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Cognate	By : Divine Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 1675 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Cognate
- 1
Title: Cognate
Series: [Post] Devil May Cry 2
Characters: Sparda, Vergil, Dante, Trish, Lady, Lucia, Matier
Wordcount: 8357 words
Summary: Sparda is alive, but sealed away. Now with his twin by his side, the only way their family would be complete is by breaking him out of the eternal prison.
A/N: This is a rather old story and I'm not sure if my writing was good then ~~or if it's any better now~~. It's not beta'd so my apologies for mistakes if any. There is actually a sequels to this story but it's in series and I'm currently writing chapter 4. They're up on my fiction blog for now.
p.s. This isn't a slash fic (sorry if you thought wrong) and NSFW content is only near the end.

Dark, grey sky raced above the island of Vie du Marli. He looked up, steel blue eyes glared at the incoming rain as if challenging it to fall right then as he walked briskly towards the sanctuary; his blue trench coat billowed in his trails when the wind picked up. His boots made contact with solid stone and every step echoed throughout the empty corridor. He came to a heavy, oak door and casually pushed it open, ignoring the shrilly creak of protest from the rusty hinges as he stepped into a dimly lit hall.
“All preparations are set,” he announced to the five occupants in the room, his tone was clipped. “There are three layers of seal encasing this building and the four who are in charge of them will activate them if things don’t go as planned.”
“You are a pessimist as ever, liven up a little.” Icy, piercing glare met with equally clear blue orbs at the remark. “Don’t worry, Vergil. We won’t mess up. You never mess up, right?” If he was about to retort about the lame attempt of humour, the last comment made him forget it. His twin knew how to simultaneously annoy and flatter him in one sentence.
“Although I thank you for your confidence, precaution is necessary for this delicate procedure, Dante.” Even when he didn’t mean to chide, his tone never lacked the edge of authority. It never worked against his brother anyway. He scanned the dim room and took the little details into the back of his head. The hall was huge, probably could even hold 1000 people strong. He vaguely wondered if the inhabitants of Vie du Marli ever reached that number of population in history. The altar in the middle of the room was built a few steps higher from the floor level, bearing ancient, demonic hieroglyphs carved into the pale stone.
“Are we ready to start?” A feminine voice drew his attention towards the group of women standing not far from Dante. The owner of the voice was a human woman; an experienced demon hunter. He remembered the first time he met her, it wasn’t a period he was proud of though. Assorted guns and magazines hung around her slim hips for easy reach yet she currently rested her weight onto the large, black bazooka by her side, seeming somewhat at ease.
“Not yet. Matier has to finish the altar first before we can start the offering.”
Lucia, a dark-skinned redhead who Matier claimed as her daughter answered her question. He didn’t hear much about her except from Dante, who told him once about Arius, the demented human who dreamt of becoming god. His eyes twitched slightly. He made the same mistake once. He was glad he was allowed the chance to correct it. It was only five months ago when Dante barged into Hell, wrecking havoc quite loudly like he used to. It was one of the few moments he was glad his twin being loud. Guided by the commotion, he was able to pinpoint Dante’s location and together, they burst free out of Hell. Regarded as a failure, he was cast aside with the other demons, fighting against one another just to survive. He was near losing himself and becoming a mindless slaughterer before Dante gave him back his memories.
His human memories.
His fingers gently ran over the smooth surface of their mother’s memento he wore close to his heart, feeling the curves and engraving of the large pendant with thick regret. He cast aside the part of him that was right. The part of him that he should believe in. The part of him that was more sane and glorious. When Dante gave the pendant back to him, he began to free himself from his bloodthirsty devilish nature. He began to become himself again.
“Calm down, Lady. We’re not here to hunt demons.” A rich, deep chuckle followed the new voice as the owner gently flicked her stray blonde bang from her shoulder. Vergil looked at her, piercing eyes turned jaded, before tearing his eyes away. He always felt a twinge in his heart to see how Trish resembled their mother in not just appearance, but in the way she moved and talked. He vaguely remembered Eva from his childhood, being he spent most of his time as a solitary kid, yet he knew he wouldn’t want more than to submit himself into her motherly embrace. The absence of their father was what made him unable to cry or feel fear; he had to be strong. He was the eldest son, he was the one who should protect his family.
No.
Dante was stronger. His eyes were trained on his twin, who was fiddling with Ivory. In the end, Dante, the frail child, weak and always afraid; youngest of the heirs, was the one who saved them. Dante saved him from the depths of Hell and cleansed his soul. The red-clad hunter even touched the lives of Lady, Trish and Lucia. It was as if he was their saviour - their dark knight. He was the one who truly embraced the legacy of their father.
“Yo, Vergil! I know my hair’s messed up but you gotta give a man some slack. I don’t have super glue like you do.” Just when he was beginning to appreciate his twin… Vergil rolled his eyes at his twin’s usual corny lines and decided to ignore Dante’s wild grin, nearing the altar while Matier finished scraping the pentagram with her staff.
Matier looked at the twins, anxiety hidden in her eyes. “It’s all done, Sons of Sparda. We may begin.”
Lucia carried a golden bowl and knife in her hands, walking towards the blue-clad devil first. Vergil rolled up his left sleeve, took the golden knife she offered and made a long, deep slash on his left arm without even blinking. He held his arm over the bowl and let the dark, crimson liquid drip freely into the empty bowl. When his wound stitched itself together, the bowl was already half-full. He returned the knife to Lucia, seeing her nod deeply in appreciation before she went towards Dante. Vergil was about to unroll his sleeve before Lady stopped him. He looked at her in bemusement before she offered him a large handkerchief.

“Here, you wouldn’t want to stain your coat, would you?”
Lady was grateful that she still wore her shades even in the dim room, it allowed her to openly study the dark twin’s face. She accompanied the offer with a small smile, which grew wider when Vergil took her offer with slight hesitation and a murmur of gratitude.
She heard about the cold twin’s hard struggle from Dante, and she heard how he saved his brother from Hell and his inner demon. At first she thought she should pity him, but Vergil seemed to have recovered quicker than anyone expected him to. In addition that he wasn’t hell-bent on taking over Sparda’s power anymore, Dante was jumping higher than over the moon when Vergil acted more sociable with him. The red-clad hunter was noticeably more cheerful than he was months ago, it almost reminded her of his loud, boisterous teenage years when she first met him. She knew even with close friends around him, nothing meant more than family to Dante. He considered her and the other girls as family too; having no other family or connection with the world, they were drawn to him. The red-clad devil posed like a big brother when he was needed, but most of the time, he was the one who gave them the reason to worry.
“I shall return it cleaned.” Her head jerked slightly as his sudden tone cutting into her thoughts; she could feel his stern eyes bored on the top of her head.
Lady shrugged nonchalantly, feeling his power subtly vibrated from his body. “It’s fine. Blood is hard to come out. Just throw it away.” She saw Lucia was walking towards the altar, leaving Dante who was holding his blood-soaked arm. Trish helped him clean the bloodstain and they appeared to be engaged in a small conversation.
“Bring the sword forth into the altar.”
Lady watched Vergil’s reaction out of the corner of her eyes. For a split second she thought she saw a flash of envy in his steely eyes when Dante stepped forth with Force Edge in his hands. He must had hoped he was worthy of wielding the sword yet the emotion died just as soon as it appeared. Vergil must had felt that he failed to carry out Sparda’s legacy with his constant betrayal against his own blood. He had the dignity and honour to at least give up the place to Dante, whom he deemed more worthy of being Sparda’s successor.
Matier watched as Dante placed the sword on the prepared stand before stepping down the altar. She turned towards the rest of the group with a solemn voice. “Now, children. From what we’ve gathered, Sparda was said to be sealed away in a realm different from ours, Heaven and Hell. We will try to call forth Sparda via the link of his soul in his sword. I would like to remind you that if he is indeed still alive, he may not respond to our call…but if he does, there are no guarantees of how he will behave.” She paused and scanned all the young faces in front of her.
“Be on your guard.”
She turned her head towards her daughter and nodded her consent. Lucia stepped in front of Force Edge and slowly tipped the bowl over it. Thick, dark blood poured over the solid metal, its dull surface seemed to shine red as if it fed on the blood. The crimson liquid trickled down the sword and pooled on the floor, seeping into the cracks and holes on the altar. After the last drop of blood fell from the bowl, Lucia stepped back and joined with her mother. Now they could only wait and hope it would work.

A deep, dark growl suddenly echoed in the hall, sending everyone reaching for their weapons. Lady gripped Kalina Ann firmly, pressing the solid metal against her hip for comfort. She was mildly touched when Vergil moved in front of her, as if shielding her with his body, his fingers curled firmly around Yamato’s hilt. She risked a glance at Dante and Trish, seeing the two were standing side by side with Dante brandishing Rebellion and Trish grasping Luce and Ombra in her hands. Lucia held her daggers ready, she was keen to protect Matier at any cost. Everyone’s face were grim and anxious, the silence of the room was almost deafening.
Another deep growl rumbled in the large hall, now with the source sounding clearer. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the altar as Force Edge began to tremble; wispy, violet mist rose from the blood-soaked blade. The pentagram drawn on the floor glowed with the same tone as the mist swirled over it as if it had the life of its own. The mist grew thicker and darker, coagulating into a shadow of a form before a stream of massive energy burst from the composite, shocking them.
“Get ready, guys!!” Dante’s voice was mostly drowned by the raging wind around them. Trish’s long hair billowed wildly behind her as she planted her feet on the floor. She was grateful when Dante inched in front of her to shield her from the force, having more chance to worry about her guns.
A loud, fierce roar echoed in the hall, almost making the ground shake with its tremor when the form began to solidify into a large, powerful devil. Its massive form stood on the altar, ruby eyes glowed menacingly amidst the raw energy.
Lady’s eyes widened, she was the only one who never knew how exactly Sparda looked like. “Is that…?”
Vergil nodded curtly, his knuckles were white from grasping Yamato’s hilt too hard. “Sparda in his real, devil form,” he finished her sentence calmly. He felt cold beads of sweat glided down his cheek. He didn’t expect Sparda to be this powerful after being reunited with his power within Force Edge. Even with him and Dante combined, there was a slim chance that they’d survive should they battle, let alone win.
Lady kept staring at the legendary devil with wide eyes. Sparda’s devil form looked like an insect and was bigger than the twins’. His black body armour looked rough and filled with intricate, golden patterns, which made him look oddly regal. The large ruby on his forehead made him look like he wore a helmet of two, curved horns. His three pairs of wings were folded behind him, glistening as they reflected the light of his energy. His eyes were the ones that made the hair behind her neck stand; they were cold and lifeless.
The majestic devil suddenly fell to its knees, and in an instant the howling wind faded down into a soft whisper before disappearing altogether, returning silence into the room. The party seemed to be holding their breaths as they observed and waited. Time stretched and the devil stayed motionless in its last position without any trace of life. Nobody dared to move until Matier broke the stillness, her staff thumping against the cold, marble floor as she walked towards the altar.
“Great Knight Sparda, if you approve my question, respond. Are you conscious of your location?”
There was no answer. The devil didn’t even appear to be breathing. Matier watched its bowed head calmly for any sign of movement, before she decided to repeat her question. “Sparda, do you know where you are?”
A claw ticked lightly before its mouth moved, /…Hu…man…realm…/

Trish watched the scene from afar. Dante once discussed about this moment with her. They were worried that her resemblance with Eva might stir a commotion. If Sparda thought she was his long dead wife, he would be upset to know the truth…and if he knew the truth, they wouldn’t think the dark knight would approve the idea of a copy. Her eyes dimmed; she didn’t ask to be created like this. She hurt everyone who knew the true owner of the mask she wore. Even when Dante had accepted her after the incident in Mallet, she could still see the sadness in his eyes when he looked at her and saw his mother. She knew he tried so hard to see her as her own person but she didn’t want to hurt him anymore. Dante didn’t really approve her coming out from under his protective wings but he knew he had to let her have her own life. It was his way to show how he cared.
And then Vergil.
It had been years before she received his call five months ago, hearing his energetic voice over the phone rambling nonstop about something that vaguely sounded of ‘Hell’ and ‘Vergil’. She stopped by his office after that, briefly noted Lady’s bike already parked beside Dante’s in front of Devil May Cry. When she stepped into the office, nostalgia assaulted her. She could see a few additions of trophies mounted on the wall and the office was exceptionally clean by Dante’s standards. Lady was the one who greeted her, coming out of the kitchen with a bowl of cereal. They went upstairs to Dante’s room and she fondly realized how she missed being there. She had changed a little, mostly when it came to styling her hair and her wardrobe, but he never really changed.
Same ol’ Dante.
Dante greeted her with his usual, trademark grin, smiling brighter than she ever remembered. Vergil was still weak at the moment but he was awake. He knew of her from Dante, and she could see what made her left in the first place.
That painful look.
Neither of them blamed her though. She was just a victim of Mundus’s creativity, a puppet he chose to create with limited-usage in mind. Who knew she was given a second chance to live her own life? She was free, as Dante told her, and she shouldn’t let the past obscure her future.
“Father?”
Vergil’s smooth tone was hard to miss in the stagnant atmosphere. His voice carried more emotion now thanks to Dante’s insistent pestering; the younger twin brought more colour into his usual solemn personality. Trish knew the old Vergil, the corrupted Nero Angelo, and she knew how far he had come to be what he was now. The twins walked side by side, a perfect, distorted reflection of one another yet their hearts were one now. Their steps sang of confidence as they climbed up the altar together, slowly approaching the motionless devil.
“Father, it’s us, Dante and Vergil. Do you remember us?”
Dante’s voice was firm, it was almost rare to hear him being so serious after Vergil returned. Though she didn’t think she missed it.
/…E…nd…me./
Both the twin froze in mid-step, looking among each other with surprise clearly imprinted in their eyes.
“Sparda, they are your sons. They worked so hard to bring you back into the mortal realm.” Trish was surprised when Matier was the one who responded to the dark knight’s request. A small frown etched on her wrinkled face. “You are free.”
Perhaps having spent decades imprisoned in a world of nothingness, it required what was left of his knowledge about the human language to form a jerky sentence. /C…an’t…li…ve… End…me./ Sparda looked up, his red eyes bore straight into his children’s. Trish cringed, for not being able to shed tears, they showed a deep grief that she never knew any pure devil could feel.

Lady’s feet were glued to the spot she was standing. There was no doubt that Sparda recognized his sons. Why he would ask such fate was beyond her comprehension. Sparda was the saviour of mankind, if he was evil before, he had atoned for his sins. That was why some of the human population who knew him went as far as to consider him as god.
“Stop fooling around, Dad. There’s no way that we’d do that to you.”
Lady could tell that Dante tried to act cheery about it, laughing dismissively to lighten the mood when he knew Sparda wasn’t kidding. He sobered up however, when Sparda pushed himself up. His armour scraped against the stone floor before he stood to his full height; a full two feet higher than both him and Vergil. Sparda’s form shrunk into the size of a human’s, revealing a tall man who bore the same face as the twins although his face was haggard with grief. His clothes were faded and tattered, almost every fiber of them were roughly shredded. Aside from the dried blood, Lady could see peeks of pale flesh underneath the worn out fabric. The snow-coloured hair that covered most of his face head was matted with dried blood and chunks of flesh and bones. She wondered if he was fighting an endless battle with his own kind during his imprisonment.
“You c…an…kill me…now.”
If he didn’t sound so dead Lady would be appreciating the silky quality of his voice. Pain and grief seemed to drip with his every word. Dante didn’t look too happy about it though. After hearing Sparda more clearly, he was beginning to look annoyed.
“I’m not saying it’s hard to kill you with your armours on, I’m saying we’re NOT going to do it.”
Vergil nodded grimly, “Father, we do not summon you here just to kill you.”
Sparda lifted his head slightly, his face still hidden behind his tangled bangs. “Wha…t purpose…then?” The dark knight was beginning to regain his vocabulary.
Lady found out that neither Dante nor Vergil had thought about that. From Sparda’s question, she could guess that he was trying to find a purpose. A SOLID purpose for his existence in this world. She didn’t know how he would react if he found out that there was none. They were not at war - unless the casual battles every now and then counted, but those didn’t pose any real threats to them. She saw the red-clad devil hunter scratched his head dumbly, trying to form a believable answer. “We…just want you back?” If they weren’t in a very tense situation she would smack her palm to her forehead. Or Dante’s forehead, whichever more satisfying. Couldn’t he come up with a better reason? She hoped Vergil would try to save the day.
“We’re glad that you’ve returned, Father.”
They were twins, after all.

He didn’t hope for this. He didn’t want to return to the human world. Not after he betrayed her. Eva. She was gone. He left her to die. The reason he lived for so long, enduring Mundus’s tortures and humiliations, was by clinging to the tiny hope of being reunited with his beloved. Yet the woman he craved for and loved with all his soul was no longer in this mortal realm. He could never see her loving smile, hear her rich laughter or feel her warm touch again.
Eva was dead. She was his heart, and his heart had died with her.
But how come he continued to feel? Not a moment of his life was rid of the pain, the vicious anger, the merciless sorrow and agony of losing her. Not once he was allowed the peace of being rid of his guilt for not being with her when she needed him most. Mundus’s tortures felt like pinpricks compared to the pain he felt now. When words of Eva and his son’s death rampaged the Underworld, he was the only one who screamed in denial. He had denied it vehemently. With every core of his existence. His beloved was far stronger than any of the miserable demons. Her strength was what kept him going. How could he go on without her?
Sparda vaguely remembered stories of the brokenhearted; he just never knew it was too excruciating to bear.
After that, Mundus didn’t really care if he was alive or not. He was sent to a realm of nothingness, where violence was boundless and chaos was as thick as blood. He didn’t know how long he was trapped there, losing bit and bits of his conscience until he let his devilish nature consume him. He wanted to lose himself, so he wouldn’t have to think, wouldn’t have to yearn, and wouldn’t have to grief.
Eva.
He was willing to give up, to let his hands drop to his side and just let the darkness devour him. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of fighting for what he had already lost. Would she be waiting for him at wherever he would go? He doubted it, she was too pure. His soul would diminish and traces of it would remain in his sword, to empower the weapon. It was the only thing he could contribute to his living son.
Then he was summoned; his soul being tugged insistently by an invisible link. He didn’t think anyone could reach the world he was in unless the summoner had a sufficient amount of energy to weave through the dark dimension. A sudden thought ran into his head; did his son need him? Should he answer the call? Should he just ignore it? Guilt was what made him decide. He had no right to fail his remaining son as he had failed his beloved. At least his sacrifice would amend his mistakes.
When he arrived at the sanctuary, he had a vague remembrance of the place. The familiar pentagram under his feet was something only the ancient civilization knew, an era where magic and sorcery were as common as light and dark. He saw his sons; he was numb with disbelief. He had thought…no, he was told. He never really witnessed the changes for real. He was cut out of the outside world after his capture, relying on the demons’ hatred to inform him about his family.
He felt a large burden pressed on his chest. Why would Dante need him still if he already had Vergil? With their might combined, they were even more capable than him. Without him.
“I ca…n’t live…any…mo…re.” He was tired of feeling.
“Yes, you can,” Dante corrected him firmly. He could see the determination clear in his eyes, as if everything would be alright. If only he had anymore faith.
“No…” He shook his head. He didn’t deserve hope or pity. “…Not…like this.” He squinted his eyes when he saw Vergil stepped forth, his eyes searching his. He couldn’t bring himself to counter the piercing gaze; he didn’t want to be reminded of his failure. Because of him, Vergil had to suffer. His son had every right to hate him, they both do. He was such a disappointment. He saved the world yet his family paid the price.
“You have suffered enough, Father. Let us help you.”

Trish noticed Lady, Lucia and Matier were gathered together as they observed the happenings on the altar. She neared the group, catching Lady’s question for Matier.
“So the seal outside the building was set up just in case other demons followed Sparda here? Is that even possible?”
Matier nodded thoughtfully, “Well, no one really know what kind of demons are sealed away in that realm. Rumours have it that the Prince of Darkness sealed the treacherous and the rebellious that he could not overpower in a dimension even he could not get through, unless there are links; like Sparda’s case, he has his sons who bore his blood, and his sword contained half of his soul. It was adequate to serve as a path for his return.”
Trish huffed softly, “No wonder Dante doesn’t want us to come. He knew this is dangerous.” She shook her head wearily. “When will he learn that we girls can take care of ourselves?”
Lady folded her arms across her bosom, her lips curled in amusement, “Well, you could try shooting him in his head.”
The blonde chuckled. “Singeing his favourite coat would deliver the message too.” It was nice that the tension was over. All that was left now was to have the brothers convince their father out of any suicidal thought. She didn’t know whether she should leave before Sparda noticed her. She didn’t want to leave in case Dante still needed her around though. She didn’t want to leave anymore.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Lucia broke out while unsheathing her daggers, fully gaining the other girls’ attention. “There is an uninvited guest here.”
Trish scanned the dim room warily before she felt the dark vibe touched her. In trained reflex, she instantly drew her power into her palms, the crackles of lightning was some sort of reassurance against the unseen foe. She slowly retreated until she was back to back with Lady, who had her guns out and ready. “Not using your bazooka?”
“Heh, if it’s just a scrawny midget, Kalina Ann would be an overkill.”
Trish grinned. They should be able to defeat whatever it was with all of them grouped here. What a bad luck for the demon though. She felt cold air breezed pass her and she didn’t hesitate to hurl lightning into the shadow. It made contact with nothing save for one of the stone pillars.
“Guys, look out!” The blonde whipped her head when she heard Lady’s cry. Shit. It was targeting the boys all along?

Vergil was already grasping Yamato’s hilt when he felt the ominous presence within the room. Dante had Rebellion drawn out from his back, holding the sword steadily in front of him. Vergil didn’t know if Dante noticed the change or if he was just imagining it; but he thought he saw something flickered in Sparda’s vacant eyes. Did he know about it all along? He jerked back into reality when he heard his twin cursed loudly, Rebellion came in contact with nothing but air. He saw the demon; it was formless, bubbling and whizzing around them like a mass of black, poisonous gas. He tried to slash it when it came into range, but the blade met no resistance as if there was nothing there.
He saw the gas slowly formed into a face, an angry skull with yellow, glowing eyes. It let out a sound like an eerie laughter as if mocking their attempts to harm its invincible body. Its laughter was cut short however when something knocked into it, sending it crashing to the ground. Vergil blinked before realization quickly dawned him. His head snapped to look at Sparda, who was eyeing the demon with a solemn look. Was he responsible for that? What really happened? It happened so fast, he didn’t see anything hit the demon.
The demon shrieked in anger, pulling itself out of the small crater from the floor. Swirls of smoke came out of its body, forming its long limbs as its body turned solid. Vergil mustered his energy and called forth dozens of summoned swords around him, hurling each one of them towards the demon. He smirked in satisfaction when some of the glowing projectiles connected with a painful shriek, the damage amplified by Dante unloading Ebony and Ivory into its hide. He glanced at the girls standing not far from Dante; Lucia was protecting Matier while Trish and Lady joined in the fight.
“Too bad, you’re out of luck, demon!”
Vergil heard the glee in Dante’s voice while his twin continued to pump bullets into the creature. He saw the demon was changing before he realized what was happening. “It’s turning itself invincible again!” A blur brushed past him and before he knew what was going on, Sparda was confronting the demon on his own. Dante and the others seized fire abruptly in fear of hitting the dark knight, though Vergil doubt Sparda really cared if he was hit. He swiveled on his feet to find that Force Edge was gone, at the same time hearing a horrible, pained cry accompanied the sound of metal cleaving into flesh and bones. He spun and stared at the said sword that currently took residence in its original owner’s hand. Sparda had imbued Force Edge with his own energy, changing the sword into its original form.
The blue-clad devil finally understood. Sparda had used his sword to hit the demon in a speed no one could compare. Being of the demonic origin, the sword would most likely be able to injure any kind of demon. He watched the battle in awe, it was the first time he saw their father fought in person. He was quick to learn that Sparda wasn’t even using his full abilities in the fight, cutting into the demon with ease, as if he was used to dealing with the kind of demon before. Sparda swiped the weapon in high arc, knocking the demon along with it before jumping high in the air and slamming the demon down with brutal force to end the fight. The impact thundered throughout the hall, shaking some of the plasters and debris off the ceiling.
Vergil knew everyone who had seen such performance would be rendered speechless as he was now. When the dust cleared from the battle ground, they saw Sparda just pulled his sword out of the corpse. It was a vicious battle yet he could still see the beauty of it. Sparda's skill was indeed worthy to be called legendary.
“That was way awesome!”
He turned his head to see Dante was standing beside him, momentarily distracting him from the scene. His twin’s face was flushed with excitement. It seemed that he enjoyed the display of skill and power as much as he did. “Teaches those suckers not to mess with Dad. Say…I don’t feel anymore threats…do you?”
He didn’t. There was only one astray demon and Sparda had already took care of it. Dante looked relieved, sparing a glance at the scene before turning to check on the women. Vergil returned to watch Sparda as the dark knight stood by the corpse, sword still ready in hand. He only moved to leave when the corpse began to disintegrate. Vergil stepped down from the altar, heading towards the dark knight.
“Father.” He saw Sparda’s face lifted up at his call but his eyes were still dull. Vergil pressed his lips thin, “…Are you alright?” Mild surprise fleeted in the dark knight’s eyes as if he never heard of those words. Vergil cursed inwardly when Sparda lowered his head, wondering if he had said something inappropriate.
“…I am…alright. Thank you…Vergil.”
Sparda forced a small smile along with his reply but it was enough to tell him that he truly appreciated his son’s thoughts. Vergil nodded, an understanding smile graced his lips as he motioned towards Dante and the others. “Let’s meet up with the others.”

Sparda didn’t know if he should accept Vergil’s invitation. He didn’t think he was ready to meet up with anyone else besides his children. He remembered hearing Matier’s voice when he first came, so she was present at least. He watched silently for Vergil to walk in front of him, momentarily comparing every detail from his memory with the present. Vergil had always been reserved ever since he was small; aloof, composed and distant. His eldest son reminded him a lot of his own trait. He looked calmer now however, he could see that Vergil no longer held the burden on his shoulders alone.
Dante…Dante must be the cause of his change. The youngest of the pair was known for his mischief and vigorous way of expressing himself. In opposition of Vergil’s passiveness, Dante was more energetic and lively. He was never afraid to do mistakes or admit defeat, but with every fall, he would pick himself up and strive for the better. A trait obviously inherited from Eva, the optimist.
Sparda pressed his lips thin. No. He shouldn't let his failure overshadow his sons. They were the sons of Eva too. He should be proud of her children, their children. He lifted his face and began to follow Vergil’s track, letting his eyes wander around the room with bland interest. He recognized the place. Vie du Marli. A place where he once took refuge in the acceptance of the people. Hybrids of the two world. He saw Matier; he didn’t remember her being that old. A redhead stood beside her, a relative maybe? Dante was conversing with two young women, one of them hefted a large firearm over her shoulder, clearly stating her admirable strength while the other…
He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes unable to tear away from the scene in front of him as blood seemed to drain from his face.
“Father? What’s wrong?” He didn’t register Vergil’s query, his mind was still numb with shock. It cannot be possible! Was it a lie made up by Mundus to torment him as well? Her face, her eyes, her hair…
No.
“Eva…?” It was all that he managed to choke out before hot pain tore through his chest. Time seemed to move slowly when he saw everyone’s eyes widened in shock before he looked down, seeing the ghastly image of a disintegrating limb protruding in front of his chest, covered in his own blood. He thought the demon was already dead. He had been careless. The demon used its last strength to deliver the final blow. He felt the nauseating feeling of blood rising up his throat and coughed, sending splatters of the metallic-tasting liquid to the floor. The limb pulled out of him forcefully when Vergil lashed out at the demon, knocking it into the opposite wall as its body crumbled to dust.
Sparda held a hand over the wound on his chest, the pain was almost non-existent by now. He should be worried, instead he felt grateful. His short presence in this world had been useful after all. His children were safe. He lifted his face up to reconfirm himself.
No. She was not his love. Similar, yet still so very different. He could see it now.
He would finally sleep.
“Dad! DAD!!” Sparda blinked wearily, his mind sluggishly registered Dante holding him upright. He closed his eyes gently, he could smell his son. He could feel his heartbeat, feel his warmth and hear his voice…even though his mind was too tired to process the meanings anymore. “Vergil, we’re losing him!” He was satisfied to leave like this, knowing that his children were doing well even without him.
He was very tired. He could rest now.
“Don’t let him sleep, Dante! Matier, find us a place to treat him, FAST!”
He was very tired.

“Pathetic, Sparda. Your soul is weakened by your pretense.”
He opened his eyes slowly, ignoring the pain that throbbed from his temple from the last hit. Mundus stood in front of him with repulsion and arrogance plastered on his face. He wished he was free from the shackles to wipe that look off his face. Instead he glared. His eyes still showed defiance. He would not show his pain.
“Pretending to be human in hope to be accepted, you are foolish to even think of it.” He didn’t care what Mundus said, to him, he was the biggest fool.
“Humans are vile creatures, fit only to succumb to our kind. They are the weaker; prey and fruits of our harvest.” He saw Mundus stopped pacing before walking towards him, grasping his chin roughly with sharp claws. He felt warm liquid dripped from the punctures.
“Do you still heed me? Or have you become deaf?”
He didn’t answer vocally, his eyes showed more than what words could explain. He would not admit defeat in the face of such tyrant. Even if he was handicapped in such a way, he doubt even Mundus was able to bring him to his knees. He would break free one day. He would break free and destroy Mundus and his kingdom for good. He just had to wait for that chance.
“What are you grinning about, traitor?” Merciless claws squeeze into his jaw, threatening to break his face. “Your pitiful idea of maintaining your human form in opposition of this realm is highly despicable. Or have you already forgotten – due to the illusions of your personal ideals that the form you took symbolizes your downfall?”
“You misjudged the humans, Mundus.” His voice was calm despite the pressure on his jaw. He would show nothing that would give him pleasure. “That shall be your fatal mistake.” Satisfaction swept into his eyes at seeing the obvious annoyance on Mundus’s hard face. He didn’t mind sacrificing himself for the sake of humanity.
“You speak not according to your place. Perhaps you should be reminded of the position you are in now, traitor.”
His eyes hardened, refusing any reaction from showing on his face when the sharp claws trailed down to his neck. He swallowed a groan when the dark prince squeezed his throat and jerked his face up, forcing him to look straight into the face of his tormentor. He wanted to wipe the smirk from Mundus’s face very badly.
“Humans have many weaknesses. If you have somehow forgotten them, you shall remember this.” He growled when the claws tore through the fabrics of his clothes. He felt a cold palm traveled down his torso in a mocking caress. He narrowed his eyes in hatred when he was still forced to look at the sneer in Mundus’s face. Did he think he had won over him? Never!
Every fiber in his body screamed with disgust when the limb reached his thigh, pushing the shredded fabric of his pants aside to touch his bared flesh. The claw around his throat disappeared to grasp on the other leg before pushing them apart. He struggled when a finger shamelessly probed into him, wriggling deep into him as if to find his weakness. He suppressed the disturbing feeling in his stomach when the finger pulled out, its place being traded with something blunter and thicker in volume. He snarled. How very demeaning.
The glow in Mundus’s eyes intensified as the grip on his thighs successfully ceased his movements. “I will crush your pride like the worm you yearn to become so you will have no dignity left to even look at yourself.”
Before he could retort at Mundus’s poisonous words, bolts of pain tore into his body when the thick, hard flesh was brutally forced into him. He roared hoarsely, using his anger to mask the pain assaulting his body. His fists clenched hard until his nails dug into his palm, his muscles clenched in reflex of the shock and his body shuddered beyond his control, struggling to adjust to the new form of pain. It felt like he was stabbed by thousands of flaming swords, hot acid spread through his veins. It was too massive that he was literally ripped apart in order to allow the intrusion. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his breathing to calm down; he would not give Mundus the pleasure of seeing him in pain.
“What’s wrong, Sparda? Where is your undying spirit now?”
He bit the insides of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming when the Mundus pushed deeper into him, tearing into his abused flesh with venomous laughter rumbling in his solid chest. His thighs were pushed apart even further and his knees were hoisted up against his chest to allow deeper penetration; he was now officially hanging from the bindings around his wrists.
“I don’t see the fire in your eyes anymore. Have you admitted your inferiority?”
“Never…,” He growled out bitterly, opening his eyes with renewed hatred as he glared at the dark prince. “You cannot break me, Mundus…no matter how hard or how often you try.”
“Foolish traitor. You still fail to realize how helpless you are now?”
He cringed when Mundus slid in and out of him in a furious pace, making the treatment as rough as possible in order to torture him. He wanted to scream, to shout, to roar in anger, instead he gritted his fangs and glared into the red, taunting eyes in front of his face with every means of contempt he could muster. He was grateful he didn’t feel any hint of pleasure from the debasing act; the purity of the emotion was still exclusive for his beloved, not even Mundus could ever steal it from him. He could feel blood trickled down his back, lubricating the abhorrent friction within his abused body. He blocked out the pain from his mind. It was just another injury, he assured himself. Mundus could hurt his body, but never his soul.
He laughed.
“Your façade amuses me, Sparda.” A hard thrust threatened to send him over the edge of consciousness. “Unless you are deranged, I don’t see the reason for you to enjoy this.”
He grinned maniacally, he wasn’t sure of his sanity himself. “What do you gain from hurting me like this, Mundus? What you are doing now is just harming my shell. You still cannot conquer my soul.” He saw Mundus’s expression changed.
“For hating humans, you have stooped so low as to derive pleasure in their most primitive form.” He laughed, humourless and dry before he continued evenly. “You are the one who is in denial. The Prince of Darkness, performing a human ritual by impersonating a human figure. You are no different from me.”
He was still wearing the victorious grin when Mundus’s face darkened, the same smile didn’t falter even when the dark prince pulled out of him so violently that he honestly thought he would bleed to death from the wound. He was awarded with a bone-crunching punch to his face, a relatively small price to pay if it meant he could watch Mundus fled the chamber in fury.
“By the way, Sparda.” He saw Mundus turned around from the door, a wicked smile suddenly grew on his face. “We have your human woman killed, along with your despicable infants.”

“Bullshit.”
He jolted at the unmistakable sound of his son’s voice, an odd echo of pain flared in his chest from the sudden awakening. He didn’t dare to open his eyes, afraid of what he might see if he did. He couldn’t trust his conscience to do the judging. Which one of them was real and which was a dream?
“Lady, if you and Trish can’t handle it, tell the kid to cover for me, you know he needs me more here.” Dante sounded annoyed, but not much. He sounded like he was speaking to a silent partner before Sparda finally cracked his eyes open. He found himself in a place that resembled a bedroom. The feel of mattress underneath him was alien to his senses but it was a welcoming comfort, compared to the cold, grated stone he used to rest on in years. Thick, burgundy curtains were pulled over the windows, allowing limited light to enter the room. He breathed softly, the room smelled of fresh lilac, a scent he remembered from a distant memory. He stared at the white ceiling, seeing the fan spun faithfully in its assigned rhythm. His hand felt the soft covers underneath him, gripping on the cottony fabric as he curled his fingers.
This couldn’t be a dream.
“Great. Thanks, babe. I owe you another one.”
Sparda rolled his head on the pillow to follow the source of Dante’s voice. He saw the door was open and Dante stood in the hall, a relieved smile on his face as he slid a sleek, red object into his coat pocket. Was he talking into it just now? He gathered his strength to push himself up on the bed when Dante noticed the movement in the corner of his eyes.
“Vergil, come over quick! Dad’s up!”
The dark knight blinked when Dante crossed the distance between them in less than a second. He looked at the lively face of his son mutely, trying to take in every detail he could absorb in such close distance. Never had he imagined for Dante to grow so wonderfully. His face spoke of many hardships yet his eyes held a fire that just wouldn’t die. He didn’t react when Dante slipped an arm around his shoulders to help him sit up, setting the dark knight to lean against the stack of pillows once he had piled them against the headboard.
Dante plopped down on the bedside, his eyebrows lifted while he studied the dark knight’s face. “How are ya feeling? Even Matier was worried when you were out for 5 days straight.”
Sparda tore his eyes from looking at those bright eyes. He was unconscious that long? Only then he noticed that his wounds were treated; he was cleaned and dressed into a simple, black shirt and matching pants. His eyes dimmed; he was a burden. “I’m…sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for? You saved us all, remember?” There was a slight pause after Dante said that, as if he knew what was coming.
“…I forsook your mother.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Father.” He was unable to lift his head to see Vergil enter the room in calm strides. His sons should know who was to blame for Eva’s death. He was guilty and he had carried the sin ever since.
“Mother died protecting us. If you think you’re guilty for not protecting her, then we’re guilty for not fighting with her.”
Sparda shook his head in disagreement, “No, you were just children back then. You didn’t have the strength-“
“And you can’t be in two places at a time,” Dante was quick to interject, meeting with his gaze solemnly. “You are only one person against the army of many, Dad. They played dirty and even a clever devil like you can be tricked.” He saw the slight embarrassment fleeted Dante's face. “Even I...even I got over blaming you.”
Vergil nodded absently, “Mother would…” He corrected himself, “Mother should have known the risk. Yet she never regretted being with you.” His attention averted from Vergil when Dante grasped his hand and dropped something into his palm. He could feel the cool metal and something resonantly warm touched his skin.
“We’re sure Mom would like you to have it.”
A feeling of aching pain throbbed in his chest. At first he thought it was the scar from his wound acting up, but this pain actually soothed his heart. He felt the air was becoming lighter to breathe into. For decades he had forsaken himself of forgiveness, blaming himself for every minute she had suffered. He stared at the full pendant in his palm, the blood-red gem shining dully as it reflected the dim light in the room.
He could almost hear his beloved’s gentle laughter.

[ End ]
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