Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She doesn't want just any pact, if she's going to do this she's going to do this right. It's her soul and she's going to make him work for it, hard. This demon is no prince, in fact he’s barely anything at all, but together they might both make it out of here.

Kyrie is 6 going on 7 when she first meets her friend. She's run off to the attic, frustrated by her parents fussing and strict rules about how she and Nero can't share a room now that he's moved in with them. It isn't fair that Credo gets to share a room with Nero when she and Nero are much better friends! 

She storms out of the living room and all the way up all the stairs in their townhouse to the cramped attic to stew in her anger. Biting on her thumb to quell her anger she directs herself into pushing boxes around until she can sit down unseen from the doorway.

It's up in the attic sitting on an old trunk that she finds the brooch, it's a wide and flat, brassy gold thing, tarnished from years in the attic, but still shiny enough to entice a little girl. Her fingers find their way to it while sifting through an old trunk in the back corner she's made for space for herself in. 

The brooch is empty upon opening it, but holds spaces as if for gemstones to frame the small clock resting inside the jewelry. It sits in her hands warm like a heart, it reminds Kyrie of a hug from her grandmother. She's instantly captivated by it, incapable of putting it down as she worries her fingers over the grooves of the moon designs on the face of it. 

When she eventually cools down from her earlier indignity, she slinks down the stairs and into her room. She takes the brooch with her, clutching it to her breast where it seems to blend with her pulse. She doesn't even feel guilty at the thought of stealing from the attic, the metal so apart of her it would feel more wrong to leave it abandoned upstairs.

Her parents have obviously left her to cool off tonight as her mother doesn't try to come into her room that night, just stands by the door as she says goodnight. Kyrie calls back a half hearted goodnight and slips the treasure under her pillow. She goes to sleep that night dreaming of all the fun games her and Nero can play together now that they can see each other all the time, even if they can't sleep together. 

It's a couple weeks later that she runs up to the attic again, this time mad at Credo for making fun of her trying to practice hymns in the bath while pretending to be a mermaid. Kyrie chews her nails raw in anger thinking about his laughter. she'll show him . Credo can't even hold a note during the psalms at church. She stomps to her corner in the attic in a huff, trying to think of how to embarrass her older brother. Nero would never laugh at her!

She devotes herself to digging in the trunk. That, and gnawing on her pointer finger, her current victim of frustrations. It's then that she finds her next puzzle piece. An old journal, almost miraculously preserved, lays under piles of smaller boxes and old yellowed fabric. She doesn't resist her urge to slip the book out from its spot in the pile and lay it in her lap. 

Most of the writing is in fancy script, and even then Kyrie is certain it's in another language entirely. She's not the smartest girl in her classes, but she can read well enough to realize this isn't something she should be able to understand. If anything, it seems to resemble the books they have in church, the ones that are simplified phonetically for choir practice. Regardless of her ability to understand, Kyrie continues to page through the journal, seeing occasional geometric drawings on pages throughout. 

The book flips open to a page marked with Eva and an intricate cyclical pattern resting under it. She instinctively traces it with her finger before realizing she's accidentally smeared some of her blood on the page doing so. Guiltily she quickly replaces the book in the trunk and hurries back down to her room. 

Her rush has her forgetting her earlier anger at Credo, she rushes through her bedtime routine, chewing her finger the whole time. When her mother comes by her room to say goodnight, Kyries already worked her thumb raw enough to warrant her mother fetching a band aid before kissing her head and turning out the light. Despite her earlier mania, Kyrie goes to sleep without trouble, as if guided there by a hand. 

Her dreams that night are more vivid than she's ever had before. It is nearly pitch black in her dream, and yet Kyrie knows she could see anything she needed to in this space, that she's waiting to meet someone in fact. 

Kyrie wanders in the dark with an almost omniscient understanding of her dreaming state. She holds the flat brooch she found in her hands and traces the pattern with her fingers. She walks forward on and on, never tiring. The path is warm, no winds knock her off balance, much like a walk with her mother in the park, the trail will guide her true. 

The gossamer path she treads on becomes thin and narrow until it suddenly splits in two identical paths. Kyrie peers down the right path and feels an electric rush of adrenaline. Akin to riding her bike down a hill, Kyrie grins at the feeling and hurried to look at the left path to see if it is the same. 

The other path is distinctly different from the other, an almost confusing… lack where the other path had pushed emotions on her. When she steps closer to the left path to try and get a better grasp, she picks up hints of something almost familiar. This path feels like walking home from school with Nero! She can't help herself from rushing forward down this path, the right side was exciting but this one has a trace of her favorite person. Maybe if she keeps going down this road she'll run into Nero and they can play while they're asleep!

The ground rushes beneath her as she hurries, turning slowly into stone and marble as she goes. Her footsteps echo in the dark as she races through shadowy castle walls to the end of the path. She can't help but think of the castle on Fortuna as she passes through one high arching ceiling after another seemingly without end. All too soon her mad dash comes to an end. 

What she reaches is a cell. Behind the bars lays a figure in black armor, a statue maybe? It has countless chains connecting it to every wall, the ceiling, other parts of itself, though it's mostly hidden by shadow. She takes a step closer to try and get a better look and is surprised to see the statue move at the sound of her steps. Shocked, Kyrie tries to think of what to say to the living statue. 

“Are you Eva?” Her voice rings into the empty room, the name rising in her mind as she stares at the figure. 

Eva?... no… I am not… Eva… mother… mother? 

The figure doesn't… speak, so much as project the sound into the air. The voice is dry, like a sick person, and seems lost at her simple question. 

“Mother? I'm Kyrie” she can't help but respond to the statues slow response. This is her dream. This guy should know who she is!

“If you're not Eva, who are you?” She tries to push for a clearer answer, walking up to the bars to push a bit of her face into the cell. 

… I… I don't… know… I don't… I don't I don't I can't I CAN’T. WHY. I CAN’T…  I CANTICANTICANTICANTICANT

She backs away and presses her hands to her ears at the increasing volume of the statue's voice. she cries out at the sheer upset coming from the statue, no, when she looked into the cell she could tell there was a man underneath the armor. Like he hadn't finished putting on the full suit. 

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you, it's ok if you don't know your name I'm sure you'll remember it soon! Or I can help you!” She tries to reassure him, if this is her dream then she'll surely find a way to help him remember it! 

A groan rises from the man in armor in response to her pledge. Before anything else can be said, Kyrie begins to feel the room around her slip from her grasp like sand. She's going to wake up, she can tell somehow, but she can't wake up now! She needs to help him remember his name!

Kyrie runs towards the cell bars and presses herself against them hard, stumbling as they let her pass through as if she's not there at all. She falls to her knees in front of the man in armor and finds his still naked human hand in front of her. 

She grasps at it in her own small hands. The brooch she had been carrying all this while pressing hotly into his icy cold palm. Time is running out, she has to come back, she can't do anything more right now. She can help! The brooch is scalding hot in her hand, wind rushes past her whipping her hair and obscuring her vision.

“I’ll come back! We can remember your name together!” She cries, gripping tightly onto his hand, trying to see his face in the dark and convince him of her intention. The dream is already too hazy to see anything clearly but at the last moment she feels his hand twitch to hold her hand back around the brooch. 

She holds his hand back tightly, the brooch feels scorching hot in her hands, wind whips her hair and suddenly the dream is no more. 

Chapter Text

His loyalty to his Prince was always his first priority. He came at her call, fast and brutal, but they were little else to each other for those first decades. They were well suited for one another however, and as they came to learn this they grew stronger together.

Kyrie can't return to the dream. Part of her knows that she can , that she's missing something. She can’t figure out what is preventing her from returning though. She tries sleeping with the brooch in her hands, tries praying to see him, begging the Savior to let her help the man in the cell without a name. For a week straight she comes up empty. Regular dreams of hazy images and events come and go but there is nothing like that night ever since. 

She's so frustrated she wants to stomp up to the attic but refrains from doing so in case her hiding spot becomes too evident to Credo, who's been nagging her for her erratic behavior all week. 

It isn't until the end of the second week that she gives in and runs up to the attic anyways to pout. She sits next to her trunk this time in misery as she can't think of anything to get her to dream of that place again. Unfortunately, moping in the attic is very boring without anyone to get directly mad at, and so she quickly resorts to nosing through the nearby boxes. She goes through a couple of her great grandmother's prayer books, her late uncle’s spare Order uniforms, the sweaters her mom stores upstairs until winter before she’s drawn back to the trunk.

She cracks open the trunk again, and sees the journal she found when she had the dream. Upon seeing the journal she can’t help but gasp in realization. This must be the key to that dream! She can hardly reign in her excitement for bedtime as she thinks of the journal hard enough to lead her back to the path she ran down a week before. 

She wakes up the next morning in a foul mood. Nero steers clear of her during gym class as she puts all her strength into throwing the ball during dodgeball. 

Holding the book does nothing, neither does tracing the pattern and thinking Eva, Eva, Eva . She tries to draw the pattern herself, but that also results in regular dreams. It's only when Kyrie goes back to consult the journal again and sees the small bloodstain on the page from when she bit her finger raw does she have another epiphany. 

At this point she can draw the symbol by heart. Interlocking loops lacing together gracefully on top of each other. Kyrie finishes the drawing by setting her pencil down and then raises her ring finger to her mouth and bites , drawing metallic blood to her mouth as she grinds her canines into her finger. She then takes her bleeding ring finger and drags it over the pattern, trailing blood over the mark slowly as she goes, covering her finger in graphite as well as a thin trail of blood from her wound. 

When her mother comes by and sees her bitten up finger, she pulls her into the bathroom and wraps a bandage around her finger and hugs her goodnight after tucking her blanket around her. Under Kyrie’s pillow lies the paper with the drawing. That night when she sleeps, she dreams .

She appears on the path. She runs. 

The brooch is hot in her hands, the other path once offered to her completely forgotten in the hurry of trying to find the man in the cell. Her hair flutters behind her, loose, as she runs onward in the dark. 

The cell rushes to meet her. Just as dark as it had been the last time, and she slams into the metal bars hard enough to knock the wind out of herself. She stumbles back, coughing as she regains her breath and returns to the bars to press her face against them like she had the last time. 

The man lays differently in the cell this time. Whereas last time he had been propped up in the corner with his feet closest to the bars, this time he was sprawled on the ground in a puddle of dark water with his head angled awkwardly towards her.

Kyrie can't help but gasp at seeing the man's face for the first time. A near chalky white complexion is broken up by blue veins showing through his translucent skin. His eyes are an icy blue like Nero’s, and his hair which is in disarray and clumped with dirt, would surely mirror Nero’s unbelievable platinum. 

Kyrie drops down to the ground to be on better eye level with him. As she settles on her hands and knees the man's previously vacant stare flicks up to her and blinks in awakening recognition. Her face breaks into a grin seeing him recognize her. 

“I came back! I didn't know how to come back at first but I figured out how to do the spell that lets you come here. I didn’t realize it was the blood that made the magic work!” She holds out her bandaged finger for him to see, wiggling it 

He blinks at her, even more lucid than he was earlier, brows twitching as he processes her sudden appearance.

“Did you remember your name yet? I'm Kyrie, I said so last time, but it's been so long” she presses close to the bars, pausing to pin the brooch onto her nightgown so that she can use both arms to try and reach into the cell.

A grunt answers her, a good enough acknowledgment of her return. She shuffles a little on her knees. The dark puddle under the man expands slowly towards her as it seeps across the stone floors. 

“If you still don't remember, maybe we can see what else you remember and that'll give you a hint? That's what my mom always says to do when I've lost something” she gets a calmer blink in response this time. 

I still do not… recall… but I remember your visit… His face twitches with effort even as his lips do not move at all. Kyrie briefly has to look around before realizing that he must be speaking directly into her head.

It… is almost beyond imagination… A groan. To speak with… someone. A fluttering of his face reveals bloodshot blue eyes; one is a far deeper blue than the other, the other holds an ice blue pupil with an inflamed looking sclera.

“Wow! You're a lot more talkative today!” Kyrie winces after the words come out, her mother used to scold her for making likeminded observations about Nero when they first met. She blushes and fusses at her nightdress. The man lets out a heavy sounding breath before continuing. 

Always… clearest… after. Pain…grounds…before it fades again… another huff before he settles again and goes quiet. 

Pain? Kyrie blinks as she takes another look at the puddle which has reached her knees. The overwhelming stench of iron hits her nose and she realizes that the puddle isn’t water at all, in fact it’s such an alarming amount of blood that she can't help but cry out in shock. 

“You're hurt! Isn't anyone going to come help you? Can I help you?” Kyrie frets with her hands as she works up the nerve to shuffle closer to the bars. Her knees hit the thick heavy iron bars separating them. Blood soaks greedily into her nightdress as she tries to get a better look at the dark room he’s confined to. A singular light casts a harsh but faint light on the room, it flicks and winks in and out, creating a disorienting effect. 

The room is large, with the last third being walled off with the thick iron bars, ornate stonework lines the ceiling, like the cathedral they worship the savior at, and a single bone white chair rests in the corner, as if waiting for someone to come sit on it. 

Whoever put this man in his cage, they surely don’t want him to die, the room is far too clean of dirt and grime. Kyrie can go fetch someone, it’s what she usually does when she meets  Credo halfway from training and needs to run ahead to help her mom get the bandages. She can do this.

“I’ll go see if there’s someone here that can help, stay relaxed please! Your muscles will hurt more if you’re tense” with that said Kyrie quickly hurries to her feet, grimacing as her wet nightdress sticks to her calves when she rises. She quickly sets off towards the light and sees several open doors lining the hallways immediately outside of the cell room.

Further inspection reveals the cell holding the man is the only one in this corridor, every other room is empty and dark to the point where she can’t make out the interior. She isn’t sure if this is her dream limiting her vision or if the oppressive darkness is truly just that total. Stepping back from the second room and starting towards the third results in her foot landing in a wet spot on the cold marble floors.

Looking down to see what she stepped in only reveals more blood, semi dried to the floor she can see how the blood trails a path between the first room and the one farthest down the hall and back into the room with the cell. Stepping back further made it clear that there were in fact, many many dried trails of blood creating a spiderweb through all of the doors in the hallway. There is decidedly no one around to possibly help the man in the cell, Kyrie would have to leave this wing if she wanted to find someone.

The door at the farthest end of the hallway is made of some kind of thick and heavy wood. Carved intricately and inlaid with blood red gemstones and smooth white stone the door towers over Kyrie in size; when she tries to grope at the door handle she’s assaulted by the burning hot sensation not just on her hands but racing up her arms as if towards her chest where her brooch is pinned. She yelps as she rips her hands away.

Kyrie stands in front of the door breathing heavily, staring at the cold stone floors. The cold stone floors covered in the blood of a man locked behind bars encased partially in armor, bleeding out onto the cold floors in a cold room all alone with only a single chair to keep him company. Kyrie can’t do a thing to help.

She can’t help. There’s no one to fetch, there's just her. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing, why is she doing this for a man locked in a cell? What if he’s there for a reason? 

Surely even an evil man would deserve a name though? Wouldn’t even the Savior help the nameless? Maybe she can find out after she helps him remember his name, she can’t jump to conclusions yet about what he’s like. Much like getting help can’t be the only thing she can do. 

Kyrie is going to have to be enough for this.

She makes her way back into the cellroom, daintily avoiding the puddles of slowly drying blood on the floor. She gingerly kneels down in front of the cell again and tries not to feel embarrassed by her lack of results. 

“There’s no one around, I tried opening the big door but it hurt my hands… is there any way I can enter the cell and help you? I think I only got through last time was when I was waking up…but if I wake up I can’t help you!” She frets at her sopping wet nightgown and gives up trying to sit ladylike with the way it sticks grossly to her legs. She scoots as close to the bars as she can

A huff comes from the man as he cracks his less inflamed eye open at her, his gaze is still bleary, but isn’t harsh despite her ineptitude.

A moan rises from him as he shifts slightly to adjust his head, pulling on the armor he’s wearing, a wet sound reaches Kyrie’s ears and she shivers to think what injuries have caused this much blood.

Can you continue to…return? It’s a gentle question, not quite a demand, but it does urge her to answer. 

“I think I can…I know how to do the picture, and now I know the trick to make the spell work!” She isn’t sure she can come back every night, which worries her, but he didn’t ask her to come back every day, so it should be alright? She can come every night she doesn’t have church or choir practice.

Spell…? I believe you are… using a sigil… He huffs, and Kyrie is reminded of Credo when he has to re-explain math problems to her. Kyrie 

Eva’s… sigil, is unreliable. A direct connection is safer… he will not… detect it. Here. Like this. Slowly, and with great effort, a thin pale arm begins to trace a pattern in the blood pooling around him.

Unlike the swooping circular Eva pattern, this one is full of bits and bob, its sharp, blooming outwards from an internal V-like symbol. She does her best to trace along, 

“In blood? The symbol? I mean sigil? Does it need a circle?” Kyrie’s anxiety of being unable to return like she had been for the last week wells up, she can’t afford to get the sigil wrong. Though she doesn’t understand why she can’t continue to use the Eva sigil, she figures it would be good to have another method on hand.

Blood yes…not much though little one… a drop should suffice. A circle…Eva’s would…but not mine, I am a…special case… because of… He trails off, as if not sure why he’s an exception to the rule, silence hangs heavy between them as Kyrie desperately tries to have the patience to find out.

It’s my heritage…I am… half human… that is why I do not need a circle…to seal. This symbol is my truest name in…enochian. He blinks repeatedly as he speaks, brow furrowing and clearing as he continues to speak.

“Enochian?” She looks up from her repetitive tracing, voice ringing out like a bell in the dark. Her brown eyes bore into the man for answers, hungry to have more clues to this lavish torture chamber.

The language…of higher demons and…angels…it is the language of sages, and witches. There are… many uses. His breath comes heavy and raspy now, obviously strained from the amount of thinking he’s had to do to recall this information. Kyrie can hardly find herself to be overly upset at his strain over the new discovery. Enochian…she can do something with that knowledge, maybe she can find something at the library. Surely the Savior must have known about this language? Maybe she can find the answer in Him.

Kyrie begins to feel a gentle wind push at her, the atmosphere becoming like smooth sand, she’s going to wake up soon. She presses a hand to the warm brooch on her nightgown and knows she doesn’t have much time.

“I think I’m going to wake up soon…I think I can do the seal. I’ll try to be back soon!” Kyrie’s grip on the bars starts to slip as her permeance starts to waver.

That is more than enough… Kyrie, I have very little… to offer you… If you like, I can show you more… sigils… like…Mother’s. You have a natural talent…little one…

She falls through the bars again, with a yelp she tries to stand up but gets caught on her dress. She results to crawling through cooling blood to reach the man as quickly as possible. It’s soaked her all the way up waist, stains up her arms and sticks in her hair, plastering strands to her face as she tries to brush it out of the wall. The tang of iron overwhelms her nose the closer she gets.

When she finally reaches him over the ocean of blood she finally gets the clearest look at his face shes gotten yet. Sharp features, pale and sickly, with faint traces of blue veins underneath his skin, his visible ear has an unnatural point to it, his already brilliantly blue eye color is even more electric up close. Dingy muddy gray-brown hair hangs over half of his face and she gives in to the urge to brush it out of his face, her hand ghosting over the sticky strands with just enough force to push it.

She looks down one last time, making eye contact with him one last time before she wakes up in reality, and tries to offer a smile to the man without a name, alone in his own pool of blood. She rests a hand on his bare shoulder and feels just a trace of warmth from him before the room fades entirely.

When she wakes the next morning she’s still tracing the pattern he showed her, her nightdress remains a bleached white but is soaked in sweat. 

When she walks to school with Credo and Nero that morning, she sees Nero furrowing his brow as he sniffs the air before leaning over to get closer to her shoulder where her hair falls. His face wrinkles for a minute before he leans back.

“Did you put on perfume? You stink.” Kyrie can’t help but jump as Nero comments, nervous that somehow he could tell she’d been in the attic, or even worse, in the cell in her dreams. Her reply is cut off by Credo lightly cuffing Nero over the head to admonish him.

“You can’t go around smelling people! The other girls at school aren’t as nice as Kyrie and they’ll tattle to the nuns if you keep that up” Nero lets out an aggrieved growl and scrubs at the back of his head to fix his hair.

“I didn't say she smelled bad! Forget it! Sorry I said you smelled.” He rubs at his nose sullenly as the three keep walking. Kyrie lets out a breath of relief, before taking a subtle sniff at her own hair.

All that lingers is a subtle, earthy smell, like blood long dried.

Chapter Text

Contracting with humans was just another trick to use in the war against Paradiso. Lucifer commanded his army to use every possible advantage, his Prince was too above such a base contract, and so he forged one in his place. 

Her wit and ingenuity kept her alive, while her vicious, single minded vision of victory earned her his respect. When her home island of Fortunis was razed to the ground by his Prince’s troops, he made a choice he could not possibly have understood the consequences of. 

In the early days of his imprisonment, torture was a perpetual state of being, his skin flayed, muscles peeled back, like Prometheus, he would have his liver, amongst other things, ripped from him and allowed to grow back if only to repeat the cycle. 

Every curse was met with the prince of darkness tearing out his throat, every rebellion resulted in the evisceration of his offending limbs. It was all he could do to muster enough energy to keep his eyes open enough for a glare at his captor.

He was strung up in front of Mundus, a perpetually leaking fountain of blood raining down on the pristine white floors of the throne room. He was the emperor’s prize to be displayed for all his most privileged subjects to witness. The son of the traitor, the long lost quarry of the dark prince, the half human abomination who was too powerless in the face of the ruler of Inferno. A spectacle for all to see, but especially his generals, who took special care in paying him personal attention to please their master.

He was kept from sleep, he wasn’t sure he was even capable of it anymore, if he had ever slept in his life. His body did its best to adapt to the extreme conditions, but his closest state to sleep now seemed just hovering above death itself. All of this to better prepare him for Mundus’s prying touch.

His mind was invaded, again and again by Mundus, blown out and irradiated in a way his demonic healing just couldn't fix. When the emperor tired of having him strung up he took to dipping him in his pet abomination to further flay his body and mind.

By the time he was brought to the smaller wing and left to slowly bleed out in his cell in privacy he had long lost the strength to physically rebel, and even then his mental state was so poor that he could hardly think straight enough to properly hate Mundus. He hated him though. He still hated him.

Time stretched endlessly in the dark without change, even pain itself was made monotonous, his body numb as his veins pulsed with corruption, there was very little to perceive about his surroundings until she arrived one day.

His understanding of her presence came to him in blips and sparks, white hot light in an ocean of murky darkness. The first handful of times he thought was a hallucination brought on by his mind finally cracking, that Alice had come to visit him in his broken mind as he bled out on the stone floor. 

His body crumpled hard onto the stone as he was returned to his cell, skin cracking and flaking where it wasn’t in strings over his innards. How lovely it was to think of anything else at all then his physical state, his mind floating away from him to try and escape the thought of another heaving breath.

He hadn't realized it at the time, but they were quite similar at the time she and he- Alice, that was. He thought that he missed her greatly as his mind went further and further from him in the darkness of his cell. She was so young, manipulated by a demon and possessed and merged, she wanted to be loved, she wanted to be loved. He wanted to be-

The more she returned the better he remembered, she was a rock in the river to cling to, a routine, she would arrive and reintroduce herself, mention how many days it had been since her last visit. So small and weak… not even a girl possessed. No, Kyrie was a regular human girl, and yet she was more powerful than the emperor himself to him.

Kyrie returned time itself to him. 

His ability to remember every visit was lacking, his muddled mind would combine visits, make up new conversations, forget things he'd told her 6 times, it was agonizing. Her visits brought about his greatest moments of clarity, that would blessedly bleed into his other hours, allowing himself to think at all.

She was so…young. She was younger than he had been when-

She was so young… to have such an innate talent for the Umbran arts, perhaps it was a hereditary gene, one that survived the hunts. Or perhaps she was one of the rare natural talents, doomed to go unpolished centuries after the fall of the Umbra.

Speaking to her, while arduous, reminded him of his childhood fascination with the Umbra, their rich history. He had cried for a week when he was told he couldn’t be a witch by- by?

If it wasn’t evident to him already, his mind was now prone to wandering. There was some lesser fool he couldn’t name currently that he thought this behavior was more suited for… He let this thought roll through his mind like a stray empusa, as his prior attempts to focus on something until answers arrived proved a lost cause that only caused further headaches.

Kyrie’s presence continued to be a boon because it allowed him to better recognize his surroundings. It wasn't for the purpose of escape, there was very little chance of that in his current state, or any likely future states of being. His pride had been hobbled well enough to recognize that. Without any immediate plans of rebellion on his mind, he could now recognize the majesty of the rooms he was being kept in. 

These rooms, if it were not for the oppressive cell in the main room, would make for an incredibly lavish living space. In fact, if he factored in the hallway outside the cell chamber, the four rooms that served as his torture chambers made this a personal wing. The frequency of Mundus’s visits would also imply a conveniently close location, unless the emperor took a particular joy in the walk to his wing.

Vergil's guess, if anyone were to ask, to care, to not be a child who he couldn't even properly speak with, would be that these chambers were meant for… Sparda. The close proximity to the Emperor’s haunts, the fine detailing of the moldings and inlays, it spoke to a high ranking demon in the emperor’s favor. 

This contradicted…almost everything in…his memory. His certainty of the rooms belonging to Sparda also puzzled him, his subconscious providing no further context for the answer it supplied. But once again, this made no sense.

Sparda betrayed Mundus soon after the prince had…risen to power… through some means achieved in the human realm. 

It was during this time period that historical accounts claimed…that the dark knight ‘woke up’ to justice…Turning on seven of his prince’s generals…stripping them of their names to seal the tower. There was one final confrontation between knight and prince before the realms were sealed from each other…however these were not in written history… how did…he… know this.

A heavy, painful swallow in the dark of the room helped his memory very little at the moment. His memory was in tatters, figures and names had been thrown aside in favor of survival and now he could clearly parse so few events with clarity, let alone detail. If he thought hard, he could feel the leather of an old chair shift beneath him, smell…tea? He could see a…library…his library? Not his… it would be his… when he was… older? 

He didn't have a library…he didn’t have his-birthright? All that remained was his sword, the Yamato, given to him by- No. The Yamato had been… lost…

All of this to say… Sparda would never have even lived in the Emperor's palace, this wing would have been built to remain empty. Until now. He was graciously placed here by his Emperor until he could be ‘cured’ of his…heart…

Kyrie had returned once again. Time may have been easier to parse for him, however it did not mean he could easily comprehend the exponential rate at which she grew… nearly a year and a half of speaking to her and she had grown slowly taller, her hair growing past her shoulders, her nightgown traded for a lighter fabric as the seasons changed.

It was so base and pathetic of him, but he was so glad to see even minute evidence of change in his dark cell where there was only an ebb and flow of blood on the stone. Kyrie’s visits bracketed a timeframe, and set markers in his existence.

“What’re you thinking about?” She had taken a break from practicing the most recent sigil he had shown her, the one for replication. It was a mediumly advanced sigil, essential for bullet arts… but also useful for the multiplication of food. Kyrie wouldn’t have to use sigils for any of this however, it was just another sigil to add to her repertoire, an exercise to work up her spiritual energy enough to actually activate a spell. 

She was a diligent student, but she often stopped her practice to pick his very, very empty brain. It was a quaint part of their interactions that forced him to try and keep up a rapport.

Time… and how it passes… I am not sure how long I have been here for, sometimes I am not sure I remember why… He couldn’t help but furrow his brow at his lack of knowledge. He did know why he was here. Here, in this room, in this room. The reason was-

Sparda.

Sparda… was. The root of his Emperor's rage…at Sparda, but also at…him. It was because Sparda was-

Father. Sparda, he was my father… the Emperor’s anger at his betrayal… He seeks a… replacement in me. He seeks to rid me of my-

My human heart. He rolls his head to look at Kyrie, at the human child who has sat at his side for half a year. He thinks, as clearly as is possible for him at the time, that he might wish to keep it, if only he could keep having conversations like this. Anything to keep himself from slipping under the murky black waters lapping at his mind via the armor.

“Sparda? The Savior?” Her voice cracks as she fights to speak over her shock. The girl looks as if she’s been told that god was real, her face flushed as she tries to compose herself while pushing closer to the bars of the cell. To try and affirm if what he said was true. However his mind catches on her wording.

The Savior? Little one, you are from… Fortuna? How funny, that this girl would hail from one of the few places his father had lived in his centuries of time after sealing the realms. Fortuna was… beautiful, a small island, home to-

“I am! How did you know? Have you ever been? Did the Savior tell you about it?” Her questions are rapid fire, one after another. His brain wades through the words one at a time in order to answer her.

Father lived…many places…I visited the island to research his method of sealing… the realms. He was long gone by the time I came to see the cult that worshiped him. He couldn’t remember much of his time on the island. He had spent much of it…in the library? He had spent his time with someone but they were gone from his mind.

“Cult? That’s just what outsiders say about the church because they don’t know about Sparda…” She frets at her nightgown before reaching up to rub at her brooch. If he had the energy to heave a sigh he just might. Thankfully, he’s too tired to be as snippy as he would be if he had even a fraction of his normal energy, it allows him to respond in a more…gentle manner.

I mean no offense little one, it is simply an unusual religion… It is hard to imagine my father would revel in worship for very long, I’d imagine he’d grow bored quickly… I doubt he’d disapprove though, don’t fear. 

She lets out a breath at that, content for now with her worldview. Thank goodness she was such an agreeable child, she clearly didn’t enjoy conflict and he didn’t have the energy for it either.

“You’re going to have to tell me about him then. What he’s like as a dad, that is, sermons always make him seem very serious!” She gives him a shrewd look, and it seems that she’s come out on top here. She’s just like his- always calling- V- V- Ver-

Kyrie lets out a soft noise of recognition, most likely the cue that she’s about to depart. His eyes slam open, his head jerking towards her as she pushes her way through the bars.

Kyrie! Little one! I-I’ve remembered. He can’t keep the urgency out of his voice, he swallows heavily as he blinks the black from his vision. What remains of his pulse pounds in his ears, the rest of his blood makes small wet noises as she lightly steps through it to reach him.

“Remembered? What is it?” She's flickering, she clasps at the bronze brooch pinned to her nightgown, it catches some of the faint light in the cell. He parts his dry lips and tries to remember what his tongue felt like. It had been ripped out so many times he wasn’t sure if it grew back at all this time.

“Vergil… My name is Vergil, son of Sparda. Son of… Eva.” He can feel hot blood slick his mouth with the effort of speaking with his actual voice and not just that of the sigil. Kyrie’s eyes blow wide at his newfound ability to speak aloud, even more surprising, is the miraculous remembrance of his name. She flings herself forward, a smile breaking over her young face as her knees hit the wet stone so she can pick up his still bare arm.

“Your name! Vergil…Vergil! I’ll be back again! You still have to tell me about him- your dad!” She’s whipped away in an invisible wind and the connection sigil fades along with the gentle warmth of her touch. Though her departure leaves him aching, his head remains clear enough to process himself, to repeat his name over and over.

Vergil is left to his cell in the darkness, his mouth leaking blood like a faucet as it sluggishly recovers from his bout of speech. Despite the refreshed agony of reopened wounds, he can’t find himself to mind at all, not when he has his name. Though half human, his demonic side required a name, it was a fact about himself he was only just realizing, had Kyrie not appeared to him Mundus would surely have destroyed his ego entirely.

He huffs a breath and rolls his head to look at the ceiling. His legs and torso are encased in the parasitic armor the Emperor crafted, his left arm is the most recent section to be tackled, most likely his other arm will follow and end with his head. 

Each section requires an extensive amount of torture, first to break down his healing factor enough to bring him to the brink of death, then introduce the parasite through carefully placed spikes that will anchor the armor to his skin. Any further steps Vergil has yet to be conscious for, he’s far too used to waking up with another section of his body fuzzy and numb no matter what he does.

Nevertheless, as long as he knows his name, as long as Kyrie knows his name, Mundus won’t win. His human heart…it is the key.

The creak of a heavy door echoes down the hall, the sound of heeled shoes ring out in the empty stone hallways. The air begins to reek of ozone, he can’t help the repulsed gurgle his throat makes at the taste of it in his mouth.

She comes up close to the bars, squatting where Kyrie had taken time to gracefully sit herself on the stone. She brushes a short clump of blonde hair out of her eyes, face twitching in annoyance at the overly long section of bangs that would fall directly on her face.

“How are you today Nelo Angelo?” The face of his long dead mother stares at him from behind the bars. That is not my name is the last thought that crosses his mind before the electricity courses through him and he knows no more.

Chapter Text

It was his idea, to return to her home island and rebuild in the ashes of the tree, a castle for the two of them to languish in. With enough space to stay far, far away from each other on the days they needed it. 

They had lots of time to themselves, few would answer her summons, fewer would welcome him into their lands, even amongst the newly flowering Umbra, she was a pariah. So she learned how to live again, and let the time pass.

On the island of Fortuna, time moved normally. Credo rose in the ranks of the holy knights, birthdays were celebrated, Kyrie continued to learn more advanced songs in choir. Despite her almost nightly escapades to see Vergil in his cell, Kyrie remained as normal as possible, unsure of sharing her secret rendezvous with anyone other than the man she goes to meet.

At first she had been so ready to tell anyone, to brag to Credo, or whisper to Nero, or even tell her mother about the son of the savior she met in her dreams. But the anxiety of explaining the magic, the imprisonment, the things she was learning held her back. Her mother had already gotten on her for her abuse of her thumb in order to spread enough blood on the sigil to activate it. Trying to explain its necessity seemed too difficult to manage.

What first began as an empathetic applying of bandages to Kyrie’s thumb soon became an exasperation at the fact that the wounds never seemed to heal. Then her mother realized how often she was biting into the meat of her finger even idly, and that was when she began to get more vigilant.

She put Kyrie to bed with gloves on, fussed at her whenever she raised a hand to her mouth, and even brought her father into the issue when she didn't show signs of stopping. 

The two of them had sat her down in the kitchen one day when Credo had taken Nero out training. Their eyes kind, and their voices are soft when they carefully addressed her habit. Asking if she felt alright, if anyone was being mean to her at school, how she could tell them anything, anything at all. Kyrie realized, for the first time, possibly ever, in her life, that she did not want to share this with her parents. Or Credo, or even Nero, not her friends from school or choir, not a single soul. 

She admits to stress, mentions wanting to do well in school, how now that she was almost almost 8 and Nero lived with them that she wanted to be responsible. It was clear her parents had wanted something more concrete, but had let her go with a promise to talk to them if she continued to feel the way she did.

The attention was grating, Kyrie didn't budge an inch. She got along fine with everyone at school, Credo was so busy training that he hadn’t bothered her nearly as much as he used to, Nero is sweet to her and doesn't cause much trouble. She’s airtight, she doesn't give, only murmurs promises to try and stop biting herself bloody to her mother before slipping off to her room. 

It was after another half a year of visiting Vergil that Kyrie’s bloody thumb biting jig was up. Nearly a full year of a carousel of bandages on her fingers had brought her mother to her wit’s end. It came to a head 

Her mother, brows furrowed as she holds her small hand in hers, the kitchen bustles around them, her father and Credo heading out for duty, Nero fumbling through a bowl of cereal, and the two of them unmoving at the sink. 

“Kyrie, love, how about you come with me today instead of going to school?” Her mother phrases it like a question, but the grip on Kyrie’s hand lets her know that refusing isn’t an option. Her father and Credo leave soon after, and her mother fusses over Nero before sending him off to school on his own for the day. The two of them clean up breakfast in silence.

Her mother hustles her out the door and onto the street towards the center of town, the morning foot traffic has started to settle, all the men having gone to work and the children to the school. Kyrie pulls at her hood to settle it farther over her face when they walk past some of the ladies who’ve complimented her singing in church.

Their destination was the church, where a tall and thin nun greets her mother at the door. The two women leaned close together to speak only between their hoods before the nun pulled back to look at Kyrie with a severe look. 

When asked about her habits Kyrie could only timidly reply to the nun and her insistent prodding. She was asked about her schooling, her helpfulness around the house, her participation in choir, and when the nun was satisfied she turned to Kyrie’s mother to give her the verdict. 

“These things happen, what she needs is a personal hand in the teachings of the Savior, you can send her to me every Wednesday and I’d be happy to take her on” as the nun spoke a long bony arm had come down on Kyrie’s shoulder holding her in place and drawing her into the nuns long robes. 

Her mother had then smiled gratefully and bid Kyrie goodbye, saying she’d return to pick her up after doing some shopping at the market, and that the sister had lots of things to teach her in order to help her feel better. This did not make Kyrie feel better, as she watched her mother grow smaller as she walked out of the church, leaving Kyrie to the nun.

What had then followed was a very thorough hour of Kyrie and sister going over the teachings of the Savior. Page after page of scripture and verses of the deeds of the Savior, the words of the Savior, the teachings of the Savior, the teachings of every vicar who held the torch in his absence and so on.

It was, all in all, mind numbingly boring, even Kyrie who was usually rapt in attention at service all day long as she participated in choir soon felt her eyes glaze over and her mind wander as the nun’s dry and reedy voice read to her in the little back room the nuns all used for their personal prayer.

The unending scripture, the nun’s lecturing and her bony hand’s grip on Kyrie’s shoulder as she perched in a hard wooden chair that creaked as she shifted her weight ever so slightly, this was not the worst nor the hardest part of that day.

The hardest part was about 20 minutes into reading scripture with the nun, whom she later learned was named sister Margot, was realizing that this wasn’t real. The book was just words, that the Saviour was just a demon and not all powerful, that his son was languishing in the dungeon of some demon king she could barely conceptualize. That this book was full of things the Savior didn’t say, that the vicar didn’t know anything at all about the Savior, who was not in fact all powerful, but very much dead to the world.

Later, when not stifled by the heavy atmosphere of the church, the hard wood of the chair, the tight grip of the nun’s hand on her shoulder and her thin wrist, Kyrie would calm down enough to reconcile her daytime reality with the truths she had seen at night. That was later though, what happened upon realizing her worldview didn’t hold water quite right was this:

She burst into tears, heaving breaths that made the edges of her vision darken and fuzz, when sister Margot’s hands clamp down around her shoulders she started apologizing hysterically, blubbering apologies to no one at all. Unable to control herself, and unable to bring her thumb to her mouth due to sister Margot’s grip on her arm, Kyrie was reduced to convulsing in the arms of a strange nun her mother had left her with.

“There there girl, the Savior forgives you for your doubts, all is forgiven in the eyes of the Savior, now lets do five prayers to the Heart of the Savior” With this sister Margot had bodily dragged Kyrie’s shaking arms into the sign of the cross and begun to rhythmically recite prayers until Kyrie had enough breath in her body to mumble them along with her.

When her mother had finally returned to fetch her, sister Margot had led her out to the door of the church silently and spoken in hushed tones to her mother. Kyrie had been too exhausted at that point to try to figure out what they were saying, but her mother’s hand had been warm and kind when she took her smaller one in hers, and her mother walked them back home to have lunch.

When everyone returned from work and school Kyrie and her mother had finished setting the table for dinner for them. Kyrie can’t remember having spoken much, if at all, that afternoon. When she sat at the table her mother spoke about their day and she blankly listened to everyone else. It was when she was finally left alone to go to bed that she had snapped out of her trance.

That night Kyrie had gone to bed in a rush, her thumb already bit bloody enough for Vergil’s sigil four times over. That night he was… largely patient with her and her crisis of belief. The most relieving of all was his voiced scorn for the ‘fanatical’ nun she had been with. Speaking with him had calmed her down substantially. 

Not that Vergil had been making an express effort to make her feel better, he was in fact, disastrously bad at actually comforting when he tried, and so he had quickly given up and simply tried to speak as rationally as he knew about her situation. In his own way, it had helped.

His greatest contribution however, is his ability to teach her how to heal her finger so she wouldn’t draw any more attention to herself in that regard.

The fix, in all actuality, was so simple it nearly made her cry. Vergil taught her in half a night a spell so simple it didn't even require a sigil, just enough natural aptitude for magic that she could manage it on her own. 

As she rises out of bed to run through her morning routines, she takes care to heal over the small gouge in her thumb she had created for Vergil's seal. The spell is second nature now, a ‘good exercise’ for practicing control according to Vergil, but also just plain practical.  

She sticks her finger in her mouth, letting it sit there briefly until warm, before focusing on her own small pool of spiritual energy and pushing it to heal over her broken skin. The skin tingles as it absorbs the push of energy before fading back to normal.

Pulling her thumb back reveals an unblemished hand damp with spit. She wipes her hand on her nightshirt and hurries to change for the day and get ready for school. 

Though she still had to meet with sister Margot every week, Kyrie no longer drew any negative attention towards herself or her growing set of abnormal habits she had picked up as she continued to flex her spellworking muscles. 

Kyrie has done her best to maintain her appearance as a normal, dutiful, devout daughter that her parents expected her to be. The better she played her part, the less scrutiny she would be under, it was a lesson she learned over time, and also by watching Nero.

The younger boy did his best to try and fit in, but his looks made him stand out among the brown and dirty blonde haired children of Fortuna. Where everyone else warmed gracefully under the summer sun that left them freckled and rosy cheeked, Nero burned lobster red even with Kyrie’s mother dutifully applying sunscreen all over him. He stood out without trying, and suffered because he couldn’t help giving back as much as he got. 

Nero couldn't even avoid trouble at school even on his best behavior, with other children from the orphanage, and children from well off families finding any reason to single him out as the black sheep. It was all Kyrie and Credo could do to patch him up before they got home to help him sneak past their parents, who could never seem to understand the inescapable amounts of trouble Nero got into.

Everything had remained routine for Kyrie however, even Nero getting into fights at school, until recently when her parents were requested by the order to do research within the ruins of Mitis forest by Fortuna castle. The request had happened over a month ago and the date of the expedition was finally tomorrow, completely turning the habits of the Elysion’s house on its head.

When her father had first broken the news over dinner, his pride was evident, as he explained to his Credo, Kyrie and Nero what a great honor it was to be given this task, and how it was evidence that their household’s faith in the Savior was being rewarded.

Furthermore, her mother, a clerk for the order, also being brought along was a sign of her great importance. Though Kyrie couldn’t tell what she would be doing, it was clear her mother was very excited about what this meant for their family as well. In the face of such excitement, Kyrie gave little thought to how few details she knew about her parents' upcoming expedition.

Everyone had been put to bed early that night in order to be well rested for their busy morning tomorrow, and Kyrie couldn’t help staying up alone in her room a bit longer as she brushed out her hair which had just started to fall past her shoulders.

While Kyrie wasn’t vain, because it was a trait the Savior frowned upon, according to sister Margot, she was entering the age in which she was starting to grow, and therefore become more conscious of herself. Even more relevant to Kyrie’s interests however, was growing her hair out.

As she advanced in her abilities, more components became relevant to success, the way she manipulated her natural energy, how much and how fast, how precisely her symbols were written as well as the quality of the ingredients of the spell, such as fresh blood for connection to Vergil, and saliva to heal her own thumb, the more she learned, the more Vergil was a stickler for perfection. 

Kyrie herself could grasp the growing importance of stacking the odds in her favor even with her natural talent for magic and had reasoned that growing out her hair was the easiest way to do this. Not too noticeable, not too out of the blue to request she be allowed to do by her parents, a perfect way of hiding in plain sight. 

While she still was taken to the neighbors house for a trim every so often with her mother, Kyrie was otherwise allowed to let her hair grow longer. Unlike her brooch which she had to frantically beg her mother to be allowed to keep when it was discovered, Kyrie now took measures to be as unassuming as possible in her adjustments.

She ran her brush through her hair again, soft bristles smoothing her hair until it was glossy, before laying the brush down on her nightstand. When questioned Vergil admitted he didn't know the exact reason hair has such powerful magical qualities, just that it was an old, old practice. 

Where she was going to go with her talent, that had been a point of contention between her and Vergil recently. Turning out her bedside lamp, Kyrie bit down on her thumb hard enough to draw blood, quickly feeling the motions of tracing the pattern on her stomach which was bare where she had pushed her nightgown back. She would see if she could get further with him tonight.

When she opens her eyes to the dungeon it’s the same as usual. The room was still as uninviting as it had been the first time, the amount of blood spilled on the stone floors was less today than it was on days when Vergil had been taken away for another round of torture. On the one hand that would mean Vergil would have more energy today, on the other, the next round of torture was likely near.

“Hello again” She called to him where he had currently been sat up like an old china doll to slump against the far side of the cell. With great effort he managed to roll his head up to meet her eyes, but quickly lost the battle and let his head tilt uncomfortably against his gorget.

Back again so soon little one? I think you’ll find I give no ground on this matter.

She couldn't help but laugh a little at his crabby tone, as it had been several visits in a row in which she had been pressing him for more information on more advanced forms of magic. She hadn’t made much progress in any direction other than finding that she could now press Vergil’s buttons very easily. 

Several nights in a row now he had gotten worked up into such a snarling ball of fury that he had ended up actually moving his armor encased arms around to gesticulate how frustrated she was making him the last couple nights.

Still, as much snarling and threats as he might make, he would teach her another sigil, explain theory she didn’t understand and indulge her usual recountings of her day and the schoolyard gossip she had heard.

“I’m sure you’ve also found that I don’t give any ground either” She sniffed, moving to sit down outside the cell. Though it could have just as easily been a sigh of pain, she was quite sure Vergil made a point of heaving a sigh just to spite her stubbornness.

A translucent blue arm manifested to flick her on the forehead. Another new development, Vergil’s ability to physically show her how to draw sigils was being slowed by his gradual encasement in armor, which led to some creative attempts to find a workaround. Vergil’s latest solution was to try and manifest a summoned doppelganger to demonstrate, as he had read about in a book. So far, he could only manage an arm, but it was plenty of wiggle room for the two of them to work with.

She takes the glowing arm in her hands and folds her fingers in between his. Unlike Vergil himself, where Kyrie could only manage to touch him at the end of the night, his doppelganger arm was fully tangible to her, and she’d often cling to it when he wasn’t busy showing her a new form, much like she had watched her mother do for her grandfather when he was sick before he passed. Vergil never said anything to stop her from clinging, so she figured he must enjoy the contact if he could feel it at all.

“I don’t mean to upset you, we wouldn’t have this problem if you’d just tell me. You’re always the one who emphasizes the power of knowledge.” She smiled at him, fully aware she was being smarmy. She never had this much sass when she was awake, not even at school with her friends or with Credo when he’d tease her.

There are many ways to advance in magic without committing to the paths of the awakened magics little one. Vergil didn’t give her an inch, he was certainly the more stubborn of the two, with the way he clung onto himself despite his imprisonment, but also with how he would decide for both of them how certain ideas were best and wouldn’t see any other options.

This was something Kyrie had been puzzling over ever since Vergil had accidentally mentioned the ‘awakened’ magics without realizing, what did he not want her to know? What did awakened mean? It indicated a higher level of magic, but how to get there…

If there was anything she had learned so far is that magic was a system of give and take, a prize for a price, blood for a seal, spiritual energy for the ability to manipulate the world around her. If that was the lower level application of that law, then an ‘awakened’ version of that would demand a similarly high price. 

She looks at Vergil, almost completely imprisoned in the corrupted armor, while Kyrie herself would never have thought of such a thing, she knew that Vergil had both seen and experienced the depths of both human and demonic trickery. As someone already in a vulnerable position, it was possible that he didn't trust her not to turn on him for her own gain.  

She shook her head. Maybe he would have assumed that of her a year or two ago, but that wasn’t the reality now. Furthermore, worming information out of Vergil when he wouldn’t budge was usually best found in what he wouldn’t say, Kyrie needed to work from there.

“It isn’t that you don’t trust me, I think you’re smarter than that Vergil, what is it? What do you think you're protecting me from?” Because that is the heart of the issue for Kyrie, every other person in her waking life wants to protect and shield her, but with Vergil, Kyrie always got as much of the truth as he could give her. 

With Vergil she was never a confused little girl who needed guidance from a nun, she was an important confidant, a student, an equal, it was frustrating to have him hold back from her on this. 

“I just don’t want you to keep me in the dark about everything also.” Her frustration with her own family bleeds into her words, and she feels a blush rise to her cheeks as she turns to frown at the ground.

They’re leaving soon for their expedition aren’t they little one? Her shoulders hike up as she can hear the gentle pity in his voice. Vergil isn’t one to joke, if ever, and he’s also not one to poke fun at her, but even still Kyrie feels shame in having someone know she needs the comfort.

“I even asked Credo and he wouldn’t tell me anything, but I’m not sure even he knows what they’re going to do. It’s happening tomorrow by the way, and I’m going to have to do all of the cooking while they're gone, it’s just- it’s unfair.” Kyrie lets her shoulders drop when she’s finished and chances a glance at Vergil and sees him looking back at her.

I didn’t mean to belittle you Kyrie, I would like to think your parents don’t mean to either, though it can be hard to understand your own parents. I know I find mine… hard to parse.

Despite her initial plea to have Vergil describe the Savior as his father, it ended up that he rarely had much to say about Sparda other than ‘he was very tall’ and many fragmented memories that brushed around Sparda but never made contact with the actual subject. 

It was as if someone had gone in with a scalpel and purposefully removed every memory of his father from Vergil’s mind. When Kyrie had voiced this observation to him, his response had been a very quiet ‘oh’ and he hadn’t had the energy to continue speaking for the rest of the night.

“Didn't the S- your father… didn't he trust you?” Kyrie twists Vergil’s spectral arm in hers. His hand is even larger than her fathers, though his translucent skin had a reptilian scaly feel to it, Kyrie found it to be a dependable arm. Vergil himself shifted slightly in his cell, a raspy breath heaving his armor before sinking deeper into the floor.

I doubt it was a matter of trust so much as time, Sparda left when we were very young… perhaps around age 6… maybe a little later… he gave u- me… me? I received my sword before he left… Vergil’s eyes wandered in the dark corners of the room like they did when he started to get lost in his mind.

“Do you know what happened to him? He didn’t tell you where he was going?” Kyrie gripped Vergil’s spectral hand and hoped her voice was enough to keep him with her for now. She’d even let him sidetrack her from their argument!

If he said so it was likely taken from me by the prince. My mother never explained his… disappearance to my knowledge, and then she was also gone… I have very few answers Kyrie, far less than you I’d wager.

Kyrie didn’t have a response for that, and she let the silence hang in the air before he started speaking again.

Though I do seem to occasionally stumble upon my own answers… This is related to our spat over… the awakened magics. I myself would never tolerate such things being hidden from me… so I’ll try not to… lead you wrong… or revoke your choice in this. 

Vergil’s translucent blue arm rose to brush her cheek as Kyrie held still under his ministrations. Well, she held still until his hand dove to ruffle her hair and drew a squawk from her as she swatted his arm away. He huffed before the apparition came to draw from the blood on the floor like a fountain pen.

I cannot tell you about the sages, I do not know anything other than that they are the Umbra’s counterparts… Sorcery however… I knew a sorcerer. He sacrificed many things to gain power that I do not think you would be able to agree to… that leaves the Umbra. Using the wetness of his own blood Vergil begins to draw a circle.

Mother… Eva, was an Umbra witch, and that meant she was always on the razor's edge. The contract of a witch is severe, binding, and final, with few upsides in the short term pursuit of power. I've come to realize that my mother was under a great amount of strain because of her contract with my father… The outer circle completed, the hand began to fill in the center with what looked like an eye.

Witches live as long as they can fulfill their contract, the second they slip the demons they contract with drag them back to Inferno. They spend their entire lives from one fight to the next with only their sisters to understand. The drawing began to take shape as he worked, and Kyrie began to see the two twin opposing sides of the symbol, and the eye, anchored in the middle, looking back at her.

And there are no more Umbra. 

He says it quietly, solemnly. His hand draws back, letting her observe the symbol for a moment before sweeping more blood over his work to cover it.

Perhaps it is the fatal flaw of my family, that we simply think we can have our happy ending, but there is always a price to pay. I do not know how my mother died, but I know that for all her power it was not enough on that night…

This pause is heavy, his body breathing raggedly when he speaks again.

Kyrie I do not know how much power… is ever going to be enough. You will never know my deep gratitude to you… I don’t want to see you lost. That was why I refused to tell you. 

Kyrie sits still as she takes in his words, staring at the blood on the ground where Vergil had drawn the symbol, the symbol that was drawn in Vergil’s blood. She thinks about Eva and Sparda, about her own parents. Kyrie thinks about the Savior and sister Margot, and Credo and Nero, and herself and if she really needs to pursue this just because she wants it.

The quiet part of her still asks it, and so she asks it aloud, just as quietly.

“If I wanted it though… If I asked you. For a contract. Would you give it to me?”

It’s quiet for a long time.

“Yes. I would give it to you, little one.” His voice is as nasal as it was the first time she heard it, rougher still from disuse and repeated injury. Kyrie feels her eyes get hot with emotion when she hears his reply, his deep faith in her.

“Thank you, Vergil” She says it quietly, because she can’t manage to say it any louder, and tries to conceal her sniff. She hears him let out a sigh, maybe it’s her wishful thinking, but she thinks it sounds fond.

“Foolishness” Kyrie can’t help but laugh because, yes, yes she is.

When she wakes the following morning she's met with her parents bustling around the kitchen to prepare to leave for Mitis forest in a few short hours. Credo and Nero are already sitting at the breakfast table devouring breakfast before they set off for their respective days. 

The boys are already out the door when her mother calls out to her in the doorway. Kyrie turns around and walks back to her mother who draws her in close. Her thin arms wrap around her shoulders as her mother begins to speak.

“Everything’s going to be just fine, and we’ll be back soon and better than ever, I love you darling, you know that don’t you? Everything we do is for you to have the best” Kyrie nods as her mother lets out a shaky breath, before giving her a wobbly smile.

When she pulls back from Kyrie it suddenly becomes visible to Kyrie how nervous her mother looks, there's a faint tremble in her hands, and her smile isn’t as easy and wide as it usually is. When a clatter comes from the garage, both Kyrie and her mother’s heads whip around to see what her father is up to, but a moment of silence reveals nothing.

“Good luck mom, I’ll make sure the boys don’t set anything on fire” Kyrie says and smiles in an attempt to lighten the mood. Her mother chuckles slightly but it does little to alleviate her stress. Kyrie feels lost as she stands there. Her mother looks similarly lost.

Looking into her mother’s face illuminated in the morning light Kyrie realizes that her mother is perhaps no more in control of her life than Kyrie is of hers. Her mother kisses her cheek before spinning her around and ushering her back out the door.

Kyrie turns to see as the front door closes softly behind her as she takes off to catch up to the boys.

School is as it usually is, Kyrie works on her current embroidery project during class and thinks about the most recent piece the choir has begun practicing for the festival of the sword in the fall. 

When she and Nero return home in the afternoon it's to an empty house, her parents still out on their mission while Credo is at headquarters.

Kyrie directs Nero to get started on his homework as she goes about following the instructions her mother left for dinner,  taking out the covered dish from the fridge to warm in the oven and going about cutting vegetables. Kyrie will have to do her homework after she finishes dinner, but there’s no helping it when she’s the only girl in the house.

Credo returns for dinner and thankfully offers to do the dishes. Kyrie and Nero finish their homework and then all go to bed after playing a card game in the living room together.

The next morning Credo, Nero and her awake, go about making breakfast and set off for school and work.

When Kyrie and Nero return from school, Credo is home.

“Mother and Father should have returned around noon today, if they aren’t home by dinner time I’m going to go to the order and ask what’s held them up” He informs them before making a joke about them being stuck doing paperwork. He lets Nero egg him into doing some ‘training’ with one of Nero’s blunt wooden swords and Kyrie gets started on her homework.

They have leftovers for dinner and chat mindlessly amongst themselves. When the clock strikes seven with no sign of their parents, Credo puts on his jacket and sets off down the street, leaving Kyrie and Nero to wash up.

The moon is rising in the sky as Kyrie shuffles Nero up the stairs and into his room for the night. She highly doubts Nero will go to bed as she's asked, but it’s her job to make sure he mostly keeps to his routine. Kyrie caves easily to his begging to have her stay with him until Credo gets back, and they sit pressed against each other on his bed while he tries to describe how he thinks Credo’s real sword works.

Credo returns after eleven, long after Nero and Kyrie had cleaned up the dishes and set about getting ready for bed. Her older brother is ashen faced as closes the front door. Kyrie stands at the top of the stairs and watches him stand there unmoving. Slipping down the steps to come take his coat from him, it’s only when her hands brush his that her brother begins to speak.

“There was…” he takes a shuddering breath “an unexpected demon attack in the forest where mom and dad were” She blinks at him.

“They didn’t make it Kyrie, I’m so sorry” Kyrie feels her stomach drop out of her, nausea rising in her chest and up her throat as she stares at her brother in their dark entryway.

“Oh,” she can hear Nero’s door opening as he creeps down to see what her and Credo are speaking about. She sees Credo repeat what he said to Nero

“When?” She asks in a daze, as if it will help. 

“Early this evening, a patrol found them and killed the demons who took them from us” How noble of them. Kyrie hears herself hum in response, and hears Nero’s question of the next steps.

Credo draws the two of them in to comfort them, or maybe to anchor himself.

“The vicar said he can perform their funerary rites tomorrow, he’s already blessed the- the bodies, then we’ll just take it one day at a time. We’ll be together though alright? I’ll keep us safe, I promise.” Kyrie is jostled as Nero buries his head in Credo’s shoulder again. 

The three of them stay there in the entrance of the house holding each other. Quiet tears fall from her eyes but Kyrie hasn’t otherwise moved much at all, still holding Credo’s coat. It slips out of her fingers as she moves her arms to hug Credo and Nero back.

She feels her hands numbly search around Credo’s rib cage and over Nero's shoulder as they stand in a huddle. Kyrie feels her knees creak as the stand and stand and stand in the entryway. She pulls away as quietly as she had clung on earlier.

“I'm going to bed now,” She told Credo. 

“Are you sure? You can come to my room if you'd like.” Credo’s voice is rough, and his tired eyes search her face for falsehoods, like sister Margot, like her Mother. If Kyrie had been another Fortunan girl, she wouldn’t have refused his offer of comfort.

Kyrie has not been the dutiful Fortunan daughter in a long time.

“Yes, I'm sure. It’s late” She lies “Goodnight Credo, goodnight Nero.” She leaves them in the foyer, holding each other, watching her retreat up the stairs. 

When her door shuts behind her the house is silent.

Chapter Text

Our circumstances required us to become specialists to the highest degree. Though it was never my intention, barriers and sealing became my bread and butter and for weeks at a time I would ceaselessly add layer upon layer to our existing work on the seal. 

There are so many holes in the barrier, his sealing of the tower relies on the strength of the generals he betrayed, but there are no ways to replicate that seal anywhere else. If he wasn’t a handsome face I would have long shot it off in frustration as I continue to have to pick up his slack.

My most recent endeavor has been to further deconstruct the sword in order to prevent the skeleton key from being easily accessed. It's through this endless work that we have rekindled our respect for each other. It does pain me to do it, it's a good sword. However none of my regret can measure up to the melodramatics he can work up over it. 

It’s the price I pay, for choosing this life. We both pay for it every day. Maybe one day we will share it with others, but for now, we pay it alone in the rubble of my homeland. 

She wakes in the dungeon, nearly catatonic, and turns her head to stare into Vergil's cage with bloodshot eyes. 

“Vergil.” Her voice is scratchy, she walks to the bars of his cage and slams her hands into them, hard. She sees his eyes jolt open at her entrance, but can't bring herself to feel any regret over spooking him. 

“My parents died today.” She tells him this mechanically, not really sure if he's even aware at the moment. 

Her grip on the bars makes her knuckles white, so hard she can practically feel the metal beneath her hands. She sees a single blue eye crack open to recognize her, widen as it hears her words.

“I don't want to live like this. Weak. At the mercy of everything and everyone else.” She can barely maintain eye contact with Vergil as she feels her chest heave. She drops her head low and tries to slow her breathing as she feels herself choke up. 

“I-” it's now that hot tears explode over her cheeks, she hits her head against the bars in shame. 

“I want to protect what I love. I want the power to- protect myself.” She rawly admits to her own selfish fears to him, to herself. 

Little one, what can I do?

“I…I-” She doesn’t actually know, why did she come to Vergil, why didn’t she stay with her brother? Why is she here?

“I think I-, I think I want a contract.” She doesn’t actually think she really wants that, or maybe she does, she generally doesn’t know what to say right now. Kyrie hopes Vergil is still too out of it to tell what a mess she is, it had only been a day for her, but time flows differently in Inferno, and judging from the oozing puddle of blood on the ground in the chamber, he had recently been dumped back in his cell after another round of torture. Was it bad that she hoped he was in a lot of pain right now? She just didn’t want him to start second guessing her also.

The cell was silent. Vergil blinked bleary red eyes at her while trying to digest what she said.

Power will not keep you safe little one… but I would like to think you are smart enough to… know that. Kyrie held her breath, when Vergil had said he would give her a contract yesterday it had all been theoretical, they hadn’t even spoken about what that would mean.

She could see Vergil heave a deep wet breath under the weight of his armor where he was leaning against the wall. Silence hung heavy between them before he began to speak.

The price is your soul Kyrie. In exchange for my aid in battle you will have to hunt angels every day of your life. The day you fail to keep this deal… Inferno will reclaim your soul for my taking and you will be damned to an eternity of hellfire. Kyrie’s grip on the bars tightened, Vergil stared back at her with red eyes and ashen skin.

This was her last out, Vergil had laid the cards on the table for her eyes to see and judge, she didn’t know how to hunt angels, she didn’t even really know what an angel was , or where she would find one. If she said yes Kyrie could easily screw up tomorrow and be dragged down to the same place Vergil was wasting away in. What was she thinking? What is the point of this? 

Kyrie swallowed to try and clear the lump in her throat.

“This is the only way?” Just in case, if there’s anything else-

This is the only contract there is, it is a contract as old as the time itself. No Demons nor humans could create another version. Vergil's tone conveyed the gravity of the situation but he continued to press on. He wasn’t trying to lead her one way or another, but trying to make it as clear to her as possible what she would be sacrificing for this.

There are no loopholes, and there is no changing your mind once you set out on this path. Do you want this Kyrie? He looks at her through the bars of his cell, Kyrie does her best to look back.

Does she want this?

Kyrie looks at Vergil, his only exposed skin is his face, and even then he has the cast of a corpse, dark veins are prominent around his now blood red eyes. Kyrie wants the greatest good to come of her choice, she wants to be stronger, and she doesn’t want to possibly leave Vergil alone if she fails-

“And if I die… would my soul help you?” Her voice is small, but if it does help, if it would help… it would be better than a lifetime of nothing on Fortuna, it would be better praying blindly to the Savior. 

Would it help me... how foolish can you be little one? Vergil sounds like he thinks he should be surprised by her stupidity, but could have predicted her foolishness if he had thought about who was asking.

With a rattling sigh Vergil looks at her with blood red eyes, quiet for a long time as he watches her from across his cell. Before she sees him nod minutely.

It's a rotten deal, little one. To be a witch. His voice is grave.

“Not if it helps you. Not if it’s us.” She speaks, her voice is scratchy, she sinks to her knees in Vergils blood and looks him in the eyes as she breathes.

“Tell me how Vergil.”

Kyrie wakes in the night on a mission. Silently and methodically she goes about creating enough room for a workspace on her floor. 

The night is still dark, only the moon casting a faint light into her room through the window. Kyrie doesn’t move to turn on a light, too nervous Credo or Nero might see and interrupt her. 

She and Vergil had run through what she had to do several times until she could recite it to herself without error, and even then they had gone over the details again and again. As she prepared to work she could hear Vergil in her head walking her through the steps.

First, start in the center, work outward. Kyrie had to quietly push her rug and clothes into the closet and then some to clear enough space, and even then she was going to have to go under her bed for a quarter of the symbol. Pushing her hair behind her ears she got a pencil and began to lay down the pattern. 

Unlike her practiced spellwork, the symbol of the Umbra was immensely more complex, with unnegotiable details and lots and lots of written enochian. For the sake of time Kyrie and Vergil had bypassed understanding each aspect of the symbol in favor of simply being able to draw the symbol with as much accuracy as possible.

Kyrie was merely replicating shapes as she slowly penciled in letter after letter, creeping her way towards the corners of the room as the symbol blossomed on the floor. 

By the time she had finished her first pass of the symbol, Kyrie’s arms were arching from being held so precisely and so stiffly, she simply grit her teeth and prepared for the next step.

After finishing the outline, work inward with blood to charge the seal. This part was going to be harder, Vergil had guessed that seal work at this level and of this importance had been done by a great many people combining theirs and the blood of animals to get the job done. 

Kyrie only had her own damn blood, so it was going to have to be a thin layer of it over the seal. She stepped gingerly over the seal on the floor towards her desk and grabbed her pair of sewing scissors. 

Without thinking about it too much Kyrie jams the blade of the scissors into her left pinky finger and then kneels down so she can begin to drag her bleeding finger over the shape of the seal. When her finger begins to ache from the abuse she quickly lifts it to her mouth in order to heal over the puncture only to stab her ring finger next.

It’s slow, painful work, down on her knees on the hard wood of her bedroom floor, bent low to the ground so she can see what she needs to do next but Kyrie can feel the magic around her begin to pulse as she closes the final circle.

Drenched with sweat, dizzy from bleeding all over her floor, head pounding from the precision she had had to exert over her own magic to help charge the blood as she laid it down, Kyrie scrubbed at her eyes, which were itchy and dry from tears and gummy from lack of sleep. Only a little more she told herself, knowing that what was still to come was going to be harder still.

She forced herself up from the floor, knees creaking with effort after being sat on for so long and she staggered to her night table to gather the last of the components she needed.

Her brooch, a lock of hair, more blood, spit, and any other materials of her body she could get her hands on. The brooch was to help anchor the spell, not necessarily required, but helpful in Kyrie's case where her work was less practiced. Hair for the exchange to take place, blood to provide a direct power source from herself, other bodily parts were to further link herself to the spell. 

With her tenuous knowledge of magic, it was better to go overboard.

It was easy enough to take her sewing scissors to her hair, giving herself impromptu bangs, she cut a bit from the other side as well, just to be sure, and also to even it out since her first cut was a bit jagged. 

Blood was easy since she’d become an expert of drawing it from herself, she'd add more of it last. On top of the small pile of hair she'd made in the center of the seal went three torn off nails she ripped off with her teeth, a glob of spit, one of her baby teeth she'd had sitting in a little box on her dresser as well as as much dead skin she could peel off her foot with her poorly trimmed nails. 

Her brooch she laid down in the center of the ‘left’ eye of the symbol. Sitting on top of Vergil's personal seal, the brooch lays cold as a waiting vessel.

The right eye is left blank, irrelevant to her and her needs.

All that's left is to activate it. Kyrie wipes clammy hands on her thighs as she shuffles carefully to the center of the symbol. 

While Vergil had fretted, not visibly but noticeable to Kyrie, about not knowing the proper words, or the traditional way to make an umbran contract, Kyrie had faith in their ability to do it. 

Piecing together Vergil’s childhood knowledge of Eva’s magic, his spotty memories of researching Umbra magic, and Kyrie’s common sense and short hands on experience with seals, they managed to cobble together what was, probably, a viable and sound ritual for the contract.

Kyrie figured blind faith in the magic would lead to good things, like it had led her to good things in the past. If she reached out and Vergil reached back, they would surely find each other. 

That didn't mean Kyrie wasn't making an effort to be as by the book as Vergil could make their ripoff ritual. Before she had left his dungeon Vergil had run her ragged drilling her on the words. 

The only way she was able to memorize them so quickly was by turning them into a jilted lurching song like it was something she had learned for choir. Regardless of her 

DO O IA KYRIE. CNILA D COMSELHA ODO ANANAEL.

TORZU CORONZON.

IA-IDON GRAA.

SOL-PETAHE TELOCVOVIM PAGE IP ZNRZA ADNA.

IA-IDON GE-IAD MONONS ZIZOP NOQOD.

The words themselves are exhausting to say, the speech dragging magic from deep within Kyrie and the air around her. Like it was starving, the seal consumed the magic endlessly, it gnawed at her, dragged through air and her like a sieve and left her raw as it funneled down into the seal. She pressed on. 

DS ZIROP, OD I, OD CHISO.

IA-IDON CORONZON SISBI.

FAFEN NIIS

NANAEEL ZNRZA.

TORZU NIISO GONO-

NAPEA MOMAR ZIRE SAMVELG BRANSG NOR-MOLAP!

Her lips are dry and cracked with the last syllable spoken, throat raw in a way that makes her cringe to become aware of, when she closes her lips she feels a wetness that must be blood. 

The seal flares ultraviolet, magic surges up from the ground around Kyrie. Then searchingly, the tendrils crawl up Kyrie before clamping down hard on her. 

The last thing Kyrie feels is the magic pulling her down into the seal. Her head hits the floor with a thunk and the seal goes dim. 

The circle on the floor pulses a rich purple, illuminating the room. Much like her first experience in touching magic, the world becomes slippery and full of rushing wind, Kyrie feels herself tip, forwards and into the Umbran sigil and into darkness. 

Falling down and down into the darkness of the magic, too fast to even scream, Kyrie feels herself slip far far away from the little bedroom of her childhood. Unearthly wind whips at her as she flips and continues to plummet. Kyrie can feel her heart rocket up to her throat before dropping back down to her gut as she twists in space only for the whole feeling to repeat itself again on loop. 

As she falls Kyrie can feel the once thin air become thick with magic, thick like humid air on a hot summer morning by the port. It clogs her nose and soaks into her hair making it stick to her face. The magic is hot, sweltering, and Kyrie has to bring her arms up to cover her face in an attempt to shield her eyes. 

Her descent deeper into the spell is halted only when she feels something, or perhaps someone , pluck her from her fall and drag her towards them through the thick of the magic. Unable to fight it at all, Kyrie's surroundings helplessly melt from velvet black into a rich warm scene in a decadent kitchen. 

Kyrie blinks. 

The room appears empty, though it's well loved and well made, all of the appliances are leaps and bounds nicer than anything Kyrie had ever seen in a kitchen on Fortuna. Sprigs of drying herbs hung to dry over the wide sink, and a large window revealed the soon to be setting sun peeking over far away trees. The cabinets are all a rich dark wood, and a small breakfast table sports chairs so ornately carved that Kyrie thought they would fit right in at the opera house for the Vicar to sit in. 

The room hums with magic. So thick it’s like steam off a hot dish as Kyrie struggles to breath it all in.

“Here for one of my boys, little one?” A silky voice throws Kyrie for a loop as she whips around the room for the source. It's only when two hands with well manicured green nails come to rest on her shoulders that Kyrie cranes her head directly up into a curtain of golden hair. Red lips quirk up into a smile at her shock.

Kyrie can't help but let out a gasp at her sudden appearance, who only lets out a breath of a laugh at her surprise. The woman's hands retract from her shoulders and she walks over to the kitchen counter, a scandalously cut dress swishes with each step, emphasizing her long legs and high heels. The woman flicks on the stovetop before opening a cabinet.

“Well? Which one are you here for? Where did I put that set… it wasn't that long since Jeanne's been by..” Kyrie can’t catch her breath, she’s deathly scared for a moment that she’s screwed up the ritual so badly that a demoness has trapped her in an illusion forever. This is all forgotten however, when the woman tosses her head over her shoulder to speak to her again.

“It’s Eva, by the way, since it seems we aren't already acquainted” Long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders to reveal an uncovered pale shoulder, they hold each other's gaze before Eva turns back to her rummaging. Her tone was undeniably warm, if not amused, and Kyrie felt herself relaxing before she knew it.

Kyrie takes another look around the room, catching her eye on a pretty glass jar of lollipops before her mind catches up to her.

“...Eva?” 

“Hmm?” She hums over her shoulder. 

“How did this… how am I here? Did I do it wrong?!” Kyrie frets at her raw hands.

Eva lets out a tinkling laugh, and turns around with two teacups in her hands. She sets them down on the table on top of matching saucers before gesturing for Kyrie to sit down in front of one of the cups. When she's seated Eva reaches for a little jar to spoon loose tea leaves into each of their cups. 

“This is all me, the contracting between a witch and her demon pulls along the threads of the soul, I just know well enough to recognize when it's happening to this bloodline that I reached out and nabbed you for a bit. You’ll contract perfectly fine, you’ve made it this far already.” She smiles as the kettle on the stove goes off with a whistle.

“This is all real, we’ll both remember this. What you’ll see later won’t be quite real, so much as it’s a…show of trust” Eva assures her as she fetches the kettle with a feline grace and fills Kyrie's cup over her shoulder. Eva’s hand retreats back before placing two green lollipops next to her saucer. 

Eva pours her own cup before settling in her chair with her own lollipop  with a satisfied smile, this one an iridescent purple butterfly. Clearly Kyrie’s discomfort radiates off her even as she tentatively reaches for her cup because Eva continues to lavish reassurance on her. 

“Darling don't worry I already know you're going about this unconventionally, anyone who would try to contract in this family would be doing so orthodoxly. Not that there's a status quo to really stick to anymore anyways, hah! I wish I could see the looks on their faces..” Eva’s smile fades a little as she looks down at her cup of tea, sticking her lollipop in candy side down to stir the leaves around contemplatively. 

“Anyways, I must ask because I can't leave well enough alone, which of my little monsters is getting a contract?” As quick as it came, the melancholy fades from her face as she looks at Kyrie. Vibrant green eyes hold her at attention even as Kyrie takes a tentative sip of her tea. 

The confusion must show on her face because Eva indulgently elaborates, stirring her tea one last time before tapping off her lollipop to return it to her mouth. 

“My sons, Dante and Vergil, I know you aren't contracting with anyone else because no one calls upon this bloodline, not even by accident.” She gives a wry smile across the table, as if she was sharing a joke only they knew. Kyrie still couldn't help but feel completely lost and wrong footed in her presence.

“So I have to know who it is! This is the most fun I've had in a while” she says. Kyrie takes a second to swallow before responding, trying her hardest to sit up straight and look Eva head on.

“Who? I'm making a contract with Vergil, for myself but also…to help him too…” Kyrie can’t keep up the eye contact, it was deranged to even have tried. 

“It took a lot of convincing. He was worried I would regret it.” She continues, wanting to give Eva something. This was Vergil’s mother, this was, this was the reason she found Vergil, her seal, Eva was everything. Kyrie couldn't help but desperately want to please her, even if she didn't know how to. 

Sneaking a glance up she sees a smile break over Evas face before laughter explodes out of her. 

“Hah! That does sound like him, he's such a serious boy, you'll have your work cut out for you if you ever want to have any fun” she keeps laughing, as if she can't possibly imagine Vergil being coaxed  into a contract by a little girl.

“I love that, he’ll be good for you I’m sure, he'll keep you from going too far even if I'm sure he drove you mad over the tiny details of the contract.” Eva smiles around her lollipop before crunching the rest of it off the stick with a satisfied snap of her teeth. Kyrie manages a smile back at her, relaxing again.

“He was very nervous about the details, and I wanted to do it very fast, even if it maybe wasn't the best idea, since I don't really know how to be a witch- I just, I just needed it. The contract.” She takes another sip of her tea to try and calm herself before she continues.

“And, um-” her throat gets tight and her eyes drop to the table even as she forces the question out. She has to know, she has to hear it.

“Have you ever regretted making yours? To be a witch?” It comes out half strangled, half wet, like all the sadness of the day has finally caught up with her. Kyrie fearfully watches Eva through her new choppy bangs. Her face feels hot with shame. It feels wrong to admit that it was even an option, to regret it. 

Eva is silent for a long time. Mirth leaving her eyes as her face softens into something more sympathetic, if not sad. 

Reaching a hand across the table, Eva takes Kyrie's small chapped hands in her much larger and better manicured hands and leaned across the table to look her in the eyes. 

“ I certainly couldn't tell you how to be a witch ‘the right way’” Eva starts, eyes wandering on the horizon behind Kyrie’s shoulder.

“I clawed my way into a contract also, I bit off more than I could chew, and for a while I would spend days thinking I did regret it, only to wake up again and continue on the next day.” Her hands trace patterns on Kyrie’s, impossibly real.

“I didn’t even fit in with the Umbra, to be honest with you, Sparda’s rebellion alienated almost all of Inferno, including the demons who were contracted with the Umbra, I was cut off from so much of the magic that I had once been a master of that I was very angry for a long time. At Sparda… but also at myself.” She paused, eyes flicking back to Kyrie.

“I don’t regret it though, and if I regret it tomorrow I will just live until the next day that I do not regret it. I wanted it then, when I had never known how to want anything, and so I keep trying to honor that first want.” Eva lets go of Kyrie’s hand and sits back.

“Kyrie, little one, I know you’ll be just fine.”

“Now I think you’ve got a devil to meet.” She says this with a smile moving to help pull Kyrie up from her chair by her hands.

Kyrie nods slowly at her words, a small smile crawling over her face with her confidence bolstered by Eva, and maybe it’s her confidence that pushes the magic of the spell to suck gently as her legs to call her to finish what she started.

Eva presses the two uneaten green lollipops into Kyrie’s hands as the wind whips harder before she leans down to embrace her in a tight hug. Kyrie clings back even as she feels herself start to fade from the kitchen.

“If you ever need any help, I should be in the foyer! Be brave little one!” With a gentle push, Eva sends Kyrie back into the slick mist of the contract.

The warmth of the kitchen bleeds all around her until it's red hot and searing. Black mist melts into orange flame and the once beautiful kitchen fills with very real smoke. Kyrie can hear screams from further within the house, the inhuman roar of what can only be demons, and the groan of the house itself from the toll the fire is taking upon it.

Kyrie stops, this isn’t like with Eva. This has to be part of the ritual, so what is she doing still at the house?

Kyrie feels a tug in her chest. She needs to find something, some one . Vergil. This has to do with Vergil. Eva said it was a show of trust, so first she has to find him.

Kyrie isn’t as permanent as she was in the kitchen, time stretches and clumps around her in thick globs, speeding up and slowing down seemingly at random. She stumbles through ornate wooden doorways and burning halls, past terrifying demons that pass her by like she’s not even there. Kyrie can barely keep herself upright as she stumbles through the burning dark of the house.

 Kyrie walks away from the inferno and towards the foyer, what she seeks isn’t behind her. 

The front door rushes to meet her, knocking her forward and sending her rolling down the front porch and under the legs of another demon. This one is half melted from the heat of the blaze, terrifying even without its skeleton peeking through, its arms jerk and twitch in an effort to move. Kyrie trips in an attempt to jerk away from it, stumbling over herself and falling onto her back.

Rolling forward Kyrie forces herself to crawl and stumble further, she has to find… she has to find him, she feels like she’s forgotten. It’s not here in the house but somewhere farther off out of sight.

Just as Kyrie drags herself off her knees in the slick melting mud in front of the house a scream from inside drags her attention back inside.

“ VERGIL?! VERGIL WHERE ARE YOU-” A blood curdling shriek cuts off the screaming, chilling Kyrie’s blood as she feels a massive pulse of magic wash over her. Eva. The demonic shrieks hit a singularity in her ears before Kyrie watches part of the house cave in on itself.

Vergil. He’s out of the house, but not safe.

Kyrie turns and runs. Her lungs burn despite her intangibility, tears stream down her face, time stutters again as she leaps forward through the field surrounding the house.

She's out on a hill. The house is in flames behind her, and she needs to find Vergil .

As she crests the top, legs burning in time with her lungs she sees it in the distance. A playground. A graveyard. A thick cluster of those skeletal demons shrieking in glee as they all convene on something that's already been pinned to the floor.

Kyrie screamed as she saw it, breaking into a run again, pulling, pulling, pulling on the thing inside her until a massive Umbran gate opened up to send a giant demonic foot down to pulverize the collection of demons. 

The result makes her stumble because that was, that was also Vergil, she just knew, that was his power responding to her. She shook her head and kept running towards the scene.

While the demons had been killed on impact, what remained of Vergil, of the very young boy at the center, was harder to say. Numerous stab wounds littered his limbs but worst of all was his chest. It seemed as if he had been gut like a fish, cut sternum to navel and opened up in a cruel display of torture. His chest still heaved, blue eyes on her like a predator even flayed open on the ground.

Kyrie kneeled down next to him. Raised shaking hands to try and press the parts of his torn body back together, Vergil could heal on his own right? How could anyone survive this?

Cold hands reached up to meet hers, blue eyes stay on her as his hands guide hers to his open chest cavity. With a wet breath Kyrie feels Vergil heave and lurch upwards.

What she catches isn't a little boy, but a pulsing blue ball that fills her arms when she lurches to catch it. It burns cold in her arms and when she presses it to her chest she knows that this is Vergil . The body that continues to gasp below her is only a memory. What she holds in her hands is real and alive.

“This won’t ever happen again” She whispers to it, gripping on tighter as it pusles in response. She can feel something in her chest reaching out towards it, a string turning into a rope. Like when she first activated the seal the magic grows thick in the air around her.

When she looks up from the pulsing ball, the core, the magic whispers, Kyrie feels her stomach fly into her throat. All she can do is cling on tight to Vergil's core.

And then she’s falling, falling, falling, fast and hard. Looking up, up, up as she rockets down.

A white haired boy, no older than Credo, with a blood red jacket lurches towards her in an attempt to reach her.

Kyrie reaches out her hand to grab his back, but it's too late. She plummets out of his reach before he can fully stretch out his arm. The shape of a name forming on his silent mouth.

Kyrie never finds out what awaits the bottom of her fall, she simply wakes up. 

Light streams in through Kyrie’s window as the day breaks, lighting up her room with a soft warmth. Kyrie slowly pushes herself up off the floor, and is surprised to wake up still clutching the lollipops Eva pressed into her hands. She stumbles to her feet and puts them away in her dresser before turning to examine her room.

The massive seal on the floor looks like it's been baked in the sun for a month instead of dried overnight, the blood flaky and loose when she toes at it. Hopefully that means it’ll be easy to clean up, but for now she just replaces her rug over the center of the seal, and hopes Credo and Nero will be too busy to come analyze the floor.

She finds her bronze brooch on the seal and is surprised at how much heavier it feels when she lifts it up. Popping open the clasp reveals a ticking clock surrounded by luminous burgundy gemstones. The brooch, the clock , pulses in time with her own heart. 

If she wasn’t sure before Kyrie is now, she's a witch.

She can barely contain her excitement, shaking a little as she pops the clasp on the brooch turned watch again and again before she remembers how dirty she is after her night of hard work. As she turns to get changed out of her very bloody nightgown she catches a movement out of the corner of her eye.

In place of her shadow is an outline of a demon, raising an arm has it mimicking the motion, it tracks her as she goes back and forth. Kyrie stops moving with a small gasp as she sees a set of wings flutter, tucked close to her shadow’s body.

Like the vision on the hill she just knows what this is. This is Vergil’s demon form reflected back at her, as if feeling her eyes on him an arm raises in a lazy wave autonomous of her own body.

Congratulations little one . She can hear the smile in his voice.

Chapter Text

None of the other demons will come to my summons, not even with the temptation of a Beloved, or an Inspired. A few of Sparda’s kin might come crawling back eventually, but it will certainly take at least another century before they’ll stick their necks out for him or me. I won’t hold my breath.

If there’s one thing that’s made me resentful of other witches, it's how much harder I have to work to make even before they even break a sweat. There’s still some merit though, to the idea of banding together. Sparda thinks it would be good for me, I think I’ll have to sit on the thought for a couple more years.

“Vergil, what kitchen knives do you think would work on angels?” She murmurs while biting at her thumb.

Kyrie had a funeral to go to, a contract to honor, angels to kill, and no weapon training to go off of. Maybe she should just go and grab one of her brother's old training swords, what could she do with a knife? 

Kyrie hesitates, eyes flicking to the kitchen knife block, Credo would surely notice one of his swords missing, but one of her mothers cooking knives? An island that hunts demons wouldn't take kindly to a girl who made deals with them, subtle was probably better.

A pulse in her magic responds, her changed shadow tilting its head as if to also ponder where a carving knife could kill the divine. Maybe a steak knife?

Kyrie this is foolish, go fetch a sword. She grimaced at the words, Vergil clearly doesn’t know that girls on Fortuna never lay their hands on weapons. Her mother wouldn’t even touch Credo’s practice swords, but Kyrie dutifully goes to snoop in the back entryway of the house where the practice swords should all be.

Ten minutes later proved that she could barely hold up Nero’s wooden practice sword long enough to swing it, let alone kill something with it. Kyrie wheezes another gasp as the sword thunks down onto the ground again, she’d barely been able to hold it at horizontal with her hips.

…I forget most children are not trained in swordplay . Vergil wisely refrains from commenting further.

“I don’t think any girls on Fortuna are trained in swordplay” She hears him cluck his tongue at that. Kyrie just shrugs. Back to the kitchen it is.

Let's try something else. Perhaps this will prove more motivating? Vergil’s voice carries a lilt in her head, as if he was trying to coax her out of her mounting frustration. 

Kyrie grunts, whatever Vergil comes up with can’t be worse than her mothers kitchen knives.

A spectral blade flickers into her hand, light as a feather, and as translucently blue as Vergil’s doppelganger limbs. Kyrie stares at it in amazement for a second before swinging her arm around to test her ability to use it. Opening her hand to release it has it fading away into nothing. She practices pulsing open a portal to re-materialize it again and again until she has the hang of the feeling. This should work.

“You’ll help with any technique I’ll need, right?” She asks down to her shadow.

Oh yes. You’ll need it. Kyrie pulls a face, but doesn’t argue back as she hears Credo come in through the front door. He’d been doing last minute preparations for the funeral and had Nero helping run errands, if her brother was back it meant she needed to start getting ready.

Hopefully their combined quick thinking would be enough to keep her out of the claws of Inferno.

The service is long. The weather had turned rainy in the late afternoon and the drizzle weighed down Kyrie’s heavy black dress. Credo’s hair was falling in his face, slick to his forehead in a way her brother was too tired to try and fix anymore, and Nero looked miserable in borrowed too big hand me down clothes Credo had had to dig out so he had something to wear. 

All in all, the three of them painted a miserable picture. Credo does his best to accept condolences as Kyrie and Nero shrink into each other.

They didn’t have much extended family, her mother was an only child, her parents passed away a few years ago, and her father only had one brother, who had also been killed by demons a few years after Credo had been born. Nero was from the orphanage, which meant that the mourners were mostly neighbors and fellow knights who served alongside her father. Kyrie’s mother didn’t go out much other than to do the shopping and attend church, so there’s only a few ladies from the congregation who are mourning her mother directly.

Kyrie is sad, of course. She’s sure she should be more sad, is slightly tempted to play up the weepy younger sister act to appease the old ladies who cluck at her when they come up to speak with Credo, but she just can’t muster the energy. Part of her is just mad, why was her mother even out there, why didn’t her father bring more help- it isn’t a proper line of thought.

When Kyrie goes up to say her goodbyes finally, she can’t help but gaze upon the closed caskets with the damning thought that her parents hadn’t ever planned to have Kyrie be independent. Credo and Nero- they were going to be knights, they were going to serve the order, but Kyrie? Kyrie would probably be introduced to the son of one of her father’s coworkers and then just live like her mother did. Which amounted to nothing, supplies her mind as she looks at the closed coffin. Nothing but a picture and a few friends to mourn her. 

Maybe it was just making up more excuses for her selfish wants, Kyrie thinks as she touches a hand to her brooch, but she was going to do anything to avoid the same fate as her mother.

The vicar himself shows up to speak a few words and give his condolences to Credo, and pat Kyrie and Nero on the shoulders before concluding the ceremony and giving a final blessing as the coffins are lowered into the southern Fortuna graveyard.

As the crowd thins, Kyrie’s senses are drawn up, towards the breaking clouds in the sky. The rain is letting up, but she can also feel a mounting pressure in her senses. Opening her mouth Kyrie can taste the angelic presence in the air, unlike the settling familiarity of demonic energy, divine energy crackled sharply overhead.

“-rie, Kyrie, let's go home” Credo’s hand comes down on her shoulder and she can’t help but jump as she returns her attention to her brother.

“May I have a minute?” She keeps her eyes on the ground, trying not to reveal her straying attention. Credo must assume she’s deep in thought and needs a moment to herself because he tells her to come back within an hour as he takes Nero out of the cemetery with him.

Kyrie catches Nero’s eye as he  looks over his shoulder at her. She does her best to give him a reassuring smile, but she can feel her pulse pounding in her ears. The barrier between the worlds is trembling, rippling, she breaks eye contact and moves to kneel by the graves. She doesn’t move until she can barely see the two of them down the street. Now Kyrie can focus on her next task: killing her first angel.

First she just has to… get into Purgatorio. Which should be easy. 

Kyrie stands for a minute.

“How do I cross over?” She asks down at her shadow.

Push on the veil? Once you find it it should be easy enough to make a gate. Oh yes. So easy. Kyrie waves out her hands uselessly trying to physically feel the barrier for a minute before stopping. She can’t waste time blindly like this, there has to be some more concrete way.

When she’d called on Vergil in the vision from the contract, his arm came out of a gate with the Umbran symbol. She needs to make a gate. Her power wants to make gates, she just has to, to focus. Probably.

Directing her attention to her fingertips Kyrie moved as if to paint her magic into the air in front of her. It was hard to keep up, needing a lot of precise control of the stream of magic, but results quickly bloomed in front of her.

The gate ripples into view, the purple symbol slowly spinning as Kyrie took a minute to wipe her sweating palms against her dress and shake herself out. 

You’re a natural, the rest will come as easy I’m sure. Kyrie couldn’t help but laugh at that. She might be the more wildly optimistic of the two of them, but surely Vergil didn’t think this was going to be like a walk in the park. She steps through the gate.

The divide between the realms ripples over her, like jumping into warm water. The air of Purgatorio is already thick with magic.

A gate opens in the sky, this time a blinding gold one, the chime of church bells seem to herald its entrance as a cherubic baby head with wings floats down. The angel lets out a babyish giggle. 

“That's an angel?” The flying head looks mostly porcelain, the wings glinting golden in the sun as it flaps to keep afloat. If that's what an angel looks like, maybe this witch thing will be easy, surely even Kyrie won’t have too many problems fighting something without any limbs.

…Yes?

“... Do you not know?” Kyrie can’t keep the baffled tone out of her voice. Vergil usually made himself out to be the expert on all things supernatural.

My life mostly concerned the hierarchy of the Infernal. Though I’d guess this is an angel from the third sphere…? His tone revealed his rising embarrassment to be caught uninformed.

“You seem unsure?” Kyrie had to poke a little fun at him, this didn’t happen every day. Plus, this angel didn’t seem that dangerous, so Vergil’s lack of expertise wasn’t as upsetting as it probably should be. Kyrie was just ready to think about something other than the funeral, her rising adrenaline was helping with that.

It doesn’t matter if I know or not, they should be a somewhat easy target as long as you don’t let it overwhelm you. Kyrie just nods at that, pulsing open a gate to summon one of Vergil’s phantom swords into her hand. Killing just the one should be easy enough.

Several more gates open in the sky, more flying baby heads of a couple different sizes, and one angel that looks more humanoid holding its own weapon drop down. It barely takes a minute for them to take notice of Kyrie.

In total there were five baby heads, four of them the small size of the first and one that looked like an old man. There was thankfully only one humanoid one, and it didn’t seem to be very fast, taking a few lurching steps towards her but not charging. It didn’t really seem to have a head, so maybe it couldn’t see her very well?

There was no time to ponder what was up with the humanoid one, one of the baby heads came swooping down towards her in a dive. Kyrie bobbled out of the way in a dodge before trying to swing her sword down on it. A solid hit lands with a crack of porcelain and to Kyrie’s revulsion, reveals a meaty inner center of the angel causing her to falter in landing a second hit.

With the attack of the first baby head came the rest of them in succession. Kyrie is immediately preoccupied with keeping out of the way of them while trying to maintain a distance from the lurching one on the ground. When the injured head she’d first gotten a hit on dive bombed her again she met it head on with the sword.

More cracking porcelain and a meaty tear sound out as the sword cleaves right through it, emboldened by her success Kyrie instinctively intercepts the next one with her blade and, thinking fast, summons a second sword into her other hand to then drives it into the forehead of the already cracking baby head.

The two angels lay in bloody spewing shreds on the ground in front of her when the larger head, the one that resembled an old man with a wreath of leaves, decides to finally attack her.

The attack comes from behind and Kyrie can just hear the sound of its larger wings beating as it goes in for a dive towards her.

Time slows almost to a halt as she spins in place to hack off a wing. A ticking of a clock pulses through her head as her heart beats in time with it, she lands a second blow with the sword, this time on its main body, leaving large cracks revealing oozy insides. Before she can even take her next breath, time jumps back to speed.

Kyrie falters for a second in bewilderment, trying to make sense of what just happened before another baby head swoops in and she’s rolling back in the mud to escape a hit.

Her dodge only brings her within range of the lurching angel’s golden spiked staff which she barely has the time to roll out of the way as it cleaves down towards her. Lurching to her feets Kyrie scrambles away, she needs to get rid of the flying ones before she can focus on it, so for now she’s just going to have to keep away from it. 

The next baby head she gets in one clean slice of her sword, before the larger head chases after her again. She does her best to meet it head on with both swords, it takes more hits than the smaller heads to subdue, but it hits the ground in time for Kyrie to dodge the next angel. Her energy is waning, she’s not dodging as fast as she was when she started, and one of the flying babies clips her arm and sends her stumbling back into the mud. When it presses the attack she stabs it clean through. That leaves one more baby and the humanoid one. Her breaths are coming heavy, not sure if she can keep this up for much longer.

“Vergil, I have to end this really quick.” Kyrie wiped the sweat building on her brown with the sleeve of her black mourning dress. At least the black fabric would hide all of the mud and dirt she’d gotten on it while rolling around, not that her brother does laundry. Luckily, Vergil responds to her quickly.

Open a gate on your back. It’s a strange request but Kyrie complies, barely having time to think as she circles the remaining two angels. She feels the magic pulse hot on her back before she turns to see large bat-like blue wings emerging from her back.

When the last remaining baby throws itself at her, Kyrie jumps back, feeling the wings lift her up and away from the angel, releasing the gate allowing her to land twice as hard as she drives the sword through it.

With the flying ones dead, the last angel lurches towards her without any obstructions, Kyrie allows it to get close enough to take a full body swing at her before she opens the gate on her back to flit out of its range. Then when the angel is busy heaving its weapon back up she darts in to cut at its legs and arms.

Even as her strikes come slower, the angel isn’t getting any faster, Kyrie can feel the air charging as she continues to manage successful hits on the angel, its movements getting jerkier and less precise.

Open a larger gate, focusing on holding it back little one. Vergil requests, Kyrie does her best to oblige, directing more magic into a larger gate. She draws on the energy that's been building up with each hit she gets in before lunging in one more time.

Kyrie feels the magic finally hit a peak inside her, letting the spectral sword dissipate; she directs her fist at the final angel and feels the gate tear open above her with a massive fist pulverizing it into a gory mess. Auburn hair wrapped around the blue gray fist pulls it back into the gate as it disappears almost as fast as it came.

The attack, while successful, leaves her feeling exhausted and empty, completely out of magic. Kyrie put her hands on her knees to try and catch her breath, heaving for another few minutes before she can stand up again. She can feel Vergil’s exhaust through the bond as well

“That should count right?” Kyrie rasps, she hopes it does, if she has to do more fighting she really wouldn’t be able to manage it.

Yes… Yes, that feels about right. You did… you did… acceptable, for your first time. Kyrie, while exhausted, can tell Vergil is trying very hard to be nice about her flailing fight she just had, she can only nod though at his confirmation that this was enough to fulfill the contract for now.

The angel corpses are slowly fading into particles that float up and disappear in small twinkles of light, leaving random bits and bobs on the ground where their corpses had been. Kyrie makes a point of shuffling around to double check that everything is really and truly dead. All that remains are some odd bits and bobs, yellow and red shards of something that Vergil can’t name, as well as a few rings that Kyrie seems to be able to absorb into herself without issue.

When the last of the angels are gone and it’s just Kyrie alone in the graveyard, she lets herself do what she’d told her brother she’d do.

Kyrie kneels in the dirt, smearing more dirt on her dress and her knees and recites the prayers of the order over her parent’s graves. She misses them deeply, their loss a gaping hole she’s attempted to shoddily cover up already, it’s the greatest dishonor to her parents Kyrie has ever managed to do. She rolls a red fragment between her fingers and can’t find a way to resolve herself, she doesn’t really want to, maybe in time she’ll have a better answer for her selfish decision.

There was no closing her eyes now however, she couldn't, wouldn’t look away from Vergil now, from the future Eva can’t see, Kyrie can only do her best to try and protect Credo and Nero from what she could now see. Rising from her knees Kyrie makes a valiant attempt to wipe the visible mud from her black dress, it isn’t much better when she's done, but Credo and Nero never did laundry anyway.

With one last pulse of her new magic, Kyrie steps out of Purgatorio with an exhausted breath and heads home to the remains of her family.

Chapter Text

Being human came far more easily than anything he had done before. Growing up one of dozens, born of a well calculated match, he was to be his prince’s sword. His Sparda. Every year had been an endless fight, to prove himself, to conquer, to destroy and enforce. Every day was another struggle to get ahead, to get a leg up on the half dozen other scheming princes.

Here on this brutalized island, it was blisteringly calm. The busywork of the seals, and the swords, and more seals, and more sealing on the swords, and so forth. It was all such calm work. Intricate work, delicate, his magic made protective and defensive.

She gave that to him. Whether she knew it or not, on that first day, drenched in her own blood when she called out for power, and then on That day, when she had begged for a savior. She hadn’t begged him, he doubted she even knew he was listening, he didn’t even know his heart was capable of such change. He had grown slowly in the dark, but now he flowered in the plain sunlight of the human realm.

Vergil comes to awareness upright for once. After several years of being strung up or left to lay awkwardly on the ground until he gets dragged off again, the novelty of the experience isn't lost on him. 

He does seem to be taller however, taking a slow moment to shift his weight and stare down at his feet. He is taller, but not in the way that a 19 year old would gain one more inch, more like he's been stretched out like cheap taffy and remolded entirely. It certainly feels that way.

Shifting around further, Vergil can feel dull aching where the armor connects physically to his joints; he hadn't been able to notice it while crumpled on the floor like a ragdoll, but the insertion of the armor pieces seems to have completely reshaped him. He lets out a grunt at the thought. 

Bringing a sluggish, encased hand up to touch his face only results in the cold sound of metal hitting metal. So the helmet was put on, and that's why he's here instead of in the cell. Well enough. 

After taking stock of his altered body, he shifts his attention to the big ugly sword in his right hand. It's long, large and unwieldy, clearly a two handed blade, demonic in nature, but not something he's familiar with. It's his, context would suggest, but his stomach roils at the thought. 

His vision bleeds as he stares down at the sword, bile rising through long rotten organs. It threatens to chase up his throat and out of his mouth if only he could figure out how to open it. 

He redirects his attention to that fact, his possible lack of functioning organs and jaw forced shut under the helmet. It’s more preferable than thinking about the- the weapon. It takes a while to force himself to focus only on that.

The corruption that plagues him has likely made him legally dead by human terms. If he wasn't the guinea pig, he'd be fascinated by the limits of his superior demonic nature. He had always known he was superiorly resilient to the rest of the human race, but this isn’t quite the moment to revel and gloat. Mundus seems to have found the limit of his demonic heritage; the corrupt armor is wearing him more than he is wearing it.

Then he just stands there, mind halfway between floating away and melting into sludge. Everything aches, and he's only a few probing thoughts away from madness if his reaction from earlier says anything. He must stand there for several hours because when his next coherent thought comes to him the sun is just dipping beyond the horizon. Sunlight burning orange and red over the rhythmic churning of the sea.

It occurs to him he hasn’t seen the sun, let alone a sunset, in many years. He makes a great effort to shuffle his body in a half circle so he can actually see it. 

The amount of time and effort to do so would ordinarily frustrate him, like how every agonizing second spent on the floor in the dungeon ate at him, but when he finally gets a full look at the sun setting over the waves, all he can feel is a feather light sense of peace.

He should probably ask Kyrie to come take a look at him. 

The thought comes as a spark of clear stupid naive genius. He almost squashes it down as soon as it comes to him, rearing back at the idea of exposing his absentminded weakness. There’s no need for her to get involved, except…

Well she already was involved, very, very, very much so. It’s not asking for help so much as it is… alerting his contract to a change in his situation. His location change from Inferno to earth, well that was certainly a pressing development. It could very easily change the way her powers function, which could result in disaster for both of them.

They hadn't been indulging in their usual ritual of Kyrie coming to visit him and practice basic magic, with their new contract it was much more pressing that she spend her nights hunting the small angel population on Fortuna and building her practical fighting skills. There was only so much blood to bleed, and not nearly enough of it to be spent drawing up sigils when it could be used to beat down on an Affinity.

Little human girls truly only had so much energy, and Kyrie truly had an abysmal aptitude for violence. Vergil had thought himself to be a weak child, but could now better appreciate his hardiness in the face of adversary when observing Kyrie having to methodically reinforce herself with magic.

Logistically it didn't make sense to have Kyrie hunt angels and come visit him. He was even the one who told her not to double dip in her magical activities. Fortuna was a small, superstitious community, even a recently orphaned little girl was under a fair amount of scrutiny, it was safer for her to hunt after the streets had cleared to not notice the ripples coming from Purgatorio. The downside to this incredibly rational, well thought out plan of action is that Vergil was now a little… lonely. 

Which was stupid, Vergil hadn't needed creature comforts like human company since he was nine, and he was currently… probably twenty-six, or twenty-seven. Maybe?

…

Irrelevant . Duty to his contract called, he reaches for his core and tugs on the thread that ties them.

Something's changed, would you come see me Kyrie? His voice was not hesitant or soft, in fact anyone who heard it would surely say it was firm, commanding even.

The response is quick, her voice clear as a bird through the murky swamp of his headspace.

Do I need to get another angel? Did the group of Decorations not count?

Kyrie had been very excited about the Decorations she’d found earlier. Conveniently on her way home from school, she hadn’t even ripped her stockings while hacking them to smithereens. And all before she had to go home and start preparations for dinner, a lucky day for her indeed. Even Vergil could appreciate how beautifully done it had been. An excellent use of time, allowing for plenty of time to recuperate from her other more strenuous fights.

No, those were just fine. I've been moved somewhere, I would like your keener eyes. Her small quarries of angels suited him just fine, not sure his body could even handle larger offerings. His core was currently quite fragile, focused entirely on maintaining himself in his half dead state. Something…richer, beyond the third circle might upset his constitution. Not to mention would be too great a risk for Kyrie at her current capabilities.

Of course! I’ll see you soon then. Only Credo will be at dinner tonight anyways… She trails off, the bond going slack as she returns her focus to whatever domestic task she was muddling through. It was hard not to miss the tinge of melancholy as she spoke, hopefully this evening would prove a distraction for both of them.

While Vergil certainly didn’t have the clearest idea of how Kyrie lived day to day, he was vaguely aware of the turbulent situation she was in the midst of. Recently orphaned of course, and a few months after the funeral had concluded, the various neighbors had promptly stopped lending a hand, assuming either someone else was stepping up, or that the children would manage on their own.

The older brother, Credo , was a knight, currently rising in the ranks of the Order. Whether to support his sister or secure their family’s standing, he had been away more often than not at the garrison. 

The other boy, Nero , had been a foster ward the Elysian’s had taken in, and had been promptly returned to the orphanage after their passing. Credo either couldn’t, or wouldn’t , petition to keep him as part of the family unit. He hadn’t voiced his opinion to Kyrie on this matter, sensing how raw the wound was.

His return to the orphanage had further depressed Kyrie, left alone in the house with ‘a million chores’ without anyone to talk to. Vergil was loath to admit it, but they were probably each other’s… best friend . Which was beneath him, not Kyrie, but probably even she could do better than a man seconds from his skin sloughing off.

The two of them made for a couple of miserable birds of a feather, if Vergil’s semi intact memories of his childhood after age eight were still reliable. At least Kyrie had a permanent residence.

The wait for her isn’t long, luckily, barely enough time to dwell on the item in his hand, which is heavy enough to constantly pull on his aching elbow and shoulder joints. Not to mention his fingers, which are just perpetually fuzzy with how much nerve damage there must be from Mundus constantly smashing them to smithereens.

Kyrie shimmers into existence a few hours after the sunset. Or that was probably how long it had been, Vergil’s internal clock had long been macerated. It hadn’t felt long, but he was patient with her regardless.

Out in the human realm it's a little easier to tell she's the product of dream magic, her hair doesn't move when the wind blows, and she's a tad too illuminated for the dark island. In the cell she had fit right in, magic mixing in easily with the air of Inferno. Here in the human realm it's easier to tell it’s supernatural interference. 

Which means other demons could just as easily see her , he thought with a mild sense of alarm. He hadn’t even had the sense to think about the other presences crawling around the island, his senses flaring out to make sure nothing was within range of them. Calming only slightly as nothing came up.

“Whoah!” Her eyes immediately widen as she takes in his form, she’s barely as tall as his thigh now that he’s upright, and she has to step back to take all of him in.

Hello Kyrie, how was dinner? Vergil does his best to sound put together, but he mainly just sounds drained and tired.

“It wasn’t bad! I finally figured out my mom’s rosemary chicken recipe, and Credo didn’t even have to go out for another patrol-but you didn’t say you were out of the cell!” She paces a circle around his form, inspecting the armor.

I believe Mundus intends for me to act as a guard dog here, some of his generals have already come and gone today. He has to really work to even glance over his shoulder at her. Having Kyrie here has lightened his mood however, her childish seriousness alleviating the heaviness he’d had since he’d come to.

“Can you even move like that? He- he tortured you for so long I’m surprised you can stand.” She commented, poking at his left leg while watching the purple corruption pulse through the plates of the armor. He doesn’t feel it, probably wouldn’t even without the corruption, the armor is already quite thick, but he misses the ability for contact all the same.

Well there’s no need for a guard who can’t fight. Kyrie harrumphs at his wry words. He lifts a heavy gauntlet covered hand to lightly tap her head as proof of his capability.

“Well, whatever happens, we’ll be ready for it! I won’t let anything happen to you.” She declares.

Chapter Text

The barrier was weakening, and while they had been planning this for a long time anyways, it still came too soon. Being proactive was the safest way to ensure he could return quickly, and so Sparda had left. She would go fetch him when it was safe again.

For now she had to remain self sufficient, she was capable of hunting on her own without his help, though it did take longer, and it was lonelier. Even with her two boys, it was lonelier, there was nothing that could replace him in her life. There is nothing quite like missing someone who isn’t dead.

Kyrie had left school early. He hadn't thought she’d been sick. Not that he paid that much attention to her. But as her friend, he’d noticed she was missing from the crowd of students that rushed out the school doors that day. 

She hadn't looked sick from the glimpses he saw of her earlier today. Talking to her classmates didn’t reveal anything either, so after school Nero took action and slipped through the winding streets towards the Elysion house. 

He didn't really want to be seen, he especially didn't want the neighbors to see him. The old lady neighbors liked to gossip, and if the orphanage nuns heard about this he'd really get it for bothering Kyrie and Credo. 

Thumping the knocker on the door didn’t get a response, so he felt somewhat justified in fishing the spare key out from the flower box and opening the door. If it was just Kyrie home, then no one would be back to check on her until Credo finished his duties for the day. If anyone should be checked on, it should be Kyrie he thought as he closed the front door behind him.

“Kyrie?” He called up the stairs. No response. The house was quiet. The sitting room was dark and so was the light at the top of the stairs. Kyrie's loafers sitting in the entryway the only evidence someone was home. 

Slinking up the stairs like a cat, Nero couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of being an intruder in the house that he’d lived in for a few brief years. It’d almost been a year since he’d lived here, and while nothing in the decor had changed, it felt overall less welcoming.

Nero padded towards Kyrie’s room, tucked at the end of the dark hallway. Passing the door that had been his and Credo’s shared room, as well as the empty master bedroom. 

Even before he opened the door a faint tang of blood hit his nose. Peering in, Kyrie was asleep on her bed, still in her school clothes with a blanket tossed haphazardly across her body. Facing towards the wall, he could only see the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders.  

Nero felt his face flush as he realized Kyrie might not have been sick sick but might have left school early because of a girl thing. At a sudden loss for what to do, he trips his way across the room to messily pull her blanket up, hands sweating the whole time. 

It's just as he's pulling back, embarrassment taking over that it catches his nose. 

It was that smell. That tangy smell that had clung to Kyrie ever since the funeral. Maybe even longer before that, if he didn't know better he'd say it was perfume. It was one of those things he never brought up, partially out of embarrassment of asking Kyrie why she smells but mostly because he knew it was weird.

Much like everything else about Nero, his white hair, his blue eyes that just didn't look like anyone else's, he knew there was something different about his sense of smell. It wasn't even a fun kind of different, it just made the nuns say more prayers over him, and made him an easy target to tease. 

Kyrie continues to sleep on. Unaware of Nero’s crisis. A perfectly normal girl and a genetic freak of nature. 

He sat at her bedside for another hour as the sun set slowly. Adjusting her blanket Nero slipped out of the house. 

Kyrie blinks her eyes open to find Vergil sequestered away in one of the many rooms of the castle. Stuck in his armor, there’s no need for him to have proper accommodations when he’s meant to work as an automaton. However there were a few rooms Vergil liked to sit in more than others, and this small study was one of them. 

With a reading nook and a few worn but well taken care of bookshelves, she’d often arrived in this or a similar room that provided Vergil enough privacy and quiet during his long boring days of prowling the castle battlements. There’s no semblance of peace today however.

He’s cradling his head in his hand, the other is gripped tight around his sword. Electricity pulses out of the cracks of his armor as he breathes laboriously with each pulse of lighting. Her arrival does little to help with his physical state but she can see how his shoulders relax ever so slightly at the sight of her.

Hello little one. Slightly out of breath, his helmet makes a full thunk as he leans it against the wall. 

The mimic brought back a Hunter. He's making mincemeat of the Marionette's . Speaking seemed to be a bit of a struggle for him, but it was clear his subject was more urgent than recovery.

The mimic being the humanoid blonde demon the emperor had hand created. Kyrie had only seen very brief glimpses of her when she popped in and out of the island, but the first time she'd seen her had almost shocked her awake. A near exact replica of Eva, long blonde hair and a sultry walk was enough to put both Vergil and Kyrie on edge, even before she was Mundus’s favorite pair of eyes. 

“You're having to actually fight then?” That would explain how exhausted he seemed, and the sudden damage his armor had undergone. There was usually nothing that required him to actually go on the attack that the lower level demons couldn’t tear to shreds.

Mm. I think Mundus will meet his match today. He sounded almost excited. Kyrie couldn’t believe his pride could take it after evidently losing a fight to the hunter.

He’s been at it for a few hours now. Vergil continued, almost to himself, head turning towards the small window in the room.

“The hunter?” She prompted. Hours? Kyrie couldn’t even recall a knight of the order who could claim they’d fought hoards of demons for hours. This hunter must be superhuman to accomplish such a feat.

Yes. But he’s finally managed to make some progress. I didn't think he was smart enough to unlock all the doors… he trails off into a breath that hints at laughter. 

If Kyrie hadn’t known Vergil better, she wouldn't notice the amusement in his tone. But she does know him well, which means she can tell he finds the hunters' antics quite funny, if not be somewhat intrigued by the stranger's ability to solve the puzzles closing off sections of the castle.

“What would you like me to do?” She couldn’t go fight the hunter herself who she was certainly no match for, and she’d likely expose her presence to Mundus in the process of doing so, and yet Vergil had called her. Even if she was just here as support, she’d like to hear how he wanted her to go about it.

Go to the great hall, see if you can coax Phantom into a deal. He said, turning his heavy head back to her.

“A deal?” Kyrie drew a blank.

A proper witch should have many summons, and you are in the position to offer them a deal they can’t refuse. Save their core and they will live another day to serve you. He offered it as if he’d just come up with the idea, which meant he’d likely been thinking about it since he was placed on the island and this was the perfect time to bring it up. Kyrie couldn’t help but scowl a little at his craftiness.

“You think he’ll win. The Hunter.” It’s not a question, not with how Vergil’s speaking about it, though she can’t bring herself to imagine it. She hadn’t seen much of the generals personally, but mere glimpses of their massive forms were enough to inspire terror. A singular hunter taking on all three, including Vergil, and then the Emperor of Inferno, seemed far fetched.

I think he will make an excellent haggler for their loyalty. The emperor does not care for failure. He got up from his hunched lean against the wall to shoo her over to the window. Vergil seemed to completely gloss over the fact that he was in the category of soon to be failures, but Kyrie didn’t.

“What about you?” Even as she moved to follow him, she didn't want to leave Vergil at the mercy of the Emperor or the mystery hunter. 

I’ll be just fine. Now go. With a light touch from his encased hand, Vergil sends her off.  

I’ll come find you in a bit, be careful Kyrie. He pushed himself up from the wall, the crackling electricity only barely subsiding back to its regular pulses, and headed for the door of the room.

“As long as you are too.” she murmured under her breath.

Letting out a breath, Kyrie didn't look back as she jumped down from the sill and into the belly of the castle. 

When she hits the ground she takes off at a run, taking care to mute her magical presence enough that the Marionettes would look right past her as she hurried by their shambling forms. It wouldn't work against a higher level demon, and it certainly wouldn't work against Mundus’s generals or the intruder though, so she'd still have to be careful. 

Other than Vergil, Phantom was the only other general who was frequently present on the island. Vergil had taken care to keep Kyrie far away from the giant spider's usual haunts, nervous that her presence, and consequently, Vergil’s higher level of functioning, would be discovered and reported back to Mundus. 

Now she was running straight toward one of the most powerful demon lords she'd ever conceived of. It took everything Kyrie had not to break out into chills and let her legs collapse out from underneath her. She did her best to cling to unreasonable reason. Trying her hardest to compartmentalize what she needs to do.

Vergil had called for her, and she knew he had a point about her lack of options for summoning. It was the same problem Eva had had, according to Vergil, her contract with Lord Sparda had alienated every other demon, limiting her power. If Kyrie was going to expand her gallery of summons, this was her best, if not only, shot at doing so. 

As she traveled further into the castle, the hallways began to show evidence of battle. Stone had melted and broken apart, though the combatants were missing from the scene. The fight had clearly dragged out all over castle hallways, leading out into the courtyard where Kyrie could hear the clash raging still. 

Thinking fast, Kyrie could tell the fight was hitting a peak. The sound of cracking and shattering glass clued her in to where it might go next, and she took off to the lower level. 

Clearly the hunter was skilled, not only had he fought Phantom multiple times, it was evident that the giant spider was the one of the defense now, agonized shrieks pierced through the ceiling and shook the walls. It rang through Kyrie’s skull and left her sweating with dread at the sound.

There was no time to dwell on the terror.

Just as she slipped into the room, the sound of hot magma causing the glass ceiling above her to creak and groan loud enough to hide the sound of her footsteps, she barely had any time to hide behind a column before something else entered behind her.

It was the mimic. Mundus’s hand crafted demoness.

She slinks into the room and gazes blankly at the glass ceiling as it fractured and shattered above them. Unmoved even as the great spider demon crashed through the ceiling and was run through on a spike. 

Only as the shadow of the hunter began to retreat from the edge of the hole in the ceiling did she have any reaction.

“Defeated the Phantom… incredible power.” With a contemplative look she strode off, blonde hair swishing behind her like a curtain. Kyrie barely had any time to let out a breath at successfully staying hidden before she hurried over to where Phantom had landed. 

Phantom’s massive body was trapped, pierced through on a spike of an ornate statue. His extremities beginning to decay as his power collapses on itself, his magma core beginning to cool. Kyrie has to make this quick, while Vergil was on the attack and drawing away attention.

“Phantom.” She calls softly, standing halfway across the room. He hears it even then.

“Speak politely. Witch .” Even dying, the demon general keeps his pride.

“My apologies, Phantasmaraneae, Spinner of Flame .” The title sits heavy in her mouth, even as she presses forward until she’s standing barely a foot away from the large spider's massive head. She lowers herself to the floor before she speaks again.

“You are far from your realm. It would be a shame for you to die this way my lord.” She keeps her head bowed low, sweat dripping down her temples even as a transient presence in the room. 

“I offer a deal, a bargain, allow me to save you. In return I ask that you aid me in my fight against Paradiso.” The magma is scorching this close up, she doesn’t dare try and gaze into the near dozen eyes of the dying general.

“How insolent.” He scoffed, mandibles snapping. 

“How arrogant .” He drew a ragged breath as he examined her. Taking her in and picking her apart.

“Tied yourself to that whelp didn’t you. Hmph. No wonder you’ve come to beg for my generosity.” Kyrie can almost hear the amusement in his voice as he picks out Vergil's attachment to her. She can only beg the Savior that he doesn’t use his last moments to rat them out.

Sweat drips down her face as she waits for him to contemplate, her eyes trained on the floor and unable to guess at his thoughts. His body is beginning to decay faster, his power unable to repair the damage. Kyrie begs him to live in her mind, begs him to be selfish.

“It’s been an age since I last had angel blood. Very well.” The spider mused to himself. He extends one great appendage to rest lightly on the crown of her head. As gentle as a demon of his caliber is capable of.

“Swear to me child, you shall see true power.” He prompts, and Kyrie knows she needs no further persuasion.

“MALPRG ROR MICAOLI IALPON ILS, TORZU!” As she calls out Phantom's name, she feels as the rest of his body falls away into ashes, and brings her hands up to catch what is left of his core. Comfortably warm, it's the size of a volleyball. Holding it tight to her chest, she tucks it away in her magic, safe from outside harm.

“Thank you.” She whispers to the empty room, and feels a pulse of heat in her belly in response.

It’s Kyrie that finds Vergil, following the thread of their connection to an empty courtyard. It’s terribly exposed, unlike anything Vergil would normally allow for himself. It’s clear his second fight against the hunter didn’t go any better than the first.

His breathing is ragged and loud enough to be heard through his helmet. Leaning hard against his sword, it's clear he had to go all out against the hunter. Currents of electricity leap out of the new and widening cracks in his armor, the usually languid armor spitting and hissing against the sudden wear and tear. To put it simply, he looks bad, he looks like someone who shouldn’t return to a fight.

That’s not how Mundus works however, Kyrie knew. Phantom’s core was proof enough that the generals were expected to die for their emperor’s goals. Trapped in his armor, Vergil had even less free will than Phantom had had.

“Vergil.” She calls softly, concern bleeding into her voice as she shuffles up next to him, trying to help prop up his weight. A reedy wheeze acknowledged her attempt to help, but Vergil just slumped to the floor instead of trying to maintain his standing position.

Kyrie. He patted at the ground next to him, head lolling ever so slightly as he worked to focus his attention on her. All she could do was shuffle to sit by his knee, shaken at the sight of Vergil so ragged and vulnerable. She didn’t know what to say, fear of the situation at hand hitting her all over again.

Did you…succeed? The relief of being able to bring good news was palpable, Kyrie’s shoulders sagged as a fraction of her tension disappeared. Bringing her hands to her chest, she gently called forth Phantom’s warm core. The ball of cool magma emitted a faint light onto both her and Vergil, awakening the resting spider.

Hello, whelp. Even reduced to his lowest forms, Phantom still had his pride, and he spoke to Vergil like the mere association was repulsive to him.

Phantom. I see you have sense after all. It wasn’t hard to hear the smugness in Vergil’s voice. Now that the tides were turning against the generals, Vergil had the advantage of being her main contract, Phantom’s salvation came because Vergil encouraged her to offer it.

Don’t act so arrogant scum, your fight is not over. Phantom warned, rankled, even in his reduced state. Kyrie could feel his core fluctuate in temperature as the spider growled at Vergil.

“Let’s get along, please. ” Kyrie gently scolded both of them, aware that it was probably out of line for her but she was the one who’d be killing angels for them. She had to have some sense of order if this was going to work.

Both Vergil and Phantom grumbled in response, but didn’t take the opportunity to continue riling each other up. Kyrie took the win for what it was.

Tucking Phantom’s grumbling core away again, this time for good, she looked at Vergil. He was still tired, though not as exhausted as he had been when she first arrived. She wanted to trust him, but she was more scared to lose him.

“Do you promise you're going to be OK?” She asked. There was no hiding the tremble in her voice. He really wasn’t at his best while trapped in the armor, and if Mundus decided he was displeased with his performance he could easily meet his fate via the emperor instead of the hunter. There’s just too much that can go wrong, and very little for her to do about it.

“Whatever happens between my brother and I-” Kyrie can’t hide her surprise as Vergil actually speaks aloud, voice raspy and nasal. She can barely process what he’s saying, let alone the implications of it.

he pauses to regain his breath again. A wet cough shaking his chest, corruption weeping from the cracks in the armor, trying to mend itself back together but coming up short. Vergil’s voice is rough, from barely speaking for several years, from the armor that's eating him from the inside out, from the sheer exhaustion of fighting several times against a strong opponent.

“Whatever happens, between Dante and I, it will be fine. I will return to you.”

“We have a contract for eternity to fulfill Kyrie, I will come back.” He rises to his feet with a grand sweep of his cape.

Now, I think you’ll find Griffon tentatively willing. Be careful however, he likes to talk the most and could tattle if he thinks too highly of his abilities. Vergil glosses over his impending mortal peril, like he’s sending her on an errand.

You’d better hurry, witch, that bird is all talk. If I could not best the hunter, Griffon will surely die. Phantom chimes in. Kyrie can only huff at their blasé attitude. Demons. Not a lick of sense in any of them.

“Fine. I’ll go, but you really can’t die, Vergil.” She says as she rises to her feet. She swipes at her clothes as if to wipe off the dirt she doesn’t really make contact with. She does her best not to get angry that this is all she can do, this is what Vergil is asking her to do. 

Kyrie walks away first this time. Turning her back to Vergil as she heads towards the upper levels so she can look for the bird general.

She gets to Griffon before his third attempt. The massive bird is perched on the edge of the coliseum. It takes Kyrie ages to climb up to the top, if she had been in her human body, she surely would have had to sit down to catch her breath. Even in her spectral form, she can tell she's exhausting her reserves. 

Unlike with Phantom, Griffon isn’t yet exhausted or defeated, the risk is higher that he might retaliate against her. The possibility of him picking her apart, flaying her open, exposing Vergil and sending him back to that cell, are all best case scenarios if something goes wrong.

She needed his help, she needed as many powerful demons at her call as possible, Vergil needed it. It was hard to rationalize, it seemed everything she did recently was hard to rationalize. Even contracting Phantom was sheer dumb luck, Kyrie was dreading the second her  luck would run out.

Creeping up the final set of massive stone stairs, Kyrie can just begin to see the open sky above her, sunset streaking it red like blood. The massive demonic bird perched not far away from the top step.

She’d barely peeked her head out to get a better look at him when his giant monstrous head swung around to inspect her. Hundreds of sets of beady avian eyes narrow in on the near silent sound of her feet on the stone.

“What vermin is crawling around beneath me?” massive claws clicked and scraped at the stone wall. His great head swings back and forth, the dozens of heads that meld together to form his body shift and twitch, his massive wings shuffling as he narrows in on Kyrie’s location. 

She has no choice but to emerge further from the stairs, scared hiding would only encourage him further. Slowly shuffling properly into view. Unlike with Phantom, she doesn’t take her eyes off the demon for a second.

“Lord Griffon.” Kyrie does her best to do a small curtsy, still in her school dress, in an attempt at politeness. Griffon clearly doesn’t care for it.

“I thought one intruder was plenty, but it seems we have a little mouse as well.” It's disconcerting the way some of the birds that make up his body seem to have minds of their own, eyes flicking around to take all of her in. Kyrie draws as much air as she can into her tense body in order to work up her nerve.

“I would like to request your aid, your cooperation. With me.” Kyrie’s coming off a lot less charming than she hoped and a lot more stilted, though Griffon probably doesn't care about the manners her mother and the nuns have tried to instill in her, it does mean her small bag of tricks is a moot point.

“I would like to offer a contract. The hunter is very strong, you are as well, but there is no need to die here.” She says, doing her best not to let her eyes dart around and accidentally make eye contact with any one head.

There's a beat of silence between them.

Griffon’s claws scrape and gouge into the stone battlements as he shuffles around. Kyrie remains very still, not cowering, but not asserting herself any further.

“Stupid little mouse.” His head tilted back and forth as he sneered down at her.

“ Foolish mouse. Throwing your lot in with that son of a traitor. Not all of us are so desperate and gutless as you.” He rumbles, wings shifting and fluffing in disgruntlement.

“I'll kill that wretched spawn of Sparda and feed you to my master when I'm done.” The demon bird taunts her, taking to the sky with a few beats of his massive wings. The wind buffets Kyrie so much that she has to duck back down in the stairwell to avoid being tossed by the force. Even after Griffon had long departed, she only dared to peek over the edge.

A single feather floats down to her, coated with magic, Griffon most likely means to use it to track her down after his fight with the hunter. However, It’s all she needs, a tiny sliver with which she can save him. 

She doesn’t dare try to predict the outcome, but with the feather in her possession, she could most likely call back a few fragments of Griffon's core to keep the demon alive. It takes her a few minutes to work up the nerve to crawl back up the stairs so she can see if the next battle has started.

Unlike with Phantom, she has front row seats to Griffon’s entire fight with the Hunter. There’s nothing she can even compare it to. The fight is so fast she can barely keep up with her human eyes. The hunter is a caliber beyond every knight of the order Kyrie has ever seen.

White hair flies as the hunter executes impossible leaps to dodge blows from the general, his red coat flares dramatically behind him. Whether or not Kyrie is on his side, she can’t say, but she will admit that he was stylish to the point of making fighting look effortless.

The fight is hard, but it doesn’t drag out. It’s clear the hunter will win soon enough, but Griffon gives it his best to the very end. Even when knocked down and helpless, he still calls for another chance from his master. She had never had any illusions about the emperor's sense of mercy or justice, but for a second she dared hope for some miraculous solution from a higher power.

Kyrie can feel her heart rise into her throat as Mundus appears. Three massive red eyes gazing down at the coliseum pin everything down like a bug. Kyrie had ducked down to a lower corridor where she couldn’t be seen from the sky, but even so she cowered in fear of being the next subject of that gaze.

What Mundus delivers isn’t mercy, but a final punishment for failure. Griffon's massive body makes a horrible sound Kyrie will never unhear when it's struck. Kyrie fights the urge to retch.

The hunter yells something, and Kyrie seethes and hopes he beats Mundus to a pulp right there. The injustice eats at her, the betrayal of loyalty. She clutches at the single feather Griffon had left behind and bides her time until both the hunter and Mundus depart the area.

When she walks down the coliseum, she has little hope for finding anything left of Griffon, it's possible he’s a lost cause. The feather is leaking magic even now, unable to do much without a power source.

Methodically Kyrie scours the ground for fragments of Griffon’s body or anything else that might help her slow the decay. She comes up with three more tattered feathers. Four in total, they barely give off a whisper of the presence that was commanded by the general previously. She holds them in her hands as she channels her own magic to slowly meld them back together into something firmer.

“I’ll keep you safe Griffon, I want you to live, but you must help me.” She says. Her sympathy won’t soften her resolve on the deal, but she’d like to comfort him a little.

Very well… Little witch. Who am I… without a master… His tone is defeated, grudging even. It’s agreeable enough that Kyrie figures she shouldn’t push any further.

“ PAGE IP GE-IAD VONPH VPAAH, TORZU ” She channels an extra layer of power into this one, unlike Phantom, Griffon is in much worse shape, and needs her help to pull the fractals of power from the feathers back into a core. 

Much smaller than Phantom’s, Griffon’s core is a ball similar to a grapefruit. Where Phantom’s was a pulsing heat, Griffon’s small core is almost cool to the touch, crackling with electricity that makes the hairs on Kyrie’s arms stand straight up. Tucking his core away with the great spider feels like a static shock as the bird settles down to recuperate.

Heading back into the castle, Kyrie first thinks to find Vergil. He didn’t say where he was going, most likely going to meet the hunter wherever his ambling through the island had taken him. Kyrie feels drained, no longer in the mood to run around on a wild goose chase. She’ll just have to comb through the castle slowly until she can find him again.

Her next contract is practically accidental. Kyrie stumbles into the hallway following the sound of another fight. Thinking it might have been Vergil, she quickly finds she’s mistaken as she sees a giant reeking blob of demonic power spit out the hunter like it had tried to eat him whole.

Nightmare . Not technically a general, and nothing like Vergil, it was some third worse, sicker thing entirely. While Mundus was perfectly capable of creating powerful demons like the mimic, Vergil had posited that Nightmare was the amalgamated product of every failure combined.

It had never appeared on the island, Vergil had merely shared a vague and upsetting description of it with her. Here it was however, and it was everything Vergil had said it was and more.

Maybe Kyrie’s heart is still raw from watching Mundus kill Griffon as he begged, but Kyrie feels a deep pang of sympathy towards the amorphous blob. It surely didn’t ask to be made into such a thing, perhaps it didn’t even know it could do anything other than follow orders, blindly fighting enemies as instructed.

She doesn't make a bargain with Nightmare. Not formally. After its first raging attack on the devil Hunter, its body oozing back into the floor, a chip of its core, barely more than a splinter, gets stuck in a crack as it slips away. 

The hunter is long gone, having left through a previously locked door, leaving Kyrie to stare at the fragment for a bit on her own. There isn’t any discussion like she had with Phantom or Griffon or even Vergil.

Kyrie can’t believe she’s missing any biting words from a potential summon, it should make it more relieving, but instead it makes her ill to think of how little personality Nightmare has been able to amass when having such a high level of power. A demon of this caliber should be rightfully proud and cunning, but the emperor's creation is silent.

“I'm taking you with me.” She tells it, doing her best to wrangle together the shard of its core. Unlike Phantom, and even Griffon, who held themselves together naturally, nightmare seemed almost agonizingly incapable of such structure. Wrapping her magic around the shard like a candy wrapper, she does her best to demonstrate a stable shape for it to hold.

“AMMA SALBROX IA-IDON GE-IAD PAGE IP OMAO MONONS TORZU” She called upon the demon to find itself. Nightmare rose to her words, like hearing its name for the first time, and condenses itself into something more properly formed.

It does not have enough of a mind or a will to agree, or to protest. But there is a slight feeling of acquiescence, as she slips the shard in with the other two, who she can feel rear back at the new demon's presence.

Seriously? You’re taking that abomination? Even exhausted and defeated, Griffon found the energy to protest her decision.

She contracted with the traitors' whelp. Did you expect anything less than a bleeding heart? Phantom derisively sneered at the demon bird, but clearly even he wasn’t happy with the newest addition.

“I think if the emperor did not care for either of your lives he certainly wouldn’t have done so for this.” Kyrie keeps her reprimanding short and prim. There's no need to reveal her own unease towards nightmare’s abnormal formation to the cranky demons in her care. 

Vergil will understand, both her saving and her reservations about her need to reach out. Well, he probably wouldn’t approve, but he would surely see the raw practicality of such a decision.

She’s about to set off again, her detour with Nightmare had taken her off track of finding her way back to Vergil, but stops short.

The contract that ties her to him is fluttering, reacting in ways it hadn’t before, the power level fluctuating wildly in a way that indicates something is very very wrong.

For a moment Kyrie doesn’t have any clue about what's going on before it becomes clear that Vergil’s in the midst of his final confrontation against the Hunter. Against his brother. And it is not going well.

It's strange, how she can feel the magic in her spike and flutter, struggling to support her pact as he fights in some unseen hall of the island. All she can do is push more magic in from her side to the bond to no avail. Like sand through her hands the steady well of power that had kept them both alive sputters and gasps for something to stabilize itself with. Kyrie gives and gives, falling to her knees as she dares to draw even from her new and fragile summons. If he has enough power, if he can just get away-

She feels it. When he kills Vergil. Feels Vergil’s presence flicker, feels her magic spasm as it reaches out and grasps at nothing. 

The hunter must do something, because the entire castle shakes with the force of it. Some great tear is being opened in the bedrock and Kyrie can’t even pull herself together enough to try and figure out what's going on anymore.

He’s united the amulets. Phantom announces gravely. 

Then he’s opened the gate? Griffon responds.

It would seem so. Witchling? The spider prompts her, but Kyrie was at a loss.

She hadn’t come here to defeat Mundus, or stop the hunter, she’d just come because Vergil had asked her to. She didn’t know what to do now.

Kyrie can't bring herself to follow, to see if he can kill the emperor, Vergil’s tormentor. All she can do is sit there in a hall far away from where Vergil died. She just sits there for a while, everyone silent as they wait for her to move again.

Eventually she does stand up, or she must, as she walks out into one of the overgrown courtyards the island has a baker's dozen of. She’s still not quite all there when a Shadow, one of the more threatening demons who prowl the island starts circling her like a cat. 

A low demonic croon emanates from the beast and before Kyrie can attempt to get away from the demon, nearly a dozen other near identical demons ooze out from the darkness of the courtyard. They merge into each other as they form a slightly larger than average version of themselves.

Kyrie just blinks at it, it's clearly not going to attack her right now, and seems to want something from her instead. Maybe it can smell the generals on her and thinks she’s another demon made by Mundus?

The large panther-like demon sits down with a thump in front of her, tail languidly swishing back and forth. She’s seen this demon melt into spikes, but it doesn’t seem hostile at all now. There was only one thing she could offer it.

“Should I keep you?” The only response is a chuff before the black animal presses its face into her hand and coalesces into a dense ball. It fits in her hands like an orange, but feels as heavy as three sacks of flour.

Not quite the same level as Phantom, perhaps even weaker than Vergil had been in the dungeon, but a promising demon far more willing to obey than one of Mundus’s generals. Most importantly, Shadow had been very nice to her when she was sad. The weight of the core grounds her in place. 

Vergil might be gone, but she needs to keep moving, he would want her to survive, and she will need powerful allies if she is going to do that.

“You'll have to tell me your name.” She murmurs as she turns the orb around in her hands. It’s silky smooth, oil slick, and almost scentless. The demon, like Nightmare, is largely silent, but presses at her mind until she can taste the shape of the words.

“MICA-OLZ ZIRE AMMA NANBA TORZU!” She feels herself bleed the last of her magic into the words. The world flickers as her hold on the dream spell weakens and gives in at long last.

It’s just so that the island is beginning to crumble around her. The tear the hunter had made into Inferno must be causing the castle to collapse.

Vergil is quiet and still in her mind, his body lies cold in his armor somewhere. Kyrie can’t reach him, can’t save him. She can barely tell that she’s woken up from her long dream as she lays  drenched in a cold sweat on her bed.

When she wakes it's alone in her family home. Credo doesn't come home for dinner that night, so Kyrie sits alone at the dinner table, too sick to eat. The raging thunderstorm that crashes over the island of Fortuna muffles the sound of her tears. 

Four weak pulses of magic rise to meet her, sit under her diaphragm and force her to breathe. When she’s done cursing the name of a brother she was never introduced to, she goes out to hunt angels.