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“I’m your son,” the boy said, a serious look on his face. “And I’m here to save you.”
Vergil– even in his broken and defeated state– was dumbfounded. Sure, the child before him had white hair and smelled incessantly of Sparda blood, but his son? No, that was impossible. Surely just another one of Mundus’ mind games.
“I have no children.” Vergil rasped, clenching his teeth together to stop the blood from spewing out. It spilled down his lips anyway.
The boy just scoffed. “Yeah, nice try. But you’re the only one besides Dante with white hair and demon blood– and no way in hell am I his son.”
He knelt down next to Vergil, carefully picking up his arm, making Vergil hiss in pain.
“D-Dante?” He managed through his agony.
“Yeah, he’s outside getting his ass kicked by that red-eyed asshole. Told me I was deadweight and sent me to go get you.” The child swung Vergil’s arm up and over his shoulder, dragging the two up. Vergil groaned– Mundus somehow knew how to hit him in places his enhanced healing could not find– but didn’t resist. His head bobbed up and down, limp, with each step the boy forced them to take.
Yes, this had to be an illusion. But if by some slim chance it wasn’t– and even if it was, really– Vergil asked:
“Did… he tell you you’re my son?”
“Dante? Yeah, he told me. Only after I asked if he was my father.”
Vergil’s heart dropped. There– he knew his brother. Dante wouldn’t lie about something like this. This boy… this miracle child. Vergil’s breath hitched.
“Boy… tell me your name.” He murmured.
“Nero,” Replied the boy– his boy– hiking Vergil higher up so his head now rested against Nero’s shoulder.
“Nero,” He whispered the name, immeasurably light. “How– How is that possible?”
“What?”
“Your birth.”
“You tell me.” Nero shrugged, the action jostling Vergil. “Sorry,” Nero winced.
Vergil swallowed; a thousand things ran through his head at once. His son. He had a son. Years of torture, of failure, and not only had someone come to save him but it was his very own son. The wounds he bore had never felt so light. He stared at Nero, took in each and every feature of the boy’s face, digging the image into the very depths of his soul. His lips quivered as he looked through downcast, heavy eyes at the child that was his, the beginning of a smile forming, when the ground shuddered and an explosion sounded in the near distance.
Vergil immediately snapped out of his daze.
“Nero,” He said, as strong and commanding as he could manage. “You should not be here.”
Nero’s head snapped to face him. “If you’re going to tell me I can’t handle myself like your brother did, then you can–”
Vergil shook his head, silver strands bristling across his son’s chin. “That’s not it.” Truthfully, he didn’t know how powerful Nero– a stranger, really– was, and while he no doubt had faith in Sparda’s blood to strengthen his son, he couldn’t risk the child he’d just met die either. But with what Nero had told him of the horrendous things his idiotic twin had told him, Vergil wouldn’t dare try to play that “you’re too weak” card now.
“Mundus will stop at nothing to reclaim me; to use me as his weapon. If– when– he realizes I am here, he will turn me again and force me to kill you.”
“Dante’s distracting him, he won’t be able to do anything.” Nero assured, but his certainty wavered in his voice.
“Dante cannot destroy Mundus. I tried and ended up his slave. You must run, Nero, or there will be no one left to stop him.” Vergil had already come to terms with his impending death, and while he’d never wanted more than to live– to learn of the child who’s early years Mundus had stolen from him– he was content to die. He’d accepted that fate all those years ago, leaping from the Temen-Ni-Gru straight into hell. As long as it meant his son– the future of Sparda– would live.
It seemed Nero had inherited his stubbornness, though, as he bit back, “Not a chance, old man.”
Vergil sighed, but before he could make a rebuttal, the two passed the pile of dark armor lying unceremoniously on the floor. Black tar clung to it, a haunting reminder of when he’d be trapped in it. Looking at it now, it almost called to him, deluded his senses, his emotions,
No. No he refused to let that happen again, not with his son dragging his broken body.
“Nero,” he called, though it came out more like a dry croak.
Nero hesitated, glancing at his father.
“I need you to…” Vergil coughed. “Destroy that armor.”
The ground rumbled again, and Vergil slipped out of Nero’s grasp and fell to his knees. Nero cursed, reaching back to pick his father up, but stopped when Vergil held up a weak hand.
“The armor…” he said. “Get rid of the armor.”
Nero glared at him, but Vergil was dead set, eyes piercing back with insurmountable force.
“Fine.” Nero sighed. “But I’m not going to leave you.”
An… acceptable deal. For now.
Nero raised his arm— one that he hadn’t noticed before, coated in demonic scales; a pseudo-devil trigger, perhaps?— and with a fitting cry slammed his fist into the breast plate, demonic power swarming and emanating from him. Even with that strength, the armor didn’t even dent.
“Dammit!” He yelped, shaking his hand off from the blow. He tried again. Nothing. Brought out his blade and tried using that. Nothing. Yamato or Rebellion or another powerful devil arm would’ve been able to pierce it, but nothing else, apparently. “Shit,” Nero grumbled, but prepared himself to launch another worthless attack.
“Nero,” Vergil stopped him with a shake of his head. “Leave it be. With any luck, it may erode before Mundus can trap anyone else inside it.”
Nero nodded, staring angrily at it for a few more seconds— Vergil could relate to that— before returning to his father.
“Dante said you were dead.” Nero mumbled abruptly, lugging Vergil… somewhere. “That he killed you.”
“He did. I was dead for a while. My spirit returned to the underworld and garnered power until it could reform my body.”
Nero’s face scrunched up. “Freaky.”
Vergil hummed in agreement. “Indeed.”
Silence, then Vergil thought to inquire: “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere out of the way, I guess. Mundus pulled us into hell; we’re still figuring out how to get out .”
That was concerning. Particularly with the Yamato out of reach…
But no matter. There was his son to watch over, and Mundus himself to deal with, after all.
“Why did Mundus pull you into the underworld?” Vergil asked instead. For some reason, with each passing step he took with Nero, his strength began to return. “What does he want with you?”
“Not me. Dante killed Argosax, and Mundus took his shot and devoured the demon’s power. He came after Dante soon after that; I guess Dante really pissed him off once.”
Vergil had to huff at that; oh, if only the boy knew his history. “You were with him then, I presume?”
Nero nodded. “Jackass called me over as soon things started getting suspicious.”
Vergil almost smiled at that and slipped off Nero’s shoulder, limping but walking on his own nonetheless.
“You’re looking better,” the other commented.
Vergil said, “I’ve been renewed by a sudden burst of might, I believe.”
“Well, good. ‘Cause I’m not letting Dante have all the fun. ”
Vergil shook his head. “If Dante killed Argosax he can handle Mundus.” As much as it pained him to say it, his brother had attained some power since their last battle. And mostly– although he’d never admit to such a thing, not even to himself– Vergil didn’t want to be alone again. He’d spent… How many years in isolation? With only Mundus’ darkening presence and Vergil’s own wicked vices to torment him. And now, with his newfound child in tow, he refused to allow that sort of anguish consume him again. Not yet.
“You don’t get it,” Nero seethed. “I have to do this.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Why do you care?”
“I… You said it yourself, when we first met.”
“You weren’t there for seventeen years–” Seventeen!? That’s how long he’d– “Why care now?” Nero’s tone was one of rage, but Vergil could tell, under that furious mask, that all the boy felt was hurt. Betrayed. Abandoned.
“Nero…”
“No, you gave me up when you threw yourself into hell!” Nero exclaimed, his eyes glistening. He wiped at them angrily.
“Nero, had I known you were alive I would’ve–”
“Would’ve what, raised me? How can I trust that? How can I believe you, after what you’ve done! Do you know how many people the Temen-Ni-Gru killed? The families torn apart?!”
No, this foolish boy, what all he didn’t yet understand. “It was necessary–!” Vergil hissed, but was promptly cut off.
“For what? Your stupid desire for power? All those lives just so you could act like some– some–” He threw his hands up in the air, frustrated. “--Megalomaniac!”
Vergil clamped down on his teeth. “You are ignoring the other side, Nero. Power is the ultimate goal– the thing that will save you when nothing else will. You cannot hope to protect anyone without it; not even yourself.”
“No… No, you can’t…” Nero inhaled, breath shuddering, before he squeezed his eyes shut. A stray, lonesome tear slipped from his right eyelid. “Dante was right.”
And then he really did start to cry, painstaking sobs that stopped Vergil short– sobs that felt like knives digging through his heart. He wanted to reach out and comfort the boy— wanted to make his horrid tears stop. But he couldn’t. He was weak, as he always was.
It pained him, each word the boy threw at him, and Vergil didn’t understand why. For decades he’d cast out his human heart, mauled it to bits, and yet it always came back again, in flashes of regrettable love that got people killed. First his lover, now his son.
And yet, like always with those insufferable human yearnings, Vergil couldn’t bring himself to care. There were things greater than physical strength— things he had discarded before, but now knew the true power of. He had been provoked and unintentionally slipped into old habits, but no. No, this was his son he was speaking with. His son, who deserved so much more than Vergil could ever give.
“Tell me,” Nero’s voice broke, and Vergil’s heart with it. “Tell me why I’m here, protecting the devil, giving two shit’s about him, instead of leaving him to die, like I should?”
Vergil’s mouth fell slack, and he stared, wordlessly, at nothing for a very long time. He could sense his son’s anxiousness to leave when finally his tongue started working again.
“I… know there are things in my past I cannot atone for. And that they affected you and your livelihood.” He dared steal a glance at his son, who only looked utterly distraught, but… clinging to that strand of hope. Foolish boy. His foolish boy.
“In my time spent here, healing, I’ve done much thinking over my actions and I… I realize now what I hadn’t before. That in my haste for what I thought was right— what I thought would save me— I forgot the very purpose of it all.” And then he smiled, truly then, and lifted a trembling, eroded hand to graze Nero’s cheek. When the boy didn’t draw away from it, Vergil drew closer, cupping Nero’s face fully. “To be protected and loved . And to give that… to you.
“I am sorry I was not there for you when you needed me to be. I am no father. But know that, from this moment forward, I will give my life to save yours. That is true power.”
Without warning, Nero launched himself into Vergil’s chest, arms wrapping tightly around his father. The latter gasped, feebly, unused to the feeling of someone close to him and not trying to kill him. But…
But Vergil leaned into him, tears pricking his own eyes as he enveloped his son in all the warmth and affection he could muster.
They stayed like that for several minutes, basking in what should have been shared memories between them, but no amount of time would have been enough for Vergil.
“Hey, what are you two softies doing?” Dante’s voice echoed, breaking their moment.
“ Dante, ” Vergil growled, still keeping one hand on Nero’s arm even as the other pulled away.
His brother grinned, blood dripping from multiple wounds, painting his white teeth red. “Party’s over, Verge. No point in going nude anymore.”
If Vergil was flustered by that, no one needed to know.
“C’mon,” Dante stripped off his jacket and threw it at Vergil, who put it on begrudgingly. “You look like shit, I look like shit, and Nero’s crying enough to fill the pacific—”
“Shut up, Dante!”
“— so let’s just go home, alright?” He slung an arm over Nero’s shoulder, and Vergil pretended not to notice the way his son leaned into Dante. Or the way Dante pulled him into the awkward embrace as well— if anyone asked, he was just too tired to care.
This was his family, Vergil thought. This was his home.
And for once, his soul felt light.