Half God Half Devil

BY : Demonized
Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry
Dragon prints: 45
Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry, nor do I make any money off of this work.

Every step is an agony. Every breath taken is one closer to his last. Every thought he has circles back to one point, back to the reason that keeps him going even in this fading state.


Just one last time, even if he is to die, he must see him. Just one last time, even if it kills him, he must hold him. Just one last time, before he fades away entirely, he must fight him. He must defeat him, once and for all, and then he will be satisfied. Then he can finally let go.

He stops to lean up against the faded brick façade of the closest building to him, letting his eyes close momentarily, and feels for Yamato. Her energy is like a brilliant star, pulsating with a wordless song that is so close and so very loud, as if she is right behind the wall he is resting against. He double-checks, just to be certain it isn't a trick of the mind, then opens his eyes and looks up. A flickering neon sign that reads Devil May Cry is poised above the entryway of the building he has fortuitously chosen to stop at, and he almost gives a snort at the ludicrous name. Instead a coughing fit wracks his body, nearly making him double over as pain lances through him.

It takes several minutes for the coughing to subside, and even longer for the pain to recede to a dulled throb that seeps through every bone, muscle, ligament and tendon in his body. His breath comes out in a rattling wheeze as he forces himself to straighten up, gripping at the space between the bricks for support, then slowly makes his way towards the entryway. He pauses at the foot of the steps, three short ones that may as well be Mount Everest, and stares up at the equally faded double doors. If he can just make it up these steps, make it to Yamato, then he can…

He grits his teeth and climbs the stairs with a tight grip on the wrought iron handrail, not even daring to stop when he reaches the doors. They are foolishly left unlocked at such a dark hour and swing open at the slightest touch, revealing a near-pitch black space that is decidedly foreboding. He stumbles through the doorway and into the yawning abyss right as his body gives out from the exertion. Sharp pain flares through his knees first and then his head when he fails to catch himself.

Everything goes hazy, his vision threatening to fade and a ringing in his ears, and then a familiar and warm scent washes over him. A scent that stirs his demonic blood and has him struggling to cling to consciousness as footsteps thud down a set of stairs and over to where he's sprawled out. "Dante," he wheezes out and blindly reaches out for the source of that scent, for his brother. A sharp inhale sounds over him as his fingers brush against a worn fabric and then it vanishes, his fingers closing around air. Just as quickly, before he can begin to question his own sanity, a warm hand clasps around his.

"Vergil?" Disbelief. Fear. Anguish. Happiness. Hope. All of those emotions layer over one another in his brother's scent as his other hand comes to grip his shoulder and he pulls him up onto his knees. He can't help the pained gasp that he gives at the unexpected movement, causing worry to filter into Dante's scent. "Oh, shit, you're hurt!" He lets go of his hand, but not his shoulder, and pulls off the threadbare cloak he is wearing to inspect him for wounds. Dante pauses at the sight of him, breath catching in his throat, as the unmistakable scent of tears perfumes the air. "Vergil."

Vergil had only glimpsed reflections of himself maybe once or twice, but he knows how unpalatable his own appearance is. Veins blackened, skin cracked and flaking away, his eyes an unearthly glowing crimson, all of him being held together by his demonic energy. He can just barely make out Dante's face in the darkness, roughened by the passage of time and leaving him to wonder just how long it has truly been. He knows that he cannot be certain of most things, but he had been…maybe his sanity has left him after all. This could just be a fevered dream or hallucination of some sort, playing out in his final moments.

Dreams and hallucinations are not warm and pulsing with life, however, and Dante is so very warm as he wraps his arms around Vergil and draws him to him. He slumps into his hold, face pressing into the crook of his neck where he can sense that pulsing flow of life running through him. Take it, his demon whispers, and Vergil gives it no other thought as he latches his mouth onto the tender skin of Dante's throat. His brother goes stiff with a soft gasp and before he can react any further Vergil bites down. Dante's blood fills his mouth and he gulps it down, barely registering the taste that would have made it obvious that there is something very off and very wrong with his twin's life essence. It is tainted with something foul, something that his body rejects immediately and violently. He pushes away from Dante and barely manages to turn away as the blood comes back up, along with what little bile there is in his stomach.

Vergil can just make out the soft curse that Dante gives as he finally reacts, an arm circling around Vergil to keep him upright. What energy he did have left is spent, his vision swiftly blackening as he succumbs to unconsciousness.

Nothingness greets Vergil, all of his senses muted, and he have to wonder if this is what death is like. A vast emptiness, no real sense of self.

This state of almost not-being is shattered as energy pulses through him and he is dragged back into the grips of wakefulness with the taste of blood on his tongue. A cut and bleeding wrist is pressed to his mouth while a hand is at his throat massaging it to force a reactionary swallow. The blood itself is human, potent and laced with a power that feels as if it is revitalizing him.

"He's awake, Dante," a vaguely familiar voice sounds from Vergil's side and the wrist is pulled away. His vision doesn't even start to focus enough when the presence, human and female, moves away from him. "You better hope shit doesn't go south again because I'm not donating any more of my blood to him. Not after the shit he put you through. And don't you even think of thanking me for this!"

"Yeah, yeah. I owe ya for this, Lady." Dante sounds particularly exhausted and it shows on his face when it pops into Vergil's clarifying field of view. He's been crying. Blood still stains his neck, dried and smelling of whatever foulness taints it.

"And you'll owe me for cutting your utilities back on and getting you caught up on your rent," Lady, if that is her name, mutters as she leaves the room.

"Where…" Vergil's voice trails off and he licks at his lips, cleaning away the traces of blood still clinging to them, as he tears his gaze away from Dante's face and tries to sit up to take in his new surroundings. Dante just as quickly pushes him back down onto the bed he's been put in, with just a light press of his hand to the center of Vergil's chest.

"You need to rest." There is worry in Dante : voice, his tone soft. "You…it was pretty bad. You're still in pretty bad shape." He looks away from Vergil, lower lip pulled between his teeth and the scent of tears on the air again. "You're dying."

Though for now that imminent death has been held off, if only for a while longer. "I am aware." Dante's gaze flashes back to his, despair and desperation flickering through those pale depths. "Temporarily undone by the woman's blood." As it should have been undone by Dante's blood, and the realization clicks for him, his brother pressing a hand to the bloodied side of his neck.

"Do you need more? I can get more!" Dante doesn't wait for a response, just takes off and leaves behind the scent of his tears and the essence of fire.

Vergil has been left to his own devices, it would seem, because Dante's presence and the woman's are both completely gone when he lets his senses spread out. Somewhere below Yamato sings her wordless song and he actually finds himself pausing at the thought of going to retrieve her. He had been ready to take her back earlier, to use her on himself, but then his brother's face springs up in his mind, with that agonized expression etched into it and there is an indescribably painful twisting in his chest.

So he waits for Dante to return.

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