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As The Trumpets Sound	By : Laryna6 Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 4314 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Devil May Cry game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Disclaimer: I don�t
own Devil May Cry.

-

They grew so quickly.

She�d helped with babies before, her aunt lived nearby, so she had a rough idea of how things should go. They were
one, and looked older than that.

She knew how much time was passing now. Sparda had given her
the freedom of the house and grounds, and oh it was a joy to see the sky, to be
able to take walks that weren�t from one side of her suite to the other, the
pacing of a captive animal.

She felt like a lioness in the zoo, part of some breeding
program. Was humanity the endangered species? She�d gotten him to tell her the
whole story (searching for something to tell if it was true or false). He spoke
like he had been there, telling a story that wasn�t quite like any of the
myths: wouldn�t a liar stick to what she knew and had believed? At least what
she had heard?

He remembered more details than a human would, after two
thousand years.

He spoke of his victims, how towns would be ashes and
corpses after his army passed, dragging off the
survivors to be eaten later.

He told her this was accepted among his kind, that by their
standards he was not a war criminal. But by human standards� and it was humans he had sinned against.

To betray his lord was his penance. He had (she wanted to
believe, for the children) saved humanity. But he had still done horrible
things. He mostly spoke of them either eyes averted,
glancing at her, or looking into her eyes with honesty that made her hurt for
him.

He wanted forgiveness, she realized. And they had not given
it. He couldn�t ask it of the dead: the survivors had not given it. Now, the
world had forgotten, not forgiven his crimes. She had heard he was a lone
knight, not one of Mundus� highest generals. A traitor.

So, he saw in her� one he had done his worst to. But she
still lived. He wanted her forgiveness, felt that it would allow him to leave
his guilt behind at last.

She might, one day, acknowledge it had been necessary. Only after she had seen the world saved by her children with her own
eyes.

But she didn�t have it in herself to forgive him.

She didn�t want to be the kind of person
who enjoyed taunting, causing others pain: what she had done to stay by the
children had given him hope. And it cut at him, she could see, his mind knowing
she wouldn�t forgive him but his heart (and she knew he had a heart) wanting
it.

He�d promised never to sin again and yet he had. He�d
enjoyed it: it was his true nature. He was a beast, no matter how handsome and
kind he acted. But sometimes he seemed as young and as lost as her. Sorrowful, ashamed.

She didn�t want the children to know the shame of their
birth. So she never showed her hate in front of them, tried to keep it crunched
down in a little ball, until he told her they wouldn�t wonder about the target
of the hate they sensed, fed on. She pretended she had no animosity.

He didn�t take advantage of it to kiss her, or anything,
claiming it would support the pretense she wanted. She would have felt better
about watching him suffer if he had.

The children called them Mommy and Daddy and never knew they
had separate bedrooms.

Vergil.

Dante.

Her children.

She wanted to believe something good had come of this, she
wanted them to grow up happy� she wanted to escape and raise them to never know
they were not human. Vergil would kick his legs idly while he sat, and Dante
liked to make noise when he was happy. Little annoying things that convinced
her there was human in them. Despite the fact they looked so much like their
Father.

Sparda had said if he hadn�t had her he would have left them
in a safe room somewhere, dropping animals in, until they were old enough to
train. That was apparently how devil babies were raised. But that would be bad
for humans. So she sang them songs (Dante loved that), and read them books even
before they understood language, and hugged them even though she feared they
would bite her.

Their faces lit up when she came to feed them, or to play,
and they crawled, then walked, than ran to her.

They also rejoiced at his appearance. He seemed to favor
Vergil, the elder, and Dante wasn�t jealous, but came to her instead. She spoke
harshly to Sparda about making Dante feel lesser, and he stopped. Vergil seemed
to know this was her fault, and glared once, but couldn�t stay mad when she
hugged him, Dante making way and going shyly over to Sparda to be pet.

Sparda would rub their heads instead of hugging them, though
he echoed her in kissing them on the cheeks. They closed their eyes and
snuggled against him when he did that, humming happily.

She eventually realized that wasn�t humming, but purring.

They were like a family, it was oddly domestic. Only she
wasn�t cooking or cleaning, the invisible servants did those things. And there
weren�t the things marriage implied, like love or sharing a bed. No, they were
a family. There were children, they would be a family
for them.

Sparda brought presents, and Eva was allowed television now.
She wondered if this place would survive if there was a nuclear winter. Perhaps
man was more dangerous to man than even demons were.

She clung to the threads of her faith, but� was that she
still had faith, or that she wanted there to be a god? Wanted there to be a
chance everything could be made to work out for the best? That he could give
her the strength to forgive, as she knew the teachings told she should do. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive
those who trespass against us. Would she be forgiven for becoming tainted
if she could forgive Sparda? Or� she didn�t know
anymore.

Not that she had known
before, but she�d had faith. She�d still had the children baptized, but it
hadn�t reassured her as much as it should have.

Sparda was glancing at her now, concerned, and she hoped
he�d stop before the children picked up there was something wrong. What right
did he have to be concerned for her? He�d gotten the children he claimed he
needed so badly.

And yet, he was. He coddled her, almost, giving her the best
of everything. To seduce her, make her forgive him? That as well, but he didn�t
want to hurt her anymore. He was in love with forgiveness, not her. And that
stung. Did he see her at all? Or was she just a brood mare and his chance at
redemption? She�d wanted to help redeem people once. Now she needed that help
herself. This had� tired her. She felt all worn out, burnt up.

Had to smile, for the children, and it was easy to smile at
them. They were her chance, she knew somehow. She would save them, even if she
couldn�t save herself. No, even if it didn�t save her she wanted to save them.
She wanted them to be always able to smile like this, so innocent and happy.

They were resting their heads on Sparda�s lap now as he read
them a story and she paged through a book, not really seeing it. Vergil was
blinking: needing a nap but not wanting his parents to go away. Dante was more
awake, entranced by the tale.

They looked so angelic.

If only she had� or he had waited, convinced her (but he had
known he couldn�t convince her), or� if only this was real.

�Eva? Are you all right?� Sparda asked quietly. She jumped,
startled out of her reverie by the sound of her name. The children as well were
looking at her now.

She smiled weakly. �I�m fine,� she assured them. �Just tired. I think I�ll take a nap. Vergil, Dante, you
should nap too. Put them to bed for me, Sparda?�

He nodded. �As you say.� He picked
up the children after setting the book aside, a bookmark so they could pick up
in an hour or so.

�But Mommy,� Vergil protested, �We were just getting to the
part where he meets the Green Knight again!�

�When you�re not so tired you�ll be able to listen better,
Vergil. You don�t want to doze off and miss any, do you?� This was so ordinary.
It made her heart feel like it was breaking. She loved them, and living this
lie� had to keep the truth from them. She couldn�t bear for them to look at
their beloved parents and see� No, they never would.

Sparda�s guilt meant he might let it out. She�d made it very
clear she�d hate him forever more if
he did.

Dante had asked how they met once. She�d said it was mushy
stuff and he wouldn�t be interested, and that dissuaded him. They didn�t ask
about family other than their parents. Sparda never talked about his either.
Did he even have a family? She wasn�t going to ask. If he was a fallen angel
than he didn�t, but if demons and devils were like the creatures of earth, only
different, than he had to have come from somewhere. The picture that came to
her mind was something like a beehive, since he looked like an insect, but she
quelled the thought, as it led to unpleasant places.

�I guess not,� Vergil agreed.

He gave her, and the children, everything they wanted but he
couldn�t buy her forgiveness. He didn�t seem to� really understood why she
withheld it. Well, if rape was just fine among demons, like he had said, then
he just didn�t get it. He never would. And as long as he though he was
justified he would never be truly sorry, truly regret it, and until then he
didn�t deserve to be forgiven.

But forgiveness wasn�t supposed to be about deserving it, it
was a gift to yourself. Leave justice to God.

�I�m not tired,� Dante objected since Sparda was taking them
both to their room.

If his kind of devil had souls, which he said they did, then
when they died� what would happen? Did he know? She didn�t ask that either.
Tried not to think about it at all, it made her angry, sad, tired
and she had to stay cheerful for the children, they were so unhappy when she
was unhappy.

Luckily they believed her when she said she was all right.
Was suppressed rage and pain normal for demons?

�You will be soon, Dante,� Sparda told him. �Sleep now, and
then you can listen with Vergil.�

�Okay, Daddy.�

It never would be for her children.

She put the book she hadn�t read away and left the room,
walking slowly to her new rooms. She hadn�t wanted to stay in the suite Sparda
had imprisoned her in one more day, if she had the option.

She�d told him that and she was on the opposite side of the
castle now.

She shut the door and leaned against it, feeling relieved.
This was her space: no one else was allowed her, Sparda or the invisible
servants.

There had been a box of chocolates and a vase of flowers on
the table by her door. Fresh flowers every day: even when she�d been
imprisoned.

It enraged her, because those (and jewelry, which she had
refused) were the gifts a husband who had offended his wife gave, and she knew
he saw her as that on some level, by instinct and how he had been raised,
though he knew better. He wanted to comfort her but how could he when he was
what she was scared of?

Sympathy for the devil.

She wished things were different, she wished the pretence
was real, but it never would be.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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As The Trumpets Sound