Chapter Text
…the power to protect the people he loved. That was what Vergil had always wanted. Because when their father had disappeared, he'd been left to be the man of the house. He'd taken that role upon himself, since he was the eldest child, despite him and Dante being twins. Well, even if their birth sequence had been different, he'd still want the same… because he wanted to keep his twin and his mother safe.
But he had failed.
Then the situation, the cruel world, the demons and humans alike… they all led him to feel inadequate for he couldn't even protect himself at times. He'd felt weak and helpless, but that didn't stop him. He'd used that, he'd turned that into his motivation… what kept him treading this cold and dark path. He was no longer fighting just to survive; he was aiming to be powerful so he'd never feel helpless again. He put everyone at a distance, so he'd never get hurt again. Because for someone like him who was cursed to bring only death and despair wherever he was, he only had himself to rely on. He was meant to drift alone.
Until this moment…
He felt something soft against his forehead, and it was moving in a gentle manner, as if caressing him… making him feel as though there was someone who would take charge, someone who would protect him, so he could put his guard down for once. But that was utterly impossible, so this was probably a lie, an illusion. No one would bother to do that, not for him, for he didn’t deserve such care.
So he willed himself not to believe this farce and to wake up at this instant. And when he did, he saw a bea— an unfamiliar face looking at him all worried. Why— It didn’t matter. They were all the same anyway, and they would all end up with the same fate when around him. They would either die from his blade or from the bloodlust of his demon pursuers.
But at least knowing her name wouldn’t do him any harm. He would, perhaps, utter a line of thanks when she passed away like all the others he’d met. Her touch, after all, was one that oddly reminded him of his childhood… of the peaceful days when he could still squabble with his twin over a book or a toy, when he could still rely on his mother for meals and basic needs, when he could still be with his father.
So with his demonic speed, he stood up, stepped back, drew his katana, pointed it at this woman and said with his usual coldness, “Who are you?”