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The soft noises were coming weakly from the cotton bundle. She cradled it lovingly, barely able to tear her gaze away from it.
A cold shiver run down Vergil's back, but his pose remained calm.
“Hello…,” she whispered, her eyes glowing with something Vergil hasn't seen for years.
“Hello, little guy…”
His feet were as glued to the floor, the room's warmth filling his nose with an intoxicating aroma.
“You are so small…,” her another whisper followed by soft cries. “What's wrong? Are you hungry?”
There was something in her; something old and new at the same time, something so strangely familiar about her aura, about the way she looked at the infant in her hands. It made Vergil tense, it turned him even more stiff.
“Oh, you are hungry…,” she laughed quietly, pressing the bundle to her naked chest.
“Eat well, that's it…,” she patted the bundle, that sunny smile plastered to her face.
“You gonna eat well, so you can grow big and strong… just like your dad.”
The whole breath died in Vergil's chest, as she glanced at him tenderly, reaching her free hand towards him. He carefully stepped closer, desperately avoiding looking at the bundle's contents.
She giggled.
“Don't be afraid…,” her voice was both calming and stressing him out, “...it's your dad, baby. Do you want meet dad?”
The bundle wriggled, widening the smile on her face.
“Look, Vergil,” she turned the bundle towards him, his heart rate speeding up to enormous pace, “it's our baby…”
The stoic calmness he build inside himself has gone straight to the deepest depths of hell, when he finally looked at the gift she presented.
The baby was red, swollen, its limbs stretched through the harsh fabric. Not being able to look away, Vergil silently counted the traits it had.
Tiny, helpless, entirely dependent on its mother.
It wiggled slightly, brushing his fingers through her curly hair.
“You wanna touch daddy?” She guessed, looking at the tiny hand stretched towards the blue devil. The Yamato clanked under Vergil's grip.
“Come closer, Vergil…,” she whispered kindly, making the famous, death-brining half-demon surrender with her voice.
She took his hand, rubbing it gently with her thumb; she hushed the whimpering baby, bringing its tiny hand towards Vergil's gloved one.
When that helpless infant clutched his hand around Vergil's scarred finger, he physically felt something breaking inside him.
It was nothing, it had no meaning. No meaning at-
When the child opened it's big, blue eyes and smiled at him with its toothless gums, the Son of Sparda has suddenly felt stronger than ever.
“You like your daddy?” She smiled, kissing child's clutched fist. “Mommy and daddy love you a lot, baby. We love you.”
Her melodic voice was hypnotizing him, child's grip surprisingly strong on his finger.
It was his son. The Son of Vergil.
“He bears the gift of Sparda,” he said sternly. She smiled at him gently.
“He does,” she nodded, “but he also needs a gift from his father.”
His teeth clenched, that shining sparkles in her eyes making him something inside him swell into an incredible size.
“Nero,” he spoke finally, neither of them bothering to bring the boy out of his peaceful dream.