for a moment that seemed an eternity, and when it was over…
"You really…" The man paused and breathed more precious oxygen into his lungs. "You really don't trust me, do you?"
"…No."
His simple, cold answer was received with a pitiful nod. "That's all right."
The blue-haired man picked his glasses from the floor and rose to his feet. Vergil caught a glimpse of his uncovered gaze, right before he set his glasses over it. "But I suggest you hear me out, for your sake; lie down. You should avoid unnecessary physical effort. The toxins are still in your body, it seems."
"…toxins…" Vergil echoed, confused.
"I suppose you have questions regarding that," the man groaned, right as he turned around and headed out of the room. "I'll be back in a moment. Rest."
"Wait!"
But the man had already closed the door and had already left Vergil alone with his thoughts and his distress.
The half-demon lowered the hand he had aimed at the man.
"Toxins?"
He looked at his left palm, still wet with crimson mixed with purple. Was this the reason behind his current weakness and pain? If the man didn't have anything to do with it, then what could have poisoned him? He couldn't remember.
Vergil tried and tried to recall what happened following his humiliating defeat. The memory was always the same, bloodshed, bloodshed, anger, and rain. There was nothing else, and it disturbed him.
He really couldn't remember.
And the more he wanted to, the more his head hurt.
Vergil sat back on the sofa, frustrated at his plight. He'd been told he was unconscious when he was found. For that to happen to him…
He didn't know how much time he spent pondering his situation, but at some point, the room's door opened again; the blue-haired man had returned.
Vergil noted with quiet apprehension that he didn't hear his heartbeat and that his ears strained to catch his footsteps muffled by the walls and the door. Was he distracted, or were his senses affected, too? The thought created a heavy ball of anxiety in his stomach.
The half-demon immediately noticed the bowl carried by the man, along with the wooden spoon sticking out of it. He looked at it, then at the man.
"I think we started on the wrong foot." The man offered the bowl to Vergil. "Do you accept this?"
He eyed the man.
He eyed the bowl.
(He'd already chosen to let him live, hadn't he?)
He was wary as he grabbed the bowl and brought it to his lap. It was hot, but not hot enough to burn. Warm, Vergil thought as steam rose from the bowl and brushed past his face. The scent of the food slid past his nostrils.
The meal he'd been offered was rice porridge. He was familiar with it, although he couldn't say it was among his favorite dishes. It was rather simple, truth be told, just water and rice, and because it was easy to digest…
…it tended to be prepared for ill people.
Vergil didn't know how hungry he was until he brought a spoonful of the food he'd been given to his mouth. By the time it crossed his mind that he was gladly eating something cooked by someone he didn't trust, he had already swallowed.
The man went to the seat close to the office desk, whirled it around until it faced Vergil, and looked at him. "You can sit here if you want, place the bowl on the desk. Just be careful, with the computer…and with yourself."
Vergil shook his head. He was fine where he was. The seat didn't look much better than this old sofa, anyway.
"Suit yourself."
The man dropped on the seat; an arm draped over the backrest.
He looked at Vergil.
Vergil looked at him.
The man appeared comfortable, even though the half-demon was choking him not long ago. Vergil thought this odd, and a bit unsettling to say the least. If their places were switched, he would have ensured the man paid with his life for daring to threaten him in such a way.
The sight produced a mild pang of guilt in Vergil, enhanced because he was eating something cooked by him.
"Here."
Vergil's attention was caught by the object the man pulled from his pants pockets and held out to him. "I believe it's yours."
…The necklace was snatched from the man's hand as soon as Vergil laid eyes on the gorgeous ruby-colored gem, wrought in flawless gold. He inhaled air between clenched teeth and brought the amulet close to his chest.
The man watched him, intrigued.
"Very important, I see," he said. "A keepsake, perhaps?"
"It doesn't concern you."
"...Guess not."
The man averted his gaze from him and looked at a pile of books near the desk. The half-demon, for his part, took a moment to contemplate the precious little thing in his hand. He turned the amulet around and was pleased to see the name "Vergil" engraved on the object's back.
He pressed the amulet to his forehead. He closed his eyes. How was it possible, for him not to notice the memento's absence? It was inexcusable. It was unforgivable. It…
…it didn't matter now, did it? The amulet was back with him. He would task himself with the mission to never, ever allow it to escape his sight and grasp, not while he drew breath.
"So, Vergil."
The call snapped him from his thoughts.
"That's your name, isn't it?" the man asked, finger pointed to the amulet.
"…Yes." A realization crossed his mind. "You know English."
"And your Japanese isn't half bad," the man said. "Even though it's clear you're not from around here."
"Hmph."
The grunt of acknowledgment was all Vergil offered before his attention returned to the bowl. He put the necklace on and picked up the spoon.
"I'd like to ask you what brings you to Honno City, but…"
Just when Vergil was about to take a spoonful of rice porridge to his mouth, his throat itched. His headache pulsed.
Then he coughed, over and over and over again.
"…we have more pressing matters, don't we?"
The man stretched a hand and picked a book from the office desk, with an empty, brown-colored front cover. He opened it, and though miserable, the half-demon had the strength to feel curious.
"Are you familiar with the venom produced by the Chaos species, Vergil?"
The man turned the book around, showing Vergil the page. It was filled with Japanese characters, but among them, the ones that stood out the most were the ones at the very apex of the page, katakana characters:
ケイオス.
There was also an image of a huge reptilian beast, with razor-sharp scutes across its spine. He recognized it immediately. His eyes snapped to the cavity in the monster's chest.
The man turned the book away.
"A neurotoxin. It causes extreme brain inflammation, and works to disrupt the entire neural network," the man said. "It provokes unbearable headaches, limb weakness bordering on paralysis, and memory loss, all approximately twenty seconds following exposure. If you haven't become food for the demon who used it on you…"
"The venom ensures your demise by melting the brain away, roughly one minute after exposure," Vergil completed.
A nod from the man followed.
"Yep… Guess who was exposed to it?"
The half-demon crossed his arms, frowning. "I have no recollection of that."
"Exactly."
Vergil released a profoundly displeased grunt.
(The information certainly explained why he felt like this. It wasn't the first time he was exposed to this venom, however, and Vergil knew it wasn't supposed to affect him the way it was doing right now. His body was far too resilient, even by demonic standards. If he was exposed, he should have shrugged it off.)
Then, why?
"But here's the thing." The man raised a finger. "It's been four hours since I found you. As you said, the venom should have melted your brain away. By all means, this conversation shouldn't be happening."
To this, Vergil smirked.
(The venom still failed to kill him. He…supposed that counted for something.)
"It will take more than Chaos spit to take my life." The pride in his voice was clear as day. He didn't bother hiding it. "A meager human might have no chance of survival, but me? Ha!"
"…So, you aren't human?"
The question was a bit less dull.
"No." His response was devoid of any possible hesitation. He didn't try to explain that he was half-human and left no implications of it. "I am most definitely not."
The man was silent, for a few moments.
Vergil entertained the thought of primal fear creeping into the man's soul. As cruel as it might sound, the half-demon couldn't say he disliked the idea.
Then the man just smiled.
"That explains a lot, thank you."
He went back to reading the book.
And Vergil was left positively disturbed.
The man looked over the book, curious. "Is something the matter?"
"...Yes." Vergil's eyes narrowed. "You seem unconcerned by what I just told you."
"...Should I be concerned?" The man's question sounded genuine.
"I'm not human, and I threatened your life before," Vergil said, cold and stern, distancing himself from his disheartened confusion and growing disbelief at the development of events. "You would be a fool not to be concerned. You would be a fool not to fear me. Tell me, human, are you a fool?"
The human…
The human shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on who you ask."
He doesn't care.
And, well, it took Vergil a moment to process it.
"I've gotta say, though…" the man began. "Vergil is a rather rare name for a demon. I'm sure it's a variant of Virgil, an English human name."
"You…" The half-demon hesitated. "You aren't wrong."
He conceded. The man smiled again.
Vergil couldn't stand it. Vergil wanted to tell him it changed nothing, that he shouldn't be so comfortable around him, that he should regret taking him here and tending to his wounds. He was what he was. If the man was as knowledgeable about demons as Vergil was about killing, he should have disappeared from his sight as soon as he denied humanity.
The scent coming from the bowl over his lap reminded him there were more important things to worry about, rather than the foolishness of a human who chose to stay around him, apparently fearless.
Without another word, Vergil resumed his feeding. He glanced at the man from time to time while he ate.
At some point, the man spoke, "You must be wondering where your clothes are."
The warm food slid down Vergil's throat, allowing him to respond, "Where?"
"I put them in the living room. They're very dirty, so I thought about taking them to the washhouse, but after examining them carefully…" He sighed. "I wasn't sure if it'd be worth it."
"Foolishness. My garments shall be cleaned." Vergil's tone was firm, resolute.
Then, he reconsidered. "How damaged are they?"
"Hmm, let's see, on a scale of one to ten…" The man paused, and Vergil waited. He would be a liar if he said he wasn't the least bit tense about what he'd hear. "I'd say thirteen."
Vergil did a facepalm. The pulsing headache made him regret it.
"And I'm being generous," the man added, to make things worse.
"I understand, human. The clothes are beyond fixing. Your input is appreciated," Vergil retorted, irritated. "Now, if you can shut your mouth about it, that'd also be appreciated."
"Okay, okay…" His words were wavering somewhat, but the grin pulling at his lips betrayed his amusement. "No need to get worked up. I think the blue coat is salvageable, anyway."
Against his will, Vergil's face brightened. "Is that so?"
"Yup." The man's grin grew ever-so-slightly. "If we're willing to ignore the missing sleeve and the black spots all over it, that is. No big deal, right?"
"Hmph, very funny." A smirk settled on Vergil's face, and he crossed his arms. "I don't remember your wit being this sharp when I had my hand wrapped around your neck."
"...Touché."
The man seemed unfazed by the comeback, only rubbing the back of his head.
The half-demon wasn't sure what to make of it.
"How are you feeling right now?"
The question came to save him from further reflection. "My physical condition will improve before you realize it."
Or so he hoped.
The memory of Bakuzan — Satsuki's perplexing blade — flashed through his mind. He recalled what she said, but he was uncertain if the effect was meant to be permanent. He hoped it wasn't.
(It'd be inconvenient, to say the least. His outstanding healing capabilities had an important role in his continued survival. Their importance was reduced as he refined his abilities throughout the years, but they remained an essential failsafe, should an enemy prove fast enough to catch him and strong enough to wound him.)
Not that it'd stop him. He'd just need to be more careful.
"All right…" the man said as he moved from the seat and headed to the window with an unsteady gait. He stopped in front of it and looked at him. "You mind if I let some light in? It's pretty dark here, but demons generally don't like the sun."
"I couldn't care less about the sun."
The man nodded and grabbed the bead chain's handle. "Good to know."
He pulled. The blinds moved.
The sunlight illuminated the room. The warmth spreading over Vergil's face was not unpleasant, but it wasn't something he wanted or needed, either. The sun never meant much to him beyond the onset of his respite from the demons that often chased him.
Because the man was right.
If there was something demons disliked, it was sunlight.
The man returned to his seat soon after opening the blinds. He picked his book up and resumed his reading. Hunger reminded Vergil he had something to resume too.
As he looked at the bowl sitting on his lap, however, a question crossed his mind.
"Human."
The man looked over the book.
"What is your name?"
The man replied, casually.
"Uh…Aikuro Mikisugi."
"How is he?"
She was in her chambers, sitting by a wide window that allowed her to see Honnoji Academy's charred courtyard along with the blue morning sky that watched over it, the bright sign of a new day to witness, to live.
The knowledge that she'd been so close to not seeing it was seared into her memories. Thus, she made sure to relish the soothing sight, her momentary peace; the pain radiating from her injuries…could do nothing to profane it.
"He's awake, but the power readings are still very low. The effects of Bakuzan have drained him, and I'd say it'll take a week for him to regain his full strength. If we consider his unusual physiology and recent awakening, though…" The teenager by the table clicked on his laptop's keyboard.
The screen displayed an image of Vergil, beaten and bloodied.
Then, it displayed an image of Vergil, no longer human, but scaly and monstrous instead.
Finally, it displayed an image of Vergil, human again, lying down at Satsuki's feet. The damage he sustained during his battle with the Elite-Four was gone.
"…the time it'll take him to recover might be far less."
"And he'll come back, stronger."
Her gaze traveled to the sheathed sword resting on the table. The katana was rather captivating, with the tsuka braided from white and dark blue material, and the relief of a dragon at the endpoint of the hilt.
"The short burst from yesterday was enough for him to move faster than any of us could see, and if that increase in abilities translates into his strength…" The slowly growing uncertainty crept into the teenager's analytical voice. "The Devil Trigger will certainly boost him beyond what our strongest armors can handle."
"He is a son of Sparda, through and through." Satsuki felt apprehensive, at the knowledge and the memory of the draconic beast that nearly killed her. She also felt eager to take the showing opportunity, though. "If his power were at our disposition, Honnoji Academy could gain an immense advantage."
"Yes. He's already refused to join us, though."
"A minor inconvenience. There is still a chance for him to accept my offer," Satsuki responded. "He needs persuasion, needs promises. The only thing I need is for him to listen."
Her gaze went back to the Yamato.
Satsuki smiled.
"And I know what will make him."
The rice porridge was eaten. It wasn't by any means a filling meal, not to him, but it did placate the emptiness in his stomach, leaving only the discomfort provoked by the gash beneath the bloodied bandages.
The man — Aikuro, he was named Aikuro — noticed it. He put his book away, moved off his seat, and approached Vergil. "How does it taste? Been a while since I cooked that."
"It was edible." The half-demon was honest. He held the empty bowl out. The man picked it up and headed to the room's door. He stopped under the doorframe and looked back to Vergil.
"Uh, that's the bathroom, by the way," he said, pointing to a door outside the room, just by the stairs. "I know I told you to avoid physical efforts, but since you're not human and not dead, I figured it can't hurt too much to move around a bit and, you know, fulfill your bodily needs, right?"
"...Right."
"Great." And so, Aikuro walked out of the room.
For his part, Vergil moved from the sofa. He stood on his two feet and knew the weakness in his limbs had receded. It was still present, but it was not overwhelming.
He recognized the sound of a bowl tossed at a dishwasher outside the room, no doubt Aikuro's doing. Vergil tried to focus, tried to hear the man's beating heart…
…and heard nothing.
His frustration was tamed only by the knowledge he was regaining his physical strength. His extremely sharp senses — and everything else — would follow, it was just a matter of time. He would have to exert patience.
Vergil strode. He attempted to keep his steps firm, having mild success.
The bathroom was rather close to the room he woke up in, and he was soon standing in front of the plain metal door. He held the door lever, pulled it down, and pushed.
There was a mirror right in front of the door, so his reflection was the first thing Vergil saw as he entered the bathroom. It stole his attention immediately, more so than the white, small room could hope to, the faint light that flickered from time to time.
He stared at himself through the worn and scratched old glass.
The mirror Vergil stared back at him, with eyes partially covered by snow-white bangs. His hair was brushed down, and admittedly, he wouldn't look too bad…if it weren't for the red and dark brown dried-up stains, the blood, and the mud that lingered.
He scowled, and his scowl intensified as he glared at the bandages covering his arms, his chest, and more importantly, his abdomen. He brought a hand to it, and the pain stung. It mattered not.
Vergil tore the bandages apart.
His arms were wounded and bruised, and so was his chest. The slashes weren't that deep, still, so what stole his attention was…
The long hideous gash across his stomach was sealed by black stitches.
He gritted his teeth. The sight infuriated him more than he expected.
(He knew humans used stitches to close particularly dangerous wounds. He never needed stitches, shouldn't have ever needed them. His re-emerging skin should have pushed them off and healed completely without the need for anyone's intervention.)
It was inevitable; Bakuzan showed up in his mind's eye. The sword was to blame for his condition, and, in hindsight, it was to blame for his defeat, the loss of…
Vergil wished the thought away and concentrated on what he came to do here. He would think about it — about everything that happened, and the course of action to take — later.
He closed the bathroom door.
When he finished his little business, he pulled the lever down, and the sound of the toilet flushing reached his ears. The half-demon gazed at the deteriorated washbasin, then at the small bathtub near it.
Vergil inhaled his scent.
His reaction was simple:
"…Unacceptable."
Then, Vergil took a decision.
Aikuro didn't seem too fazed when heading back to the house's main room, he saw him walking out of the bathroom, naked and wet.
Vergil supposed it was only right. The man had undressed him when he was unconscious, after all.
"Uh, you took a bath."
Vergil sent him a look much drier than his skin was now.
"You don't say…" The sarcastic response was ignored.
"And you took the bandages off," Aikuro observed. His dull voice showed some disapproval. "I can let the arms and the chest slide, but you do know recently stitched wounds should be kept dry and clean, right? If they soak, it increases the risk of infection."
"I am aware." Vergil tilted his head back, chin up, looking at Aikuro over his shoulder. The fact that the man stood a few stairs lower than him emphasized how beneath him he was. "Humans need to be careful with their injuries, don't they? I'm afraid that's not the case for me."
...right?
He tried to appear certain outside.
And yet his confidence wavered inside.
"As you've seen, I've survived the Chaos poison, something no human can withstand." The comment was more of a reassurance to himself than anything. "There is no risk of infection. I am born superior to your—"
"Hey, Vergil."
The half-demon growled. The human dared to interrupt him. "…What?"
"You want a towel?"
"…Yes."
Aikuro walked away, disappearing down the stairs. He returned a moment later, a blue towel in hand. He offered it to Vergil, who took it without a word.
"You know, I didn't take you for an exhibitionist," Aikuro said cheekily, as Vergil brought the towel to his head, rubbing his hair with moderate vigor. The headache lurked as he did so, but less and less.
"I am not."
"Well, you don't seem too bothered with me seeing you naked."
Vergil frowned. He didn't think Aikuro would be bothered if an ant saw him naked.
His response — perhaps because he didn't feel like insulting the person who tended to his wounds, gave him something to eat, and brought a towel for him — was different from the biting train of thought coursing through his mind, "You've already seen everything there is to see."
The comment caught Aikuro by surprise. He could only chuckle as he stepped past him and into the main room. "Heh, guess you're right."
Vergil followed him with the eyes. Aikuro stopped by the sofa and retired the bloodstained towel from it. "Good grief! It appears the stain's set in already…"
Aikuro walked out of the room, while Vergil walked into it. The former went, presumably, to attempt to wash the white towel. The latter kept rubbing the blue towel all over his body.
It hit him, then, a question that somehow hadn't crossed his mind during the last hour.
Why?
When he was relatively dry, he held the towel in front of himself. Then, he looked at the stitches running across his abdomen. The question remained.
Aikuro came back to the room, some clothes in hand. "Here."
He held them out.
There was some hesitation, but Vergil still picked them. He hardly paid attention to them.
"You seem to be feeling better, Vergil," the man said.
"My health is improving."
"And at an astounding rate, too! You struggled to even stand up earlier, and you couldn't stop coughing," Aikuro stated. Vergil couldn't help but smile at the rapid progression of his recovery. The smile was squandered quickly, though, and his usual stern expression settled in its respective place.
"I still fail to recall when I was poisoned," Vergil said as he dressed up. The gray long-sleeved t-shirt was at the very least acceptable, while also concealing the evidence of his healing factor's failure. It was the dark red pants that made his face twist in clear distaste.
He didn't ask for different ones, still. There were more important matters, and with the pain eroding, he could think about them more clearly. "How is it that you know it was a Chaos that poisoned me?"
"Well, I…saw it happen."
"You saw it happen?" Vergil's gaze narrowed.
"Yep. The demons outside wouldn't shut up. I couldn't sleep," Aikuro explained. "I figured I'd peek out the window, see what in the world was happening, and oh boy, was I unprepared for what I saw…"
The man walked to the open window, opened it, and nodded to it.
Vergil understood and stepped towards the window, too.
Then, he realized two things:
One… They were above ground level. The stairs already hinted at this, so he wasn't too surprised.
Two… There was blood.
There was a lot of blood all over the ravaged street, where the torn remains of power lines could be seen, lurking around the numerous cracks. The earth was devastated enough to reveal some of the underground shattered water pipes.
"I caused this." It wasn't a question.
"Pretty much," Aikuro said. "Gonna take a while to fix it all."
His gaze shifted to the few humans around. There was one sitting outside the shack in front of Aikuro's house, two in an alleyway near a deteriorated convenience store, and another one looting a metallic trash can…with the aid of a yellow dog.
They didn't seem to be paying any attention to the destruction, Vergil observed.
"No worries. They won't mind much, especially the one in front," Aikuro said as he sat on the windowsill, his left leg hanging from it. "This happens a lot around here."
Vergil scoffed. He let his attention stray to the humans for too long, it appeared. He glanced at Aikuro. "Believe me, I harbor no concern for their sentiments regarding this."
Or yours.
"No guilty conscience, eh?"
Rather than giving him a cold no or an elaborate explanation as to why it was pointless to care about whatever happened to meager, powerless humans, Vergil smirked with infinite arrogance.
"The blame shouldn't fall on me if this world can't withstand what I am."
He imbued his words with as much pride as possible.
"…I see…" Aikuro responded, with brows lifted mildly.
The smirk on Vergil's face vanished, then. He focused on another topic as he gazed outside again. "The demons are nowhere to be seen. I recall this area was brimming with them last night."
"The demons?" Aikuro seemed to think about his answer for a bit. "Hmm… Honestly, I don't know what happened to them." He shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant. "They usually hide in the sewers come the morning. The few who choose to stay on the surface don't end up well."
Vergil took in this piece of information.
"But considering you…" the man continued. "I'm not sure if any of them survived the night."
The satisfaction Vergil felt overrode all the unpleasant sensations from the beginning of the day. He even forgot about his loss, for a moment of immense fulfillment. "Would you happen to know how many demons inhabited this area?"
"…uh, over five hundred, I think."
"Hmph, not a bad number."
He might have killed half a thousand demons, unarmed, and worn out by his fight with Satsuki and her forces. The pleasant knowledge was, however, tarnished by the fact that he struggled to remember it, and the fact that he, at some point, fell unconscious.
He wanted to remember. The headache was almost nonexistent by now. The memories would come soon. They had to, right?
"You sound like you've done this before," Aikuro pointed out, head tilted to the side, positively curious. "A demon who kills other demons. Is that what you are?"
Vergil sent him a flat look.
"I kill anyone who stands in my way."
The message was clear. Aikuro's eyes widened behind the glasses.
Then, the man let out a humorless chuckle and gazed outside. "Heh. I suppose I should've figured that out by now."
The comment evoked the memory of their initial interaction, with Vergil on the verge of crushing Aikuro's throat. The half-demon felt a slight throb in his chest.
He didn't apologize, though. He believed himself justified in his reaction. Besides, this was just a human.
(And yet he still hesitated to end his life, only because he claimed he wished to help him. They were speaking right now because of it.)
"Say, Vergil."
His attention returned to Aikuro.
"If you are a demon, why'd you look so much like a human?"
Vergil's response was quick, and, he wanted to think, calculated. "My appearance has nothing to do with my species. There are countless demons out there who assume a human form. It's a sign of intelligence. They often use it to blend in better with the population of a given place."
Aikuro nodded. "You're right."
A sly grin spread across the man's face, stopping Vergil from feeling victorious. "It's rather useful in deceiving and hunting without alerting other humans, but if the demon is defeated or slain, the disguise vanishes, doesn't it?"
…
…Oh.
Vergil grunted, displeased at the turnaround.
How could he forget that part?
"So, unless you were pretending to be unconscious while I brought you here, tended to your wounds, and lay you down…" Aikuro moved from the windowsill, pointing a finger at Vergil. "That's your only form, right?"
The half-demon averted his gaze, shame concealed behind cold acknowledgment. "…Yes."
Aikuro glanced back outside, to the countless blood stains on the soil that nobody seemed to care for. "A demon that looks like a human, eh?"
Vergil frowned upon hearing that and glared at the man. The question he'd been wondering for a while now resurfaced and took control: "Is that why you aided me? Because I resembled your kind?"
"Not entirely. I also felt that it'd be mean to leave you there, injured and wet when I could do something to change it," Aikuro replied, looking him directly in the eye.
Vergil's gaze narrowed.
Then…
Then he grunted, "I see."
Aikuro chuckled at the uneasy response, "Don't tell me you would have preferred me to leave you there!"
The truth was that no, it would've certainly been inconvenient to wake up in the middle of these slums, injured and weakened. Vergil didn't say this, still. "There was nothing for you to gain. You even put your life at risk."
Aikuro brought some fingers to his neck.
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
Only because I allowed you to.
"But really, why'd I have to want something in return for helping you?" Aikuro asked, scratching his head, and smiling. "I understand the mindset, but can't I just help for the sake of it?"
Vergil didn't respond to that, not at first.
He stared at Aikuro as if trying to solve a complicated puzzle. He didn't succeed.
Then, he shook his head and spun on his heel. "So foolish."
"Eh?" The half-demon was heading to the door. "Where are you going, Vergil?"
"I shall see how accurate your statements about my clothes are."
The weakness in his legs had disappeared, Vergil noted with approval. His confidence that he would recover from that encounter increased tenfold. He thought about it as he stepped past the doorframe, down the stairs, and into the living room.
His gaze drifted to the deteriorated kitchen. He could see some broken cabinets. The dishwasher was filled to the brim with bowls, plates, and dirty kitchen utensils. He could see the leftovers of food on some of them, could see the very bowl he'd been given earlier. The window in front of the dishwasher was broken. It was all a mess.
There was an old water dispenser near a cabinet, with a bunch of large plastic bottles containing water nearby, most of them empty. Vergil noticed the small white fridge in the corner, and close to it…
He saw the stains.
The red stains were dried, but it didn't lessen their impact. They were there, like footsteps, and they were leading to what he assumed was the house's exit door.
Where was he? Everything was so blurry, so dark…
Who was moving him?
Fight. He still wanted to fight, to kill. Why couldn't he move?
The memory fragment slipped from his mind.
Damn it.
No matter. He'd remember soon.
Vergil took his gaze off the kitchen and glanced at the living room. It looked better than the kitchen, though that might have been because there wasn't much in it beyond a couch and a bookshelf — the latter of which made him question why the man didn't put all the books in the other room there.
The lack of any decoration made the small photo frame over the bookshelf stand out.
Vergil felt curious and even walked closer. The wooden photo frame had gathered some dust, but he could glimpse the image of a blue-haired man, standing rather close to two other persons. He felt the impulse to reach out to it, to wipe the dust off with his thumb.
It doesn't concern you.
Vergil…thought better.
He glanced around the living room, mentally reminding himself why he came here. His clothes, as Aikuro had said earlier, were there, beside the sofa. They were folded, though the slashes and stains on them weren't a good sign.
He stepped to them and crouched to unfold them, starting with the blue coat.
The right sleeve had been utterly and completely eradicated. The fire of Bakuzan made sure of it, he recalled with boiling anger. The coattails were nowhere to be seen either. The remaining sleeve was littered with slashes, and so was the back side of the coat.
The blue color was overwhelmed by the pitch-black scorch marks. His coat was mostly black now, with no gold linings, no serpentine patterns running from one shoulder to the other…
…only black, mixed with dry red and brown.
He tossed the thing aside, like trash. He picked the black vest next.
It was a little darker due to the scorch marks. It was also stained in blood and mud. There were slashes, too, and some of them were much narrower than the ones in the coat. He looked at the one in the chest area, recalling how he was stabbed there.
He tossed it. He didn't even pick the green pants; he could already see so many slashes running through them. He wouldn't be caught wearing those rags, ever.
The belt didn't look too bad. It was wearable, he decided.
Vergil looked at the lone fingerless glove beside it. It was meant for his left hand and was doomed to remain alone.
Finally, he looked at the boots.
He couldn't bear to look at them for more than two seconds.
He'd need new clothes.
(Beyond fixing.)
The footsteps coming from the other room caught Vergil's attention, and he listened to them until they stopped by the living room. "I'm not gonna say I told you so…"
Vergil growled...
…and then suppressed the irritation. He looked at Aikuro, who was leaning on the wall. "How smart of you."
He stood up, belt and glove in hand. He showed them to him. "These are usable."
"Are they now?" Aikuro asked. "Well, if you say so. What are you gonna do with everything else? I bet some of the people out there would buy them at a nice price, no matter how they look."
"I don't need money." He gazed at the devastated clothes at his feet. "Do whatever you wish with these rags. I have no use for them anymore."
"Oh, okay." Aikuro moved from the wall and headed to where Vergil stood. "Guess I'll sell them."
The half-demon looked at the door from where the dried blood stains were coming.
(He was feeling better, and stronger.)
"Even if you don't need it, the extra money can't hurt, right?"
Vergil vanished from Aikuro's view.
"Huh?"
"Hmph. It worked."
The half-demon felt no need to conceal the smile on his face as he looked behind himself, over his shoulder. He'd teleported successfully. His confidence was nourished, and he felt refreshed by the certainty he could do that. He'd been doubting himself, but now…
...now he was standing outside Aikuro's home.
He set his eyes forth, immediately meeting those of the man sitting outside the house in front.
He didn't seem to care about him popping up out of nowhere.
Upon further inspection, Vergil found out his eyes were colored a milky white.
He scoffed.
The half-demon proceeded to walk through the bloodstained, destroyed area. He abandoned it soon.
This course of action was taken because he wanted to get away from that human. He didn't understand why he did what he did, and it was clear he wouldn't find out asking him.
Because Vergil didn't buy it. He wasn't one to believe in altruism or act on it. He felt that there was something Aikuro left out, the real reason why he aided him. It did not make sense, not to the half-demon. Was he supposed to believe that the man had risked his life by going outside his house, unsure if there were more demons around, all to help an unknown individual?
And that's without considering how dangerous Vergil himself was. The man approached him, even though he implied he'd seen him slaughter hundreds of demons with his bare hands. If Vergil were human — fully human — he would try to avoid someone like that, no matter how much they resembled his kind, no matter if they were unconscious, wounded, or looked like they were about to die.
Was it callous? Perhaps, but to him, it was only reasonable. There was no guarantee someone like that wouldn't attempt to hurt him or kill him. He would have no way of knowing for sure, and that uncertainty would keep him from approaching, let alone assisting.
There had to be something more, but what?
He reflected on it as he wandered the slums. He did so aimlessly, as he had done back when he was an eight-year-old boy, small, lost, and not knowing where to go except away. The differences were that he was seventeen years old now, and the Yamato wasn't by his side.
The people around him minded their business. They sat out in the streets, walked past him, sold stuff in precarious stalls, picked things from the trash, smoked, and chatted with each other. He noticed some of the odd looks they sent him — he knew why — but didn't think much of them.
(A far cry from the place that it was during the night. Even the temperature felt normal right now.)
Their interactions went from the mundane — this idiot did that, this bitch did this, I've got no money, that guy's dog took a shit in my backyard, you've got apples — to…
"Y'all slept well? 'Cause I sure as hell didn't."
"Same. The demons wouldn't shut up. Can't wait for my son to learn how to kill them."
"You mean you can't wait to pay your son to kill them, haha!"
"Shaddap!"
(Hmm. His hearing was improving.)
The conversation was mildly interesting if only because it involved demons. Vergil also had an idea of what they were talking about when the "learn how to kill them" part came. He was right in believing Satsuki was building an army to combat demons, with humans as the soldiers and demonic power as the weapons.
The irony.
But the man mentioned payment in his sentence, which implied something a little different. Mercenaries…
Devil Hunters.
He was familiar with them. They were humans who knew of the existence of demons and worked to slay those who invaded the human world from time to time. The business was rather small, though. Very few humans had the courage — or perhaps stupidity — required to face such a dangerous threat, and the means to do so.
And yet, that woman was bent on amassing an army of them.
He'd already seen the results, firsthand.
(The Proto and Cavaliere students he'd seen weren't too impressive. He reckoned they'd help against lesser demons. The three students who defeated him… The difference between them was like night and day. It was ridiculous.)
He halted his walk.
His hands clenched into fists.
The world around him vanished, and suddenly he was just there, alone with his disbelief, his shame, his wrath. The remembrance of humiliation was vivid. He lost. He lost in the worst way possible.
And what's more, they'd taken something from him.
He failed to keep what he'd been entrusted with.
He failed to protect what he cherished.
How?
(…Not again…)
Vergil distanced himself from his emotions, looking back on the fight with a cold perspective. It was better, more productive to do that than just simmer helplessly, than letting whatever constricted his chest crush it.
He was outclassed, simply put. The potent demonic powers coursing through the armors of those he assumed were Satsuki's strongest pawns was something he couldn't handle at his current level, enough to bypass the fighting skills he possessed. His fight with Satsuki wasn't easy either, it left him more exhausted than he was willing to admit. The disruption of his healing factor had to be considered, too.
The three warriors had also attacked him together, the honorless sacks of filth.
It could only be concluded, then, that what he lacked was power.
He needed power. He needed the power to match, no, surpass theirs. He needed power. He needed to shatter all, to never feel this powerlessness again.
Yes.
He would—
Vergil snapped out of his thoughts and back to reality when he felt something collide with his side.
Or rather, someone.
"Whoops! Sorry, pal! Was goin' too fast!" the little brown-haired boy apologized, with a sheepish grin on his face, and then rushed away from Vergil. He turned to the street to the right, and the half-demon lost sight of him.
…until he teleported right in front of the boy, who slammed his face on his abdomen and staggered backward. "Oof! Shit!"
A cruel smirk drew across Vergil's face. "That's twice you tumble into me today, foolish runt."
Before the kid could react, Vergil's right hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and held him up, until they were face to face. "Would it kill you to slow down?"
"T-The fuck?! How'd you catch up to me so fast?!" the boy questioned, confused and nervous.
"Irrelevant." Vergil's expression transformed into his trademark stern glare. "I believe you have something that belongs to me, child."
It was warm, the city below the city, damp and smelly. The darkness predominated.
For the little rats that lived in the sewers of Honno City, the place was enough. It provided warmth, protection, water, and food, and these four things were all they needed.
Currently, one of the countless rats that resided in the sewers was running after a cockroach. Even such a tiny mammal possessed the instinct to chase and kill.
The hunt didn't take too long. They moved through the cement floor, by the wide channel where sewage sloshed around, the stench disgusting. A sewer fly resting on one of the many metal pipes watched as the rat caught the cockroach and devoured it.
The bites were frenetic and didn't end until all that remained of the cockroach were pieces of its carcass, the product of the rat's messy feeding.
With the cockroach devoured and the hunger sated, the rat, in its instinctive mind, decided to return with the others.
The little thing was beginning to run when a bright red blade, much bigger in length and width than the animal itself, ran through it and split it in two, faster than you could say snack.
The halves of what was once a healthy and comfortable rat now rested over a small stain of blood.
The Fury was very hungry, and it would eat anything to sate the hunger.
And so, the scaly hellbeast crouched, and with eyes that shone in the darkness, focused on its most recent kill. The scarlet jaws opened, allowing a long, forked tongue to come out and claim the pitiful excuse of nourishment.
But the Fury didn't mind.
It'd do all it could to never return to the surface, at least not while the Odd One was there.
The Fury had heard the others, the others who went to fight him. None came back. Even as the single-minded, primitive being it was, the Fury knew what happened to them, what would have happened to it if it had decided to attack him.
The Odd One had to be avoided, at all costs.
The Fury ate the rat in a matter of seconds.
It was far from satisfied.
The Fury intended to keep hunting more of these little animals.
But then…
The Fury's ears picked up a strange sound, coming from the sewage channel, the river of waste.
It watched, intently.
…
…Nothing happened.
The Fury turned away from the sewage channel, about to kick itself forward.
It was then that a massive monstrosity emerged from the channel.
The Fury was brutally tackled to the concrete walls. The ambush stunned it, and before it could recover, two enormous, slug-like tongues wrapped around it.
The Fury was rapidly pulled towards a gigantic maw, filled with sharp yellow teeth.
The Fury barely managed to realize it was about to die when the Voracious One's mouth closed.
…
…HUNGRY. HUNGRY. HUNGRY.
The Behemoth was so hungry. It slept for so long. When it woke up here, there was no prey around it. The hunger kept getting worse.
The Behemoth was so happy. It finally found prey. The Red One. The Red One was so tasty. The scales were tough, but the flesh was so so soft.
The Behemoth was finished. The prey was nice, but not enough.
The Behemoth was still hungry. It wanted more.
The Behemoth could go to the other area. It would take time, too much time.
Or the Behemoth could go up.
There was an odd presence up. Maybe it tasted good?
Yes. Yes. Up. It would taste good. The Behemoth wanted to go up. It had been so long since the last time it'd been up.
The Behemoth, bloodstained and hungry, returned to the sewage channel and swam. It moved faster this way. The water was so warm.
"Huh, my Lady…"
"What is it?"
"It appears ninety-eight percent of the demons in the slums are dead."
"…I see. More will be sent tonight. Vergil's tantrum means nothing."
"Umm, actually, it does mean something."
"Explain."
"Remember the Behemoth we put in the sewers?"
"To control the demon population. Yes, I…"
"..."
"...It's part of the two percent left."
"…And it has no food in the area designated to it."
"…What day is it?"
"Saturday. The day it wakes up."
"…This day might prove interesting."
"What?! I've got nothing yours, dumbass!" the boy exclaimed, holding onto his forearm, kicking at him. Was he attempting to hurt him? If so, he was failing miserably. "Let go!"
"As you wish."
Vergil twirled his hand and the boy with it.
The runt yelped while his body whirled in the air.
Vergil caught the necklace that slipped out of the boy's pockets, carefully setting it around his neck. As he did, the boy's face established a close relationship with the soil.
The half-demon turned around, looking at the fallen boy over his shoulder. "Don't bother me again, kid. I won't be as forgiving next time."
The boy pushed himself off the ground and glared at Vergil. The latter vaguely thought it didn't make much sense, how fast the mud he remembered from yesterday's night had dried; the boy's face should have been stained with mud.
"Don't get so cocky ya bonehead! You'll be beggin' for forgiveness when I'm done with ya!"
"Ah, I quiver with fear."
Vergil took his unimpressed gaze off the harmless child, intent on resuming his walk, intent on thinking about his next step towards gaining power. He would need it if he wished to recover the Yamato.
"Guys!"
He was surrounded by other two boys who appeared out of nowhere. They didn't seem much older than the one he saw first, but they sure looked as equally willing to annoy him. What a dumb bunch.
The two kids carried one thing each: a hammer chain whip, and strangely enough, a chainsaw. Where did some kids manage to get those?
Anyway...
"Ha! What's wrong? Not so cocky now ain'tcha? This is what happens when you mess with Lightspeed Mataro, fella! You get SWARMED and DESTROYED!" the boy exclaimed, confident and malevolent. "Now, we can do this the easy way: ya give us that shiny gem necklace and yer wallet, or we take 'em from yer bloodied dead hands! How's it gonna be—"
Vergil stomped.
The soil all around cracked, and the pitiful playthings the boys carried were torn into pieces that fell at their feet.
"—and we give up."
The brown-haired boy kneeled behind Vergil. The other kids rushed beside him.
"Hmph. Where's your motivation?" the half-demon taunted, amused by the clowns' shift in attitude.
"We don't mug people who are stronger than us. We love living," the brown-haired boy said. "So, sorry!"
Immediately, one of the boys, a small blonde one, looked up and pointed an accusing finger at the brown-haired one.
"He's the one who told us to mug you."
The brown-haired boy proceeded to whack the blonde one on the head. "Friggin' traitor! Shut up!"
The boy glanced at Vergil, a nervous grin on his face, gesturing wildly. "Hehehe! Don't mind him! He's a pathological liar! We're gonna fix him, someday!"
"I wish you luck," Vergil said, bored. He was losing interest, so he began to walk away.
Very well. He needed to gain power; it was as simple as that. The Yamato could — no, would be retrieved. It was just a matter of recovering all the demonic power he lost in his attempts to heal and then building upon it.
The half-demon closed his eyes, stopping near a channel of water beside the street. He took a deep breath, attempting to tap into his demonic power. It wasn't completely gone, it couldn't be, or else he wouldn't have been able to teleport twice.
He felt something.
An ember in the darkness. A blue light dying to ignite, but very small. My power.
This flame soon grew. It showed different colors in different areas. It was purple at the bottom, blue in the middle, and dark blue at the peak. The peak reminded him of the flames expelled by Bakuzan, and the purple color of the bottom reminded him of what he coughed up in the morning.
He made the connections.
The blue light was purging the purple. The darker blue was overwhelming the lighter one, preventing it from working adequately, from burning as it should.
But there was something else.
He heard a low, inhuman growl, and suddenly, the flame went out.
Then, two bright viridian eyes shone, focused on him.
MORE.
Vergil's eyes burst open. He was back in the slums.
What was THAT?
But Vergil couldn't think about it for long.
His attention snapped to the noise of metal and ground shattering behind him, the water from the channel splashing everywhere, and an unholy roar akin to that of an elephant, but much louder, betraying immense viciousness and savagery.
Then, screams, the screams of the kids who tried to mug him, the kids he'd left behind.
The first thing Vergil saw was one of them, the bigger one with the cap and red shirt, getting devoured by what he recognized as a Behemoth. It was the first time he saw one in the flesh, and thus, it was the first time he saw one chomping on its prey.
The boy screamed and cried in immense pain as one of his legs was bitten right off his body. The blood sprawled over the ground, raining on it. The Behemoth's gigantic tongue — wrapped around his frail abdomen — tightened its grip, crushing the bones inside him.
The horrid sight didn't bring nice memories.
(His weakness. The weakness of a child at the mercy of those who wanted to hurt him, defenseless, scared, hurt. It wasn't fair.)
The sight enraged him.
Because he was no longer seeing the kid with the cap.
He was seeing himself, nine years ago, small, worthless, crying, bleeding, and dying.
Vergil didn't take it well.
He teleported right beside the Behemoth and concentrated his full anger on a brutal roundhouse kick to the creature's side, done with his bare foot.
The strike was so strong, so painful, that the Behemoth not only released the boy but was also sent back to the water channel, from where it had emerged.
Vergil's gaze snapped to the boy on the ground, who was still crying, still bleeding, and creating a puddle of red. There was another, the blonde one, but there was no hope for him; he'd been trampled by the Behemoth's hind paws.
He glared at the kid who sat beside a nearby house, shaking, with a tear-filled gaze full of fear. It was the brown-haired one.
"You."
His commanding voice melted away the cold terror overtaking the child, who looked at him in surprise.
"Do you want your friend to die?" The question was stern.
The kid who couldn't even muster a word as he looked at the crippled one, shook his head.
A massive slug-resembling tongue burst out of the water, approaching Vergil like a whip.
"Then take him out of here."
Vergil caught the slippery tongue without even sparing a look at it. His fingers tore like claws into the flesh, drawing blood from it. "This is no place for children."
He pulled.
He pulled the Behemoth out of the water channel and slammed it against the soil. The force behind the impact cracked the ground and the surrounding rundown buildings. A mini earthquake transpired.
"MOVE!" Vergil shouted. The brown-haired boy sprang into action and carried his friend over his shoulder. He struggled to do so, his friend weighing down on him, but he managed to run.
A second tongue erupted from the Behemoth's mouth and rushed past Vergil, towards the fleeing kids.
The half-demon performed a downward chop, subtracting over five meters of the demonic tongue from the crocodile-like beast. The Behemoth roared in pain.
"I'm the one you should pay attention to, scum."
Vergil was about to cut the first tongue in two too when the Behemoth lunged at him, mouth first. The blink of an eye was all it took the Behemoth to advance over ten meters. Vergil was forced to leap over the beast, and since he never let go, the beast was pulled with him, turned upside down as he landed behind it.
The half-demon realized this wasn't going to be a walk in the park when the bottom right part of his pants ripped open, exposing his shin. He had avoided the Behemoth, but it almost got him.
(His full power and the Yamato combined would have rendered this encounter almost trivial, he was certain of it. Without them — and considering this was the first time he encountered a Behemoth — he would have to be more careful, and, as ironic as it sounded, sharper.)
The unrelenting hellbeast rolled back on its feet, released a thunderous, deafening roar, and sprinted to him. Vergil didn't know if his reflexes were affected or if the thing was as fast as it looked, but either way, he wouldn't let it overwhelm him, couldn't let it.
The monster tried to tackle him, and he let go of the tongue. Vergil rolled to the side, and the Behemoth spun.
The half-demon vaulted over the Behemoth's tail, right in time to slide under the beast's whirling tongue. The wind ran past his face, reminding him of the strength behind the Behemoth's attacks. Vergil hopped back as the Behemoth attempted to slam its oversized head into him, and as the beast recovered and his foot touched the soil, Vergil saw an opportunity.
He leaped forward, pushing himself off the soil as hard as he could. He utilized the momentum to deliver the strongest knee strike he could muster to the top of the Behemoth's head.
The skull behind the scales cracked, loudly. The Behemoth was pushed away, and it flailed its two tongues helplessly, as the force behind Vergil's move carried it to a building, a dark rundown one, with crumbling walls.
Vergil thought the fields that surrounded the buildings during the night were still up.
Vergil thought the Behemoth would slam into one of these fields.
He didn't expect the Behemoth to crash into the building. It was the last push the construction needed to fall apart.
(He vaguely recalled the same thing happening when he arrived, but with a grown Fury instead. This suggested not every building had a field surrounding it, or that perhaps the fields went away during the day, maybe even both. He needed more information.)
The Behemoth didn't come back, at least not as Vergil thought it would — rushing forward blindly and madly.
The tremors alarmed and compelled Vergil into teleporting atop a house. No field was there to push him off the roof, and the Behemoth burst out to the surface. The half-demon leaped off the roof, falling headfirst to the Behemoth's open mouth. The vicious demon saw this and couldn't stop itself from jumping off the ground with its hind paws.
It fell right into Vergil's trap.
The half-demon kicked the air, propelling himself to the left and out of the beast's way. He landed on a crouch, then jumped to the Behemoth. What followed was his uppercut, straight to the Behemoth's exposed belly.
The hellbeast roared, but Vergil didn't stop there.
He whirled, and with his feet facing the heavens, performed an overwhelming flurry of kicks, each one stronger than the last, defying gravity and rising further with each kick. Both demon and half-demon reached a considerable height when Vergil decided to finish the combo.
He whirled again, and his hands grabbed the Behemoth's hind paws.
He looked at the ground, at the first hole the Behemoth had created, the broad crater from where it emerged and ambushed the children.
"BEGONE!"
And Vergil heaved the Behemoth, back to the hole from where it came.
What Vergil didn't expect was for the Behemoth's longest tongue to wrap around his leg.
What Vergil didn't expect was for his hair to brush back, as the rapid descent made him break through the wind.
What Vergil didn't expect was for the Behemoth to drag him into the hole, to take him with it.
From one moment to the other, the two were gaining speed to a place Vergil hadn't seen, but that he had a vague idea of what it'd be.
They usually hide in the sewers come the morning.
The sounds of water falling and sploshing filled his ears, and the next thing he knew, he fell into the sewage with a splash. His eyes closed instinctively, but he opened them as soon as he felt that he was pulled; the Behemoth hadn't released him.
The sewage's depths were dark, but not dark enough to prevent him from seeing the tongue pulling him to the Behemoth's voracious maw. The beast was also swimming towards him predatorily, giving him little time to react.
Vergil needed to make it count.
The half-demon whirled, easily breaking through the water that pretended to slow down his movements. His foot collided with the Behemoth's lower jaw, closing it, and forcing the beast's teeth to sink into its two tongues.
The Behemoth released him.
And the water distorted the following roar. The Behemoth's blood mixed with the sewage's contents. Vergil swam to the surface and emerged from the sewage. His gaze snapped to the concrete floor above the channel he was swimming in, and he teleported to it before the Behemoth lunged at him, mouth open ready to devour.
Once he stood on the concrete floor, Vergil realized how disgracefully wet he was, and how bad the taste in his mouth was. He'd swallowed some of the sewage.
"What does it matter?" he growled, glaring at the hellbeast as it swam to him frantically. "I'll kill you anyway."
The Behemoth, to his surprise, slammed its two tongues against the sewage, sending it splashing toward Vergil, like a mini tsunami that shattered the area of the concrete floor where he stood.
The half-demon teleported to the right…
...only to be tackled by the massive head of the Behemoth.
The wind was knocked out of Vergil's lungs. The force of the tackle dragged him across the wall, leaving a long trail of destruction before the shock wore out, he caught his breath, and pierced the wall with his hand, gradually halting his velocity.
The Behemoth had tackled him in the stomach. Vergil was certain he was bleeding from there.
However…
"…Is that all you can muster, worthless waste of demon blood?" Vergil taunted, glaring at the Behemoth. He recalled the force behind Gamagori's strikes and couldn't help thinking this was nothing in comparison to that.
The Behemoth was already charging at him, tongues flailing, destroying the railings, pipes, and the wall, letting nothing stand in its way.
Vergil focused. He could win this.
He assumed a simple kickboxing stance, arms up, feet apart.
The Behemoth approached.
Vergil hopped a little, testing his footwork.
The Behemoth was in front of him.
"Don't get so cocky."
And Vergil whirled.
The initial kick was done to the right, knocking the Behemoth aside and tearing the first tongue right off. Vergil switched directions with the second kick, done to the left. A good chunk of the Behemoth's teeth was knocked away.
What followed was Vergil, performing whirling countless kicks to the left, spinning like an unstoppable beyblade of destruction that rapidly crushed the Behemoth's face, every bone suffering. Each kick went higher and higher. His bare feet collided with one of the Behemoth's white eyes, making it burst.
…The combo ended with a graceful rising kick.
The Behemoth was pushed away by it, slamming into the concrete ceiling. The creature fell on its back, far from Vergil, but not too far.
Vergil didn't waste time.
Vergil teleported.
Vergil appeared right in front of the Behemoth. He wouldn't let it stand up again. He wouldn't let it recover from the beatdown. The Kick Thirteen attack was more tiring than he had expected; this had to be finished.
Just when Vergil was about to deal the finishing blow…
MORE.
The voice. The unknown, demonic voice called again.
He didn't hear it.
He felt it.
The voice of instinct.
Then, a gnawing emptiness in the pit of his stomach overwhelmed him.
The terrifying hunger took over, and Vergil's mind went full-on carnivore.
MORE.
And suddenly, he lunged at the Behemoth's belly.
His teeth sank into it, canines far sharper than those of a human tore through the tender flesh of the hellbeast's stomach. The Behemoth roared and tried to roll back on its feet, but Vergil's powerful hands kept it in place.
There was blood.
There was a lot of blood.
There were roars and howls of pain. The Behemoth realized what was happening, and became more desperate in its struggle to move, to move away from Vergil. It didn't matter.
The tail tried to hit Vergil.
He wasn't affected in the slightest. He kept digging into the Behemoth's stomach, letting his face sink into it, into the blood, into the flesh, into his prey. The desire of the devil inside him awakened, had taken control.
(Among the methods that existed to gain demonic power, the act of devouring demon flesh was one of the most gruesome. The Behemoth species was feared and loathed by its kind due to its fixation on cannibalism.)
This death could only befit the Behemoth, then.
The monster kept struggling.
And Vergil kept eating it, alive.
(There was no other option. When demons died, they faded to dust. That'd be no good. No good. He needed to eat.)
Vergil was soon exploring innards, organs, and bones. The bones were shattered, so they couldn't stand in his way. The innards and organs were bitten, so the blood could pour down his throat.
The Behemoth's struggle weakened.
And Vergil was gaining strength. He could feel it.
…
...A countless number of bites later, Vergil found himself seated inside the half-dead Behemoth, his back leaning on what remained of the bone shell meant to shield the internal organs.
A burp escaped him. He felt a little ashamed but pleased no one was here to see it.
He sighed.
It had been a while since the last time he did this. He wasn't particularly fond of it. It was fuel for memories he deemed best forgotten, and the demon flesh wasn't something he could call a delicacy.
He would be a fool not to recognize the value this could have, still.
He could feel his power, pulsing inside him, eager to grow more and more. He needed to gain more.
And if eating demons was the way to do it, so be it.
The determination flashed through his eyes. The Yamato would be recovered.
"Just you wait, Kiryuin…"
They would die.
Those who humiliated him would die.
His vengeance would be exacted.
Meanwhile, a blue-haired man watched from the shadows, standing atop one of the paths in the sewers, just by one of the many sewage cascades in the area.
"Hmm, talk about eccentric tastes."
His gaze traveled to the amulet wrought in gold that floated through the sewage.
"Ah, such a careless young man, isn't he…"
Aikuro crouched. He cared little for the sewage's contents as he picked up the precious belonging.
"…Sparda?"
Author's Note:
And here we are! I apologize for the nearly two-month-long wait I put y'all through, but the college's been taking up my time. It's been messing with my writing schedule, but I promise I'll try to pick up the pace.
I suppose the Kill la Kill fans who are reading this are happy with the introduction of one of the most vital characters in the series.
Anyway, onto the reviews from the previous chapter:
-Iacnolog: Ouch! Thanks for your comment, still!
-Mirria1: It's sad, considering the Yamato is the only keepsake he has from his father.
-Null: There's nothing wrong with voicing all the thoughts you have on a chapter! If there's something I appreciate as an author, it's when readers such as you tell me their feelings, theories, questions, expectations, and everything that indicates you are immersed in what I posted and wish to see more. No need to apologize for that!
Yes, Vergil and Satsuki are very alike, and yet very different. It's the reason I look forward to making them interact more in the future. It's very easy to think the two can get along until you remember their fundamental beliefs, their species, and their cold, cruel personalities.
There's no reason to be wary of the readers' reactions! If they disagree with the choices I make and the direction this story goes through, they are free to offer criticism or quit reading, whatever suits them more. I know not everybody will like Heart's Burial, so I'm content with the people who seem to be fond of it, but if someone is displeased with it and says so, I'll listen to them the same way I listen to those who like it.
I always thought the Summoned Swords resembled Force Edge a lot, too. Why could that be?
Beowulf is my favorite weapon of all! I was so happy when I got it with Dante in DMC 3, and I was ecstatic to see it return in DMC 5. The raw power behind those attacks made playing extremely satisfying.
Mundus… What could he be doing right now? Hmm…
Haha! Maybe with some polishing, I could post those drafts as a side story!
As always, your praise and your comments are very appreciated!
-spookyfool: God, Vergil makes it so easy to reach SSS rank! I'd switch to Nero, but he kinda doesn't exist right now, and Dante's far, far away…
Vergil is too stubborn, he always needs to get his ass beat, doesn't he? We must fight him thrice in DMC 3, thrice in DMC 1, and twice at the end of DMC 5. That's eight times we must fight him in the whole series, not counting the reboot.
I guess you are pleased with this chapter. It's about the same length as the previous two if a bit longer.
-not a guest: I'm positive Vergil hopes to do so too, my bloodthirsty fella!
-Guest: I buffed the Honnoji students, due to the AU aspect of this crossover; they have demonic power at their disposal. You could also say I nerfed Vergil by using a much younger version of him, rather than the beast we see in DMC 5. As for why Satsuki is so strong being a mere human, we'll see why later!
Well, who knows! I, for my part, had some fun writing about Vergil curb-stomping Honnoji Academy in the earlier drafts of Heart's Burial, though it wasn't named like that back then, and he was older.
I'm happy you liked the fight scenes. I don't consider them my forte, to be honest.
-Zetazero246: Glad I passed the exam! Here's your chapter, bud. More will keep coming!
-Lightblade1121: Vergil's OP for sure. I understand that some might find his defeat unjustified right now. I invite you to keep reading and reviewing with a critical eye!
-Insane Wombat: Ah! A shame you won't be reading anymore. It's fine, no need to waste time on something you don't like, though I think your continued criticism would have been nice.
And that's it for today, folks! If you'll excuse me, I'll finish all my pending assignments. To those who are invested in this story, please understand that I can't put this little project above my studies. I'll get on to finishing the next chapter when I'm done with schoolwork.
Your follows, favorites, and reviews are appreciated! I was rather surprised to see the number of reviews written for Chapter Five.
See y'all!