Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Understand the things I say

Don't turn away from me

'Cause I've spent half my life out there

You wouldn't disagree

Ode to My Family - The Cranberries

Snow. That was the first thing Vergil sensed. Bright, crystalline, and cold. 

It was the first thing that Vergil felt clearly in many years. The distinct chill in the air was a strange novelty after spending so much time trapped in fiery rock. It was freezing here - so much colder than it had been in Hell. Harsh, biting wind wailed in his ears as he stood rooted to the ground, overwhelmed by sensation. He didn’t know how long he'd been standing still and silent until his body started to shake from the cold. 

Unconsciously, he pressed his frozen fingers against his chest to check his armor for cracks. The broad plates of metal would let in the cold if he weren’t careful. Sealed to his skin as it was, he’d get frostbite if he remained in the snow too long. 

But of course, there was no armor left - only a horrifying litany of wounds pouring red-black blood onto the ground in heavy drips. 

Vergil cursed himself for believing the armor was still there. As soon as the Dark Prince’s power faded, he tore the shell of the Black Angel, Nelo Angelo , off his broken flesh until it was beyond repair. How could he have ever forgotten that? Now, alone and heavily wounded, he was paying the price for his reckless escape. 

His eyes struggled to adjust to the swathes of white nothingness. He debated looking for another crack in the ether to slip through, but he knew it would be pointless. The human world wasn’t so easy to manipulate. 

Vergil distantly lamented that he hadn’t had enough time to choose carefully when he found the sliver of portal in the underworld. He only had to decide which realm he would stay in now that he was free. In another life, the decision would have been simple. The demonic realm was his Father’s home and the source of his power. It made the most sense to stay in the place he had spent most of his life. But for reasons still unknown to him, Vergil’s legs had chosen to walk through the portal to the human world.  

He knew he would suffer the consequences eventually, but for now, he had to make do with what he had. Vergil’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of his surroundings. The sharp smell of humanity suddenly filled his nose. That was truly unpleasant news.

Humans. They were a nuisance to him when he was healthy; now, they would be even worse. Vergil despised the false pity that flowed like poisonous streams from their mouths. If he were seen out here in the snow, he’d be taken to a medical facility, which could do nothing for him in this state. More than that, he could not let his location be traced and leaked back to Hell. Mundus had already caused enough damage to him. His aching body served as a constant reminder of that.

He took a deep breath and exhaled the frozen cloud of air. Be calm. Assess the situation. Do not be caught off guard. Trust only yourself. These were the rules Vergil lived by. He needed to put them into action right away. His wounds ached fiercely in the cold wind, and caring for his body couldn't wait much longer. The pain and blood loss alone made him feel close to death, and a childish twinge of fear shot through him at the thought. He almost didn’t want to know how severe his injuries were. 

To no one, Vergil growled his frustration. "Look down," he chided, "do not be afraid. You are a son of Sparda." 

So he looked down at his broken, weeping flesh. The wounds were as gruesome as he expected. A slash across his abdomen curved from his hip to just below his chest. The flesh wasn't trying to stitch itself back together as it should. As he thought, his healing was being delayed in some way. 

The useless halves of skin fluttered in the wind, spattering more poisoned blood into the snow. Vergil could see layers of red muscle and yellow fat underneath the edges of his inflamed skin. The broken shards of his rib bones were poking into his exposed flesh. Ah, this must have been where he tore the armor’s chestplate off. Vergil vaguely remembered how that particular piece wouldn't let go of his body. He’d been forced to use Force Edge to pry it off. 

Force Edge. 

Where was the sword? 

Ah, there. The blade lay a few feet away in the snow. It appeared to be in good shape, no scratches or broken edges. However, Vergil could not remember how he had retrieved it in the first place. Though in these circumstances, he figured it didn’t really matter. With his teeth clenched, he managed to stumble closer to the sword and hook it onto his fraying belt. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the faint flutter of his beloved coat. 

Upon closer inspection, he noticed the faithful blue overcoat was in poor condition, ripped and torn nearly to shreds. Vergil mused that it was a miracle it had survived at all, being kept under the armor all these years. As much as it was nice to see something familiar, it wasn’t built to protect him from the heavy snowfall dusting his surroundings - it barely stayed in place on his thin shoulders.  

It was becoming clearer and clearer as he stood gormless in the snow that his wounds would become a major problem if left untreated. The gash across his stomach was just the largest; other cuts and burns were scattered over his body like malignant tattoos. The injuries caused by Dante when he was Nelo Angelo were also healing slowly. 

Hunched and bleeding out in the snow, his weakness infuriated him. Here he was, a son of Sparda, dying in the cold after finally breaking free from his chains. Disgust with his human half had never been stronger. If only he had more power. If only he hadn't lost to Dante again. Why? Why wasn’t he strong enough, even after all the humiliation he had endured?

Vergil truly had no answer for himself. He felt empty and hollow, stripped of his usual resolve. He could only simmer in silent rage. 

…

A faint buzz of demonic energy ringing in his ears knocked him out of his self-imposed stupor. Something about this environment was triggering his instincts, preparing him to act. Ready for a fight, Vergil spun around, his grip tight on Force Edge. However, as he appraised his surroundings, it was obvious that there were no demons in his vicinity. There was no logical reason for him to prime for a confrontation, despite the warning knocking around his aching skull. 

A dull thud behind him made Vergil growl and turn again, only to find nothing there. 

He felt like a child again, foolishly bracing for impact, when nothing came of the small noise. The sound had only been a lone, bare tree that had dropped a pile of snow from its branches. The wet lump would feel his fury, he decided. Mirage blades materialized to pierce the clump until it was decimated. Thankfully, his magic was still intact; Mundus had not managed to eliminate that. Vergil felt a petty sense of pride for having destroyed the insolent pile of snow so efficiently.

But the steady pulse of energy surrounding the area was undeniable. If he was right, and the sinking feeling in his gut told him he was, that had to mean he was close to that place. A glance at the horizon confirmed his worst suspicions. 

With the only legitimate Hell Gate in the world occupying a large part of the distant skyline, it was clear he was on the outskirts of Fortuna. Lamina Peak... it had been many years since he last crossed the barren mountaintops. The last time he was here was with…

…

This was some miles from the city entrance, in any case. In the distance, Vergil could see the Renaissance architecture of the main gates. This place was still stuck in a bygone era - his Father’s time to be precise.

Vergil felt unjustly targeted by his chosen portal location. He had not planned to return to Fortuna until his power matched his father's. Once he had everything owed to him, he intended to eliminate that arrogant Order of the Sword and declare himself Lord in Sparda’s stead. 

Arriving here grievously injured and vulnerable to even a weaker demon's attack was a cosmic insult. He wanted nothing more than to possess the Yamato again so he could portal away to a better place. Though he doubted he could use the weapon, even if he had access to it. The memory of Mundus crushing his blade into splinters threatened to overwhelm him. He started to pant heavily, and the strain threatened to collapse his weakened lungs. 

Again, Vergil tried to calm his anxious thoughts. There is no use in dwelling on the past, he reminded himself. These circumstances could be beneficial if he played his cards right. He wasn't in a position to overlook the advantages the town offered compared to other human settlements. 

His demonic presence could be concealed easily, and he could find a discreet place to rest. The residents of Fortuna were accustomed to the strange occurrences that came with living on top of the fragile boundary between the human and demonic realms. That cursed Order might prove troublesome, but Vergil had never hesitated to kill humans before. 

By his most conservative estimate, it would take three days in his condition to reach Fortuna proper. However, his health wouldn't allow for an easy journey down the small mountaintop he stood on. The most serious wound would need to be packed until it healed. Stitching it shut would be ideal, but he lacked the necessary supplies. Resting in the nearby wilderness was crucial for now. Yet, something still nagged at the back of Vergil’s mind about the idea. 

The Order of the Sword. It had been a wealth of information in his youth, but they were decidedly not as innocent as they seemed. Knights frequently patrolled Fortuna and its outskirts, and they were ruthless in their pursuit of demonic knowledge. Vergil wasn’t entirely sure if they often scouted Lamina for clues. He could be on the menu himself if the Order found him, regardless of his past association. They had no reservations about ‘experimentation’ on live subjects. 

Vergil muttered silently again, trembling in the cold. His past… Damn this place. Damn Mundus. And damn the cold for draining his energy even more. 

The flood of anger warmed him, but only for a moment. In the end, he resolved to start moving regardless of the consequences. If the Order came, they came. There was nothing Vergil could do to prevent that. He needed to rest before permanent damage to his body occurred. A chill swept through him that had nothing to do with the cold. Permanent damage… Was it possible for a hybrid like him? 

A useless thought. 

All he needed to do was find a suitable outcropping to shield himself from the snow and wind. Barren trees were plentiful, but as Vergil surveyed his surroundings, the chances of finding a secure spot diminished. From what he could see, only two options existed. The first was a rock shelf downhill. It seemed well-covered from the snow, but Vergil could hear the wind howling through the eaves. The second was a cave, perhaps half a mile straight ahead. It looked secure against the harsh conditions and would also provide some defensive capabilities. 

It looked like the latter shelter was the best choice. 

He trudged forward until he reached the cave entrance, arms wrapped around his torso. Oddly, and hidden from his initial view, a large boulder sat beside the rocky outcrop. The stone was covered in deep claw marks - scores of them. More than likely, something had already made the cave its home. Something potentially quite large. 

That was frustrating. 

But Vergil had no choice. It was either enter the cave or freeze to death in the elements. Whether the demon that mutilated the rock still resided inside was a risk he would have to take for now. The best he could do was attempt to flush it out with his presence. Though when he cast out his weakened power, he felt no demonic influence, only the low hum of the distant Hell Gate. 

His initial assessment seemed wrong. Vergil was relieved; he entered the ‘door’ of the cave without paying any more attention to his presence. 

The middle part of the cave appeared dim, but Vergil’s eyesight in the darkness was far better than that of a human. He felt relief that no mortal seemed to have ever occupied the cave. Artificial light sources would have been hard on his eyes, especially after spending so much time in the underworld. He had always been much more sensitive to light, even as a child. His Father had explained that his demonic heritage was probably the reason for this dislike. Of course, Dante didn't share this sensitivity as a child. 

Dante… 

Vergil could not afford to lose focus. 

Littered on the floor were various demonic skeletons, both partial and complete. Vergil could identify the round skull of an Empusa and the remnants of a Faust’s claw pushed to the cave’s entrance. It seemed like the demon who formerly inhabited the space had placed them there to warn off intruders, though they hardly made for impressive kills. Such demons were child's play for experienced hunters. Perhaps the previous occupant had been an abandoned demon? Runts were commonly pushed out of nests to make room for their growing siblings. 

Vergil stepped over the pitiful display only to find more gouges lining the walls. They resembled the ones on the boulder outside. It was hard to determine the purpose of these marks. They seemed random and varied in the force used to make them. Perhaps they were merely a way to mark territory or to test one’s skill. The cave was also much smaller than he had thought from the outside - it was perhaps ten feet deep at most. While it would provide adequate shelter for now, if the weather worsened, it would be a tough place to recover. 

But what disturbed Vergil the most was the crudely made nest in the farthest corner. Made from torn fabric scraps, the thing hardly looked comfortable. Even as his instincts pushed him to build his own nest and recover, he would never settle into such a pathetic pile. It seemed like a childish attempt at comfort, even though young demons were usually fiercely protected. Nests were built for them, not by them. His earlier theory about a runt may be correct. 

Though it would be highly unusual for this cave to be inhabited by a juvenile, lesser demons lacked the intelligence to plan in such a way. It also didn't match the significant claw marks on the walls, either. Vergil was beginning to feel like he was entering a more complicated situation than he had expected. 

…

Of course, that would be his last thought before being roughly slammed to the ground by a pair of large spectral claws. 

The attack knocked Vergil to the ground on his stomach, causing him to fall with his back to his attacker. The initial strike expelled all the air from his lungs, and he struggled to breathe under the immense pressure. The claws curled around his midsection, irritating the deep wounds on his stomach. 

Damn his injuries! 

Ordinarily, an attack like this would have been easy to overcome. But the pain was intense as he struggled to find a way to stand. Sparks burst underneath his eyelids as Vergil fought to regain some control over the situation. The blue claws were relentless and pushed him back to the ground whenever he managed to get some clearance. 

Strangely, his attacker did nothing else. Perhaps it didn’t know how to handle larger, more human-shaped prey. After all, it was likely a lesser demon spawn. Then maybe all Vergil had to do was scare it off with his demonic energy for real this time. With a wild snarl, he projected his presence strongly throughout the cave. 

It had the intended effect. Even weakened, a son of Sparda had power beyond a lowly spawn. 

A low, pitchy demonic growl had accompanied the initial attack, but the demon in question was silent now. A slight weakness in their ghostly grip had appeared as well. Vergil was forced to wedge his knee under him to relieve the pressure and turn to assess his attacker, but what he saw surprised him. 

The thing was human - or at least, humanoid. 

It was a boy, that much was clear, underneath all the grime that covered him. He was tiny despite the noise escaping through his clenched teeth. Probably malnourished too, since his cheeks weren’t chubby with baby fat like they should be. The child couldn’t be more than a few years old. The more Vergil looked at him, the more he felt confused. 

The boy’s right hand was completely demonic, covered in red scales and glowing with a blue light from within. The spectral claws gripping Vergil extended from his back like a dragon's wings. He was crouched on all fours, with his legs bending unnaturally to maintain the low stance. Vergil couldn’t call them digitigrade exactly, but it was close. A small, whip-like tail made of interconnected plates lashed in the air behind him. 

But what struck Vergil the most was his face. His mouth was twisted into a feral snarl, revealing sharp fangs behind his lips. His eyes were wide, an unnatural pale blue with slit pupils. Most damningly, on the boy's head, though dirty and knotted, was pure white hair.

Yes.

Coming to this cave had been a mistake after all. 

Chapter Text

So they rode out west to the seaside

And they gladly decided to stay

After two hours of wandering outside

Ooh, the sea air drove them away, yeah

You're Not the Only One I Know - The Sundays

Those demonic features could mean anything, Vergil reasoned frantically. Yes, white hair and blue eyes were associated with Sparda - his own appearance was proof enough of that - but the Order of the Sword was notorious for attempting to emulate Sparda. In their society, blue eyes and pale blonde hair were highly prized. It was entirely possible they had genetically manipulated children to reflect those traits. Yes, surely! There were no other descendants of Sparda besides his brother and himself. Dante had always hated other children when they were young, and Vergil would certainly know if he had fathered a…

No! 

Everything about the clothing worn by the Fortunians and the jewelry they crafted was designed to connect them to their God. Hadn't he witnessed proof of this himself? The Knights who patrolled the streets wielded massive broadswords, reminiscent of Sparda's legendary sword. The common people still wrote their texts in old-fashioned Latin, just like Father did! Even monocles, of all things, had become fashionable during the brief time Vergil lived there. His father had only worn one once in his entire life, and that was for a portrait!

Even if the boy wasn’t just a human child, as his demonic features suggested, he might be a failed ceremonial experiment. That had to be it. It was another trick, another trial for him to overcome. Humans could be just as insidious as Mundus; Arkham had proven that. The boy was likely an illusion meant to push him further back into his weakened state. They would gain much from studying him and his current state of corruption.

Vergil felt a pressure in his lungs that had nothing to do with the heavy claws pinning him to the ground. What could he do to prove the boy’s heritage at this moment? The truth was, nothing at all. However, he felt compelled to take in the scent of the little abomination, if only to eliminate the possibility that he might have a...

His scent was woodsy. But Vergil had expected that; the boy was living in the outdoors after all. It was the rest of the markers that threw him even deeper into denial. His scent was distinctly hybrid - a mixture of human salt and demonic ash. It would have been easy to miss when he arrived on Lamina, with how similar it was to his own. The smell of strong black tea… just like her… All combined with the undeniable markers of family.  

The physical features, mixed with his demonic ones, were too much to ignore. The narrow shape of the boy’s eyes was reminiscent of his own. Sharply slitted with a low browbone, it was the face he’d shared with his twin as a small child. The slight tilt of his nose was similar to his Mother’s. That was painful. He didn't share many of Eva’s features himself. Dante had always skewed more that way. The way he bared his teeth was achingly familiar too - a mirror of himself as a child living on the streets. 

Vergil felt a deep sense of sorrow in his heart. 

He couldn’t completely ignore the signs; the child was not only real but also somehow directly related to him. The longer he gazed at the boy in abject shock, the more his senses went into overdrive. Nestling! Protect! These urges caught him off guard, and it took him a moment to suppress them completely. For the first time in his life, Vergil was frustrated that he had relied on his demon half for so long. Now, his instincts were running wild in his mind. 

The little creature must have been the presence he sensed when he first appeared in the human world. Has he been watching him since he first appeared? What a clever thing. Something deep inside Vergil preened at the idea of the boy being so intelligent, despite his less-than-fortunate circumstances. 

While Vergil was lost in thought, the boy began growling again in a feeble attempt to intimidate him. The boy’s body was tense and puffed up, resembling a flustered pigeon. Previously hidden patches of blue scales peeked out from his tattered and dirty clothing. Again, the boy was trying to force him to yield. Albeit less successfully than before, the claws' hold had lessened considerably. 

Vergil felt a sudden pang. The boy reminded him of Dante and his wild nature as a child, always growling and pretending to be bigger and scarier than he really was. His twin’s protective nature knew no bounds. Dante growled and hissed at everything and anything he deemed strange or unusual. Vergil had never needed such displays, especially not with the Yamato in his hand at such a young age.

…

Was this boy alone, with no mother, father, or siblings to speak of? It seemed likely, considering he was living in the untamed wilderness surrounding Fortuna. But how long had he been there? The nest suggested a kind of longevity in that location, and the heavy layers of filth on the child were evident. Not only that, but the boy was in some sort of partial trigger state, and he had maintained that trigger throughout their interactions. It was no easy feat for someone so young and undisciplined. Even Vergil had struggled to maintain his trigger as a child, even after it was fully awakened. 

Despite these smaller inquiries, a much larger one was looming, no matter how much he wanted to put it off. 

Sparda had passed away, or disappeared, or whichever, when Vergil was eight. This child was much too young to be another brother. And Dante, despite his joking nature, was never the womanizing type. So, that only left him to blame for the child’s existence. That woman… Would she have hidden this from him? No… She knew more about Vergil than he would have liked to admit. She would have known a child would have changed things for him, or at least caused him to shift his plans momentarily. 

The boy seemed small, but that was probably due to malnutrition. If he were a bit older than he appeared, his age would add up with the time between his departure from Fortuna, subsequent imprisonment, and now return… 

No. He didn’t need to think about that right now. The boy must be Dante’s. After all, hadn’t he gotten on well with Arkham’s daughter? It would be just like his brother to have an accidental child. Vergil felt his breathing even out as he rationalized the child’s existence. There was no way he had a son. He’d only been intimate with her one time. How unlucky did he have to be to get her pregnant on the very first time they were together? Yes. That was much more like his brother. Not Vergil. He was smarter than that. 

Are you sure? A nagging voice in his mind reminded him. Dante loves his family. He wouldn’t leave an innocent child behind, not like you would. 

These thoughts were unfortunate. If he couldn’t accept the boy’s existence, what should he do? Kill him? No, the very idea made Vergil feel sick to his stomach. He recoiled at the thought of slitting the little boy’s throat or causing him other serious injury. He could leave the cave and try to forget what he had seen, but that would be impossible now that the boy had spotted him. Vergil doubted they could coexist so close together.

Ultimately, the boy surprised him with his solution. 

“LEAVE!” The little whelp growled out, tail thrashing and scales shifting. The boy’s voice was much more shaky and young-sounding than he expected after such a large demonic display. At least the boy was capable of speaking. Vergil was beginning to believe the boy didn’t know English. 

When he didn't respond quickly enough, the boy repeated himself, this time in Infernal, “LEAVE!” 

Interesting. Infernal was innate to full-blooded demons, but Vergil had to put effort into studying the language to become proficient himself. His Father had spent many days of Vergil’s childhood teaching the twins the language of their other home. It was challenging to learn, especially for their mostly human vocal chords. Dante had given up pretty quickly. If this boy were only a quarter demon, did that not matter in terms of demonic expression? Hmm, a question for another day. The boy needed an answer. 

“How can I leave if you’re holding me here?” Vergil coughed out. 

Speaking was more difficult than he anticipated. His injuries made his gut writhe, and getting a full breath under the demonic projection was still nearly impossible. The boy seemed indecisive now, despite being upset. He couldn't seem to bring himself to let Vergil go or bodily force him to leave. The boy wiped at his nose and cocked his head to the side, but finally released the spectral claws that were pinning Vergil to the floor. 

Vergil fell flat to the ground on his back. He groaned when he pressed his hand against the gash in his stomach; it came away soaked in blood. The bone fragments had shifted into a much more uncomfortable position. Numbly, he rooted around in the cavity for the sharp spurs, yanking them out harshly and throwing them to the floor. He definitely wouldn't be moving anytime soon. 

The boy slowly approached Vergil, skittering silently across the floor with his tail pressed to his stomach. His large, pale eyes gave off a subtle glow in the darkness. The way the pitiful creature shuffled over on all fours was unnerving, even for Vergil. His legs, which had been bent unnaturally, shifted and popped in their sockets to rearrange themselves. The noise alone was disturbing to think about. There was no way such a formation was natural to the boy; it had to be an adaptation from living ferally. 

Vergil snarled, hoping to warn him off, lest he injure himself even more fighting him. But he couldn't find the strength to equip Force Edge from his side. He couldn’t muster up anything really. Even his mirage blades felt far out of reach from his fuzzy mind. The little power he had was gone, snuffed out by the short shuffle to the cave, then the attack from the boy. 

The little whelp, undeterred by his muted warning, made his way beside him. For a brief moment, they just stared at each other. His unblinking eyes were narrowed in suspicion. The urge to swat the boy away suddenly rose within. For some reason, he hated knowing the boy was seeing the depth of his injuries. It had to be a horrible sight for a small child. Vergil tried to move the scraps of his coat over the worst of it, but it barely covered anything. 

The boy let out a soft coo at his makeshift attempt at keeping his pride. If Vergil didn’t know better, he would have thought the look on the boy’s face was concern. Slowly, a rough-scaled hand gently touched his chest where his undershirt had been sliced through. Vergil didn’t have the strength to push his hand away. He felt a brief flutter of fear in his heart. If the child wanted to, he could easily kill him right now. 

But the scales felt dull despite their sharp appearance. He didn’t move to hurt him; the boy merely felt around the injury with care. Black blood was leaking steadily from the wound, and the boy appeared to flinch as he came in contact with it. Stop, Vergil wanted to say, it might infect you too. But he didn’t get the chance. 

The soft blue glow emanating from his arm suddenly intensified tenfold, and Vergil was forced to turn his head away from the blinding light. 

When he opened his eyes again, the boy was pressed against the opposite wall of the cave, breathing heavily. He seemed terrified, even though Vergil hadn’t touched him or spoken another word. It only worsened as he attempted to look at the boy's demonic arm, which was clutched in his human hand. The boy was squeezing it so tight that his human knuckles were white with effort. His tail was thrashing against the floor, sending small rocks flying. 

After some time, the light slowly faded, returning to what Vergil assumed was its normal state. But the boy still wasn't calm. He was looking at his arm as if it were foreign to him. Vergil looked away sharply. He suddenly felt bad for scaring the boy so badly. The quick panting couldn't be healthy, and he wasn't helping by making him more uncomfortable. Perhaps his partial trigger was new to him. By his reaction, it had certainly never done that before. 

What could he do to put the boy at ease? Vergil didn’t see any other option besides simply acting as if nothing had happened. So, he managed to shift himself slowly into an upright position. Weak, noodle arms aside, he tore the lower portion of his coat off to bind his wounds. Whether Vergil liked it or not, this cave was the only form of protection nearby. The boy was hardly a serious threat; despite his earlier fierceness, he seemed more frail by the moment. 

At the sound of the loud rips, the boy regained his former curiosity. He slowly prowled back to his spot beside Vergil’s chest. His once-vertical pupils were much more round and human-like as he watched the last makeshift bandage get secured. He leaned over Vergil’s chest to get a better view of him, and his hands twitched like he wanted to try and touch him again. 

The boy’s closeness was starting to make Vergil very uncomfortable. Again, the urge to shield the child from the reality of his condition bubbled up inside him. It wasn’t good for him to be exposed to the Dark Prince’s corruption. And still, he couldn't allow the boy to get close enough to injure him further, no matter his current docile nature. That light may be a precursor to something much worse. 

“Move back.” He worked out gruffly. The boy didn't move. Right. His grasp of English might be low. Perhaps Infernal would work. “Move.” But he still didn't move; he only cocked his head. All right, his grasp of any language might be low. That was grating. Was he picking and choosing what to listen to? He’d seemed to understand what he said earlier with no issue. 

How could he communicate with the boy, then? Vergil prided himself on his communication tactics, but they didn't seem to be of any use here. He wasn’t very used to children. They didn’t tend to lurk around where Vergil frequented. The ghost of a smile almost worked its way onto his face before he smothered it. His arms burned to do it, but he managed to push the child onto his rear, away from his aching body. 

At last, some peace. There was only meditative silence on Vergil’s end until the boy suddenly spoke again. 

“You. You!” The boy boldly used his human hand to push against Vergil’s left shoulder as he spoke. “Don’t push me.” Vergil snapped. The child looked a little sorry now, but he just repeated himself endlessly. “You! You!”

What a headache. 

When Vergil didn't respond to the odd phrasing, the boy pushed his shoulder more aggressively and started up a low whine. It made Vergil strangely unhappy to see the boy so frustrated with his lack of vocabulary, but he was giving him nothing to work with. This one-sided communication continued, with Vergil attempting to gather what the boy wanted from him, and the boy growling with aggravation. 

“What about me?” He snapped out for the third time. What could the child want from him? The downright glare at his lack of understanding was starting to get insulting. The boy's eyes had returned to their slitted form, giving him the distinct air of a haughty kitten. 

His name, perhaps? Was that what he wanted to know? Could it be that easy?

With a huff, he responded to the best of his ability. “My name is Vergil.” The boy looked a bit lost at the amount of words being spoken, so he tried again, more simply, “Vergil. Ver-g-il.”

This finally seemed to satisfy the boy. “Of course, it was that easy,” Vergil muttered to himself. He was overcomplicating things, as usual. At least the child was happy now. And mostly quiet. He was leaning back on his haunches and repeating the word over and over to himself. 

“Vergil. Vergil. Vergil! Vergil.” He seemed to be happier the more he said it. It was oddly heartwarming, but Vergil quickly dismissed the feeling. The boy's happiness over learning a simple word reminded him too much of his passion for linguistics. 

“Enough noise, beast.” Vergil swatted in the boy's direction to silence him. He only chirped happily and ran around in circles, tail high in the air. Soon, he settled in his mediocre nest, watching him with those large eyes and a slight smile on his face. What an odd little creature. 

Vergil was silent as he appraised the boy further. The child’s origin remained a mystery. If he were his... No, that was still too unlikely. Regardless, why was he here instead of Fortuna? And what could have caused him to enter this half-triggered state? He was shaping up to be an annoying and permanent mystery for the time being. 

…

Well, Vergil couldn't call the child ‘boy’ forever; he needed to get his name, if he even had one. Something much too heartfelt for comfort leaped at the chance to name the child. He cleared his throat so he could smother the feeling. “What is your name, boy?”

The child didn't respond. Vergil huffed at the indignity of communicating in simple, animalistic terms but gave in for the sake of knowledge. “You.” He emphasized, pointing in the boy’s direction. 

“Nero.”

Chapter Text

Up on Melancholy Hill 

There’s a plastic tree

Are you here with me?

Melancholy Hill - The Gorillaz

Nero. The boy’s name was Nero. 

Vergil rolled the strange name around in his mind. Names held a lot of significance in the underworld; he remembered that much from his time as Nelo Angelo. They were given as precious gifts, since not every demon was lucky enough to be born with one. Most earned them in battle or through the brutal subjugation of others. The way demons had shirked away in fear at the mere whisper of Mundus’s name… It was more than hearing a word. It was hearing the subtle, ancient language of power in the syllables. In Nero’s name, he could hear the faint whisperings of a greater strength too. That was a good sign of the boy’s health, regardless of how he looked right now. 

In human terms, the name was strong as well. It could have been a reference to the tyrannical Emperor of Rome or, more simply in Italian, ‘Black.’ Truly, it was an odd name for the locale. Fortunians tended to favor names from the Bible or variations on Sparda’s. Harking back to a much darker time in Italian history, that wouldn’t have been seen as a good omen for the child's birth by the Church. Though the person who named him probably didn’t care about such things anyway. They would have carried a half-demon spawn to term, after all. Such pregnancies were not easy on human bodies, or so Vergil’s mother had claimed once. 

He felt it was an oddly fitting name for the fierce little boy. It had a thematic appeal that he couldn’t deny, and it stoked his curiosity. Nero’s angelic white hair, cherubic features, and vibrant demonic nature made it strangely fitting. The boy was a walking contradiction of clashing natures that shouldn’t go together, yet did. And regardless of its historical implications, it was a name usually given to those of great power. 

Now that Vergil knew, he couldn't imagine the child’s name being anything else. Distantly, he mused that if he had ever had a boy with that woman, it was close to something he would have chosen himself. Though ‘William’ or ‘Blake’ always held a special place in his heart too. 

Damned sentimentality! These thoughts were making his chest hurt even more. And they were the last thing he needed to be considering right now. The boy was looking at him curiously now; he probably thought Vergil’s sudden silence was odd. But the child hunkered down in his mess of rags to watch him owlishly. 

Locking eyes with the boy, Vergil couldn’t banish the idea from his mind. A child of his own…

Had that woman been thinking of him as she named Nero? Even after he abandoned her? She had always admired Vergil’s love for poetry and their hidden meanings. He had spent many days reading to her after she revealed Fortuna’s lack of formal education for women. He could almost feel her now as he lay pathetically in the dirt, her short curly locks tickling his neck as they read together under the moonlight. Choosing such an ironic, yet powerful, name for their child would have been just like her. 

Vergil thought he could catch the woman’s distinct scent for a moment. Love. What a terrible thing. It made one undeniably foolish. 

No. No. No. He needed to stop entertaining these thoughts. The boy wasn’t his. He still couldn't prove the child wasn’t Dante’s. They were twins after all, and the boy was bound to look slightly like Vergil if Dante was his father. He needed to reorient and distance himself from any lingering feelings about her that he was placing on the boy. As it was, he had barely managed to address his wounds and lie prone on the floor. 

Make a plan. Yes, a plan. That was what he needed; order came first above everything. His wounds were… somewhat taken care of. The debilitating pain from before was lessening, but still twinged painfully. Vergil was forced to take shallow breaths so as not to irritate them further. There were no obvious signs of bacterial infection, but the black ichor in his blood was still present. It had bled through the packed sections of coat hastily shoved inside his chest cavity.

That wasn't ideal, but the corruption had to leave his body somehow. Perhaps bleeding the majority of it out in the snow had been beneficial. If he could rest in the cave for a few more days and purge it, then his healing might start again. Yes. That was all he could do for now. Getting used to his new ‘roommate’ would be secondary. Vergil could always report his presence to the local orphanage once he made it to town. 

Slowly, the interior of the cave was filled with bright splashes of orange and yellow. Ah, the sun was setting, good. When he arrived, it was difficult to tell the time; winter in Fortuna was typically overcast throughout the day. Vergil had forgotten how different the human world looked from the underworld. Time measured in physical changes was a nostalgic sight. Soon it would be night, and he could rest and recuperate. The sooner he could do that, the sooner he could leave the whelp to fend for himself again. 

But Vergil had only shut his eyes for a few seconds until Nero suddenly sprang up from his reclined position. 

The boy bounded towards the entryway on all fours, almost falling and tripping several times in his haste. By the time he made it to the door, he was panting with effort. Raising his clawed hand towards the rock at the cave entrance, the spectral claws from earlier appeared. From his position on the floor, Vergil had a full view of the boy’s powers now that they weren’t directed at him. 

The wing-like claws emanated from Nero’s back but were directed by his demonic hand in front. Nero was able to grip the rock and place it in front of the cave, effectively sealing it off from the wilderness. So that was where the large claw marks had come from. They weren’t markings to ward off other demons; it was merely a consequence of the boy's untamed power gripping the rock. 

It was interesting that the child had managed to make a ‘door’ of sorts to protect himself from outside threats. Well, at least he had some common sense. The boy had probably been attacked before, if the skeletons lining the floors had anything to do with his haste in sealing the entryway. Vergil was content to just lie in the open cave with the mouth exposed. 

He was almost disappointed that he wouldn't be able to see the stars tonight. Fortuna offered a night sky like nothing else, as adverse to light pollution as they were. The darkness in the cave was absolute, dark as a forgotten temple’s tomb. The pair was lucky to have excellent night vision. Or Vergil assumed the boy did too, since he was still moving around the interior as if it were lit.  

Nero’s movements were anxious, though. He dismissed his spectral claws once the entryway was sealed, but now, he began to claw at the side walls with his demonic arm. Over time, the rhythm of scratching deep grooves into the rock soothed him somewhat. Vergil fought to stifle a smile at the sight, though he felt his lips twitch. The boy was like a feral cat. After a few more moments of this, wherein Vergil observed him silently, Nero suddenly whipped around and ran directly to his nest again. 

What an odd creature. Well, at least the boy could stop bothering him with all his noise and finally rest. Though he really should have known nothing was that easy. 

From outside the sealed door, the telltale sound of a Mephisto could be heard. The slight howl the demon emitted must have been the cause of Nero’s sudden retreat. To Vergil, the noise was a mere hindrance to his rest. The lesser demon was drawn primarily to noise and would not enter the cave if they remained silent. Though to Nero, the sound seemed to foretell his inevitable doom. 

The boy started shaking profusely under his meager blankets, and a low, pitiful whining started. The sound of a nestling in distress was practically a siren song for demonic attackers. Nestlings were a rare treat amongst demons, with Nero being all the sweeter for his human blood. The boy’s whine was subtly climbing in pitch, and his tail was plastered across his chest again.     

Vergil wasn't faring so well against the sound of a nestling's distress himself. It was making his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest to hear Nero so disturbed. Memories rose unbidden in his throat, making it tight with remembered fear. He had been in the same position as the child before. He’d also cried on the streets when demons inevitably scouted out his hiding spot. It had taken a long time before he realized that lesser demons could be dispatched with a simple swipe of the Yamato. 

Instinctually, he knew that Nero needed to be soothed, and quickly. As his protector, he needed to assure him that he was safe and cared for. But how to do so? He could cast his presence out again, but that might lead to unintended consequences, like the Order or Mundus realizing his location. That would be much worse than any Mephisto attack. 

Wait. Protector?

No. That wasn’t right. Vergil had no duty to this boy. His devil trigger itched under his human skin, chafing at Vergil’s unprecedented restraint. He should ignore the whines and focus on regaining his strength as planned. He managed to successfully block out Nero’s pitiful moans and close his eyes again. 

…

“Vergil!” 

…

“Vergil!”  

The harsh whispers were obviously coming from Nero. Ignore him, Vergil reminded himself. He’ll get over it. 

“Vergil, please!”

That phrase made him crack his eyes open again. He suddenly felt sick with guilt for ignoring Nero. Agh, never mind his confusing instincts now. At this rate, the Mephisto would hear the boy’s pleas and phase through the cave entrance and attack. Even a lesser demon could severely compromise his wounds if he didn’t dispatch it in time. So, he harshly whispered to the boy, “Silence, Nero.” 

It didn’t work. If anything, it made it worse. The boy began clawing at his exposed shoulder, drawing blood with his furious scratching. His glowing talons were sharp; they kept cleaving through his pale skin, only for the wounds to knit back together and begin the process anew. Nero’s eyes were wide and unfocused; he seemed both hyper-aware and completely detached. This behavior… it was eerily reminiscent of demons in captivity. The beasts couldn't make sense of containment, so they often turned to self-mutilation in a desperate bid to regain control. 

Vergil tried again. “Stop, Nero. Nero .” The scent of blood was slowly filling the cave, and the boy’s whine was audible to human ears now. The Mephisto was going to find them out. He couldn’t let that happen; he couldn’t even swing Force Edge in this state. Nero stammered, “Need… Please… Vergil… ” 

Need. Need what? What would make the boy less scared? The word bounced around his mind with reckless abandon, muddying his already fractured thoughts. Nero needed him. Someone wanted him to help. Not Dante, not Sparda, him. His boy needed him. 

Without thinking, Vergil partially transformed and manifested his tail. The limb began at the top of his spine rather than the bottom, so it took some maneuvering to free it and grab Nero. The extra limb pulled Nero from across the floor and into his side securely. He clapped his hand over the boy’s mouth for good measure. There was silence as the Mephisto’s howling grew in volume, then decreased. The boy’s heaving breaths were hot on his palm. 

Good. It left. But Vergil was still holding Nero close to his chest. 

Abruptly, he took his hand off the boy’s mouth, but couldn't get the stiff fingers of his other hand to unclench from Nero’s shoulder. His tail was looped around the boy several times and was practically squeezing the life out of the boy. It only tightened instinctively as he tried to remove it. His scales hissed as they rubbed against each other. The boy was so small, so defenseless… He couldn't let go. Vergil wanted to apologize for the inconvenience, but realized he couldn't find the words. 

Nero, for his part, was looking at Vergil with an expression close to reverence. His eyes were wide with only a thin ring of blue showing. His tail, which had once been pressed against his belly, had looped once over Vergil’s thickly armored one. Vergil’s trigger abruptly dissipated; he simply couldn't hold it any longer. The boy was left sitting beside him in shock. Embarrassment started to set in. 

He shouldn't have reacted so strongly to the Mephisto or the boy’s incessant whining. But he had. He had been so sure Nero was calling for him specifically. What kind of power was this? He needed to get the boy away from him as soon as possible. This was dangerously close to the sway that the woman in his past had held over him. Love had no place in his life, compassion even less so.  

Vergil steeled his voice against his lingering instincts, “It’s gone. Go.” Nero didn't move. He was making himself comfortable by digging small furrows into the floor. The child was completely ignoring him! Vergil’s frustration rose, and as loud as he dared, he snapped at the boy, “Go, Nero! Get away!” It was like the boy had gone deaf, curling into Vergil’s side and closing his eyes stubbornly.

He didn't have time for this. Vergil was better off letting the boy be for now. If he wanted to stay close by, it was just because his instincts compelled him to. There was no way that Nero was beginning to care for him as well.

That’s what he told himself at least.

Chapter Text

I was lying on the grass

On Sunday morning of last week 

Indulging in my self-defeat

Steal My Sunshine - Len

As he slowly regained consciousness, Vergil realized he was warm. Very warm. But that really shouldn’t be the case. 

As he struggled to fall asleep last night, the cave slowly lowered in temperature. It had been chilly at best and unbearably drafty at worst in the damp cave. How Nero lived here long-term was beyond him. He had the right idea of sleeping as balled up as possible next to him. Even if Vergil would have much preferred the boy stay in his nest, it was undeniable that his presence gave him some much-needed warmth. 

Demons don’t usually fare well in the cold, Frosts being the rare exception. Bitter weather was a surefire way to deter and subdue warm-blooded demons. Even that sickening armor had been freezing, forcing his limbs to remain still when all he wanted to do was move. 

But this warmth was pleasant. It was like a soft blanket over his body, bringing a heaviness to his half-awake limbs. Vergil’s eyes remained closed in the face of long-denied comfort. Though he did notice it took a bit of extra effort to make his chest rise and fall. The feeling reminded him hazily of lazy mornings as a small child when Dante would climb into bed with him. It was a sensation that could only be created by too-bright sunshine and the presence of someone you cared about invading your space. 

He was so tired. It was alright to indulge in this feeling, wasn’t it? His eyelids were as heavy as the rest of his body. He hadn't felt this good waking up in a long time, even before Mundus. Perhaps he should sleep a little more. 

…

But he needed to get up. Sleeping often brought monsters to his door, both metaphorically and physically. Vergil fought the tiredness pinning his lids and limbs shut, and sluggishly opened his eyes. 

Nero was sleeping on his chest. 

They were stomach-to-stomach, with Nero’s legs on either side of Vergil’s body and his head tucked under Vergil’s chin. The boy’s demonic claw was snagged in the torn remnants of Vergil’s precious coat, while his human hand lay limp on the floor. Ragged snores split the air, and he wondered how he could have ever slept through the headache-inducing noise. 

The child was well and truly out. He was sleeping peacefully on a man he had just met. Vergil couldn’t do anything other than gape at the sight. When did this happen? How had he not felt Nero claw his way up his torso and make himself at home? Tendrils of panic wound through him, and his first thought was to push the boy off him. But for some reason, he hesitated. 

The boy was no threat; that fact was well established by now. He should wake Nero, then remove him. He really should. 

But this was a good chance to observe the boy’s potential strengths and weaknesses. In the short time Vergil had interacted with him, Nero was always moving and difficult to get a proper look at. Not waking the boy immediately was simply good information-gathering. Whether he wished to leave the boy behind or not, understanding how he operated may be valuable in the future. 

Peering down at his chest, he started to catalog Nero mentally. He had gotten a good look at the boy’s hair and face yesterday, but up close and personal, the neglect that he was suffering from became even more prominent. 

For starters, his hair was an absolute nightmare. Nero’s tangled locks had mats and knots a couple of inches long near the back of his head. Clumped in his hair were several long swaths of dried blood and dark mud. Thankfully, it all appeared to be bug-free. Brushed out and clean, Nero’s hair must be long, perhaps below his shoulders. 

Hmmm. He really must give the boy a haircut. Long hair would be difficult to manage if he wanted to become proficient in swordsmanship. If Nero stuck by him, he would need to learn the basics. Force Edge could still be of some use to him, both for training and much-needed grooming. No, no, Vergil reminded himself, this was merely an assessment, not future plans. The boy’s hair was none of his concern.   

He managed to tear his eyes away from Nero’s crown to assess the rest of him. The boy’s ears were slightly pointed, and his brow was drawn low naturally. His sharp features left his otherwise childish face perpetually darkened. It reminded him of his father’s permanently downturned expression, a contradiction to his kind nature. He supposed it was a trait he and his brother shared as well, though Dante’s was always downplayed by his constant grins. Conversely, Vergil was sure he often looked downright murderous while attempting to appear neutral. 

Nero’s pale blue eyes were still closed, but his lashes were visible. They were very fine and almost non-existent, much like his own. Despite his circumstances living in the wild, his cheeks still held some residual baby fat. That strangely relieved him somewhat. The boy may be small, but he wasn’t on the brink of death. The fangs Vergil had just seen bared at him a few hours ago were caught on his lips again; looking closer revealed that the edges were serrated like a shark's. That was an interesting feature that no one in his family shared. It was Nero’s unique demonic trait. Vergil let himself feel a bit prideful over the power of Sparda and the way it changed to suit its inheritors. 

Though he had to turn his nose up at the state of the boy’s clothing, his smock-like shirt was more akin to a dress. The garment appeared white but was dirtied with blood, dirt, and general grime. His shorts were in no better state, ripped to hell and caked in mud. Nero was barefoot as well. Unfortunately, Vergil was forced to ignore the pitiful rags in his overall assessment; his clothing wasn't faring much better at the moment. 

When Vergil looked closer at his demonic arm, problems started to arise. Through his scraps of dirtied clothing, it was evident that where his human flesh touched the demonic was covered in a mess of scars and burns. Some appeared to be caused by surgical tools, too straight to be simple accidents. Others were ragged masses of scar tissue, broken up by distinct tooth marks. The more rippling scars indicated several large demons had almost devoured Nero. Everywhere he looked, there was some kind of mark marring Nero’s flesh. Most damning was the large brand on the boy’s left shoulder. It was the coat of arms for the Order of the Sword. 

There was a sick feeling coursing through Vergil. Though this one was recognizable, it was the bitter lava of anger.

Someone had purposely mutilated the boy and marked him as property. It would have been an agonizing feat. Legitimate, long-lasting scarring was challenging to achieve for both full-blooded demons and halfbreeds. Wounds would need to be endlessly repeated or be incredibly traumatic for scarring to stay in place. Vergil knew in his heart that the wounds Mundus had given him were more than likely to scar, regardless of his escape. The fact that Nero had been subjected to the same kind of torture was revolting. 

It had to be the Order of the Sword. The brand… They were the only humans in the area actively attempting demonic experiments. 

Bitterly, Vergil knew he had no one to blame but himself. He should have killed them all when he still had the chance. Even if Nero was Dante’s child, unknowingly left behind in this cult, Vergil had known what the Order was capable of and left them to continue their work. He had even thought to admire their ruthlessness at one point. Now, he was sickened by his past imbecility. 

Vergil fought to keep his breath steady; he didn't want Nero to stir and think he was angry at him. The urge to let the boy soak up as much comfort and warmth as he wished was impossible to wash away. The anger flowing through him was strangely intense and consuming. His trigger ached uncomfortably. He did not doubt that his demon was responding to the boy’s condition. 

The boy was family. That was a fact he could admit. Another was that Vergil must protect him. Who his father was could wait for now. 

But the power he sought still did not belong to him. Mundus had enslaved him for years, and he had just barely escaped. His heart beat faster when he thought of Nero chained to that cold, black throne that Nelo Angelo inhabited. If the Dark Prince found out about Dante’s connection to the child, he’d be ruthless in exploiting Nero’s trauma. The child would be another seed of Sparda to destroy, no matter who his father was. 

Unconsciously, Vergil held Nero tighter to his chest. He couldn't begin to stop his spiraling thoughts. To think, mere hours ago, he wanted nothing to do with this feral brat. Now, it was difficult to see a future where the child was left behind. 

‘Assessment.’ What a joke. Vergil was still a sentimental fool after all these years. He knew deep down that he’d been looking for reasons to keep Nero by his side. That woman’s kindness had left a lasting mark on his soul, even after he lost the majority of his memories of her. This kindness towards a lost child… it was something she would have done. It was something she had done for him. 

Vergil managed to push the past out of his mind. There was only one option to protect what was his. He needed to get stronger. He needed more power. But how could he achieve it in this wounded state? The only alternative was from the Order, but he detested that. 

Absent-mindedly, he stroked down Nero’s skinny spine as if he were a kitten. The repeating motions served to soothe his racing thoughts somewhat. But it had the opposite effect on the boy. 

Nero yawned directly in his face.  

Lazily, the boy arched his back to stretch. But it was then that he seemed to realize where he was. Nero froze, eyes wide, perhaps instinctually sensing that he had invaded another demon’s nest. The boy made to scramble off his chest, but Vergil brought his hand down on the boy’s back to steady him. 

Vergil had intended to speak, to comfort the boy, but when his mouth opened, no words came out. He didn’t quite know what to say now that he’d decided to keep the boy after all. Instead, he found himself gripping Nero by the back of his shirt and depositing him unceremoniously on the floor. Nero hissed at the sudden drop, but he moved to scramble away quickly, likely not wanting to draw an older demon’s ire. Why did the child always steal his tongue? He’d wanted to comfort the child, not drive him away. Finally, Vergil managed to find his words: “Wait! Come here.” 

The words had come out embarrassingly high-pitched and pleading, but Nero skidded to a sudden stop on the cave floor immediately. He looked warily at Vergil, shaking his body out like a dog, but he did come a little closer. 

Nero wasn't close enough to touch, so Vergil patted the ground beside him. It was an undignified form of communication, but it did the trick. The boy closed the last few inches of space and sat on his haunches while Vergil slowly pushed himself into an upright position. “Sorry!” The boy blurted out suddenly. Vergil’s neck almost snapped in half with how quickly he turned to look at the boy. Every time he spoke English was a strange surprise. He still couldn't get a grasp on how much Nero understood him. But the child suddenly seemed terrified with Vergil’s full attention on him. 

Nero was bearing his neck repeatedly, and his eyes were firmly shut. Vergil was thoroughly confused. The child really hadn't done anything to warrant the extreme fawning. His instincts encouraged him to shut down the boy’s incessant attempts to placate him. It wasn't necessary for the nestling to submit to him. 

Vergil took a moment to gather his bearings and speak. “Don’t be sorry,” he muttered gruffly, “It’s alright.” But Nero seemed to take his hesitancy as proof of his anger. He looked like he was on the brink of tears. The small boy doubled his efforts to appear submissive. His tail was stuck to his belly like a beaten dog. “Sorry! Sorry!” he cried out again. Ah, this bent-over position wasn’t conducive to comforting the boy. If he were able to sit up and move better, Vergil could have tried stroking his hair or at least tried to be less cold-looking. He tried to shuffle closer to Nero and mostly achieved it. 

Vergil reached his hand out slowly, but Nero still flinched heavily when it neared his head. More gently than he thought he was capable of, he slowly stroked the boy’s hair the best he could. This had calmed him when he was a child; perhaps it would be the same for Nero. “I’m not angry at you. Not angry.” Vergil repeated this a few times until the boy stopped apologizing. Nero even pushed his head upward into Vergil’s hand when he stilled. “B-But I…” Nero took a huge heaving breath and gasped, “I did bad! I’m sorry!” His words were a strange mix of Infernal and English. The words he did know with clarity in English were a little concerning. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Nero.” Vergil was sure his Infernal was a little rusty, but it seemed to calm the boy enough to explain himself. “I know I’m not allowed to touch! I’m not allowed! Please don’t punish me! I forgot, I’m sorry.” The boy wasn’t bearing his throat anymore; in fact, he seemed miserably resigned. Vergil slowly removed his hand from the boy’s head.‘Not allowed to touch’? That was an odd way to phrase it. Yes, climbing his chest and sleeping on him like a mattress had annoyed Vergil at first, but he wasn't going to punish Nero for it. If anything, it was an instinctual reaction that drove him close to the person who protected him. Just what had the Order put him through?

Vergil had no idea what to say to refute the boy’s desperate pleas for forgiveness. Nero was absolutely convinced he had called him back to his side purely to punish him. The child was becoming increasingly incensed at his lack of response. “Boy,” he hurriedly started, “I don’t want to punish you.” Admitting his feelings felt like sandpaper on his tongue, but it was essential to gain the child’s fragile trust. 

But Nero wasn’t having it. “‘Come here,’ you said! That means I did bad!” he growled out. “You're lying!” The boy’s tail, once tucked, was now thrashing behind him in irritation. His anger was winning out over his fear.  “No.” Vergil said firmly, “You weren't bad. You’re allowed to touch me.” And for once, that statement was the truth. He usually despised physical affection, but for his brother’s child, Vergil felt like he could bear it - even wanted it. Nero went silent for a few beats, then spoke quietly, “I’m a good boy?” Vergil felt his heart twist in his chest. “Yes, you’re good, Nero. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

The boy was still for a moment, then pressed himself bodily against Vergil. Nero’s warmth pressed into his side like a brand. The child slowly took Vergil’s hand in his clawed one and placed it back on his head. Ah, so he had liked having his head pet after all. Vergil felt a flush of pride sweep through his body. He’d successfully calmed Nero, all by himself. He ran his fingers through the boy's hair as best he could. It was the least he could do for the child. 

A loud rumble split the air, and it took him a few minutes to realize the loud purring was coming from himself. That was odd. He had rarely made this sound. It unsettled Vergil slightly, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. His instincts were utterly content to have soothed the nestling in his presence. At least Nero seemed pleased by it, if his near-silent rumbling was anything to go by. Though the boy seemed preoccupied with the sealed cave entrance, glancing at it every few moments. Reluctantly, Nero peeled himself away from Vergil’s side to move towards the cave entrance. Just like the night before, the spectral wing-claws materialized to move the rock away. Pale morning light shone through the cave, but it seemed a bit too bright for Nero, who immediately ducked his head down. However, he made sure to glance around the outside, as if looking for the Mephisto that had bothered him so. 

While Nero was standing guard, Vergil felt comfortable addressing his wounds without the boy seeing the gory sight. But his body surprised him. The loose skin that had split open into a bloody mess had tightened up somewhat. The gash was minutely smaller than it had been when he arrived. Good. That was progress. Though the wound could not remain exposed to the elements. Vergil managed to rip off more of his precious coat, tying it around his middle securely with a knot. 

He made to stand, pushing against the wall of the cave for leverage. Nero bolted back near his side, chittering anxiously. But he stood with minimal fanfare; his wounds were healing, slowly but surely. For once, things were going well. If he continued to heal at this rate, he and the boy could travel down to Fortuna proper in a short while. 

For now, he needed to provide for the boy, and that meant feeding him. Leaving the cave to search for sustenance would allow him to gain strength as well. Vergil walked forward until he reached the bright light of the outside world. The snow had melted somewhat, leaving slushy puddles everywhere. A biting wind was blowing through the bare trees. He wasn’t likely to find animals or plants in this environment. What had Nero been eating? He wondered. 

A small, scaled hand slipped into his own during his musings. Nero had taken his pause as an opportunity to hold on to him shyly. Right. He needed to focus on providing for Nero, no matter the challenge. He strode forward with the boy in tow.

Chapter Text

Sympathy, envy, jealousy, resentment 

Black tears falling down

My ugly emotions burst out and become a snow-white bird

Non-Breath Oblige - PinocchioP

With Force Edge as a makeshift cane, Vergil felt more secure wandering around the unfamiliar environment. At first, he only prowled around the small clearing where he entered the human world, getting his footing walking without his wound aching too badly. But his initial assessment was correct; there were no edible plants hidden in the melting snow. No animal tracks either, but that wasn’t surprising. Even lesser creatures like deer and rabbits were known to be especially careful when navigating demonic-tinged lands.  

There were a few paths leading away from the cave, but Vergil wasn’t quite sure which direction led where. Mitis Forest would be the best bet to find food, but he doubted it would be an easy journey downhill. It was hard to say how far he could walk right now, but he resolved himself to try. 

One rocky path seemed to lead downwards, so he gently pulled Nero in that direction. The boy didn’t protest, and for that, Vergil was grateful. He knew children could be rather difficult to maneuver - he and his brother were proof of that - but Nero was shockingly compliant. He tried not to think about why that might be. 

The pair walked for a short while before Vergil heard Nero sniffle. He stopped walking immediately, jerking them to a stop. But the boy said nothing. Perhaps it was because of the cold, he reasoned. He pulled Nero along for a few more moments before he heard a faint whine, which was much more distinct. Again, Vergil stopped, looking down at Nero for any sign of discomfort. The boy wasn’t crying just yet, but his eyes were glossy. It was then that Vergil smelled blood, Nero’s blood. He sank to his knees, frantically looking the boy over, but couldn’t see anything on his body. When he got to the child’s legs, his veins turned icy with guilt. 

He had forgotten the boy was shoeless. 

Nero’s soles were bleeding, cut open by the rocky path to Mitis. He didn’t say a word, Vergil thought, astounded. Was he too afraid to tell me? “Nero!” he barked the boy’s name before he could help it, suddenly fearful for this small child's safety. Nero shrank into himself at the loud noise. Gentle, he reminded himself, gentler. It's not his fault, it’s yours. He cursed his mistake of ignoring the child’s struggle. 

“Boy,” he murmured softly, running his hand through Nero’s hair, “you tell me when you’re hurt.” He looked confused, but eventually the child nodded his assent. Vergil kept his movements soft and slow as he lifted the boy off the ground. Nero’s eyes were wide in surprise, but he paid him no mind. Instead, he shifted the child to his hip, letting him grip his neck to secure himself. This was the best way to move forward without further injury to Nero’s feet.

The boy’s little claws were pinpricks in his skin, but Vergil endured it. He would not have the boy hurt, no matter how badly carrying him made his chest throb in agony. Without further fanfare, which would give him time to be embarrassed by the brief protective fear he felt, he strode off again. Nero gratefully tucked his head into Vergil’s shoulder as they further descended the peak.  

Finally, they reached greener scenery. Mitis Forest was surprisingly dense and verdant, even with the recent snowfall. The trees by the cave had been bare, but this area revealed towering evergreens, trim shrubbery, and flowering plants. It was too early to say if the forest was reacting to demonic influence or was simply more resilient than he remembered. There wasn't any snow on the ground, but it was still windy. Though the deeper they traveled inwards, the warmer it became. 

Nero suddenly tugged on Vergil’s hair to get his attention. “Ow,” he deadpanned, determined not to reveal how painful the boy’s tight grip was. “No pulling.” But the child was insistent in his squirming. He’d have to put him down if he continued on this way. “Nero,”  he huffed, “stop it!” But his words were fruitless, so he reluctantly lowered the child to the ground. His hip felt empty without the nestling's warmth. For a foolish moment, Vergil wanted to snatch the boy up again. 

But Nero was happy. He strolled around the lush area, inspecting each leaf and flower that caught his attention. Well, at least he didn’t smell blood anymore. Vergil surmised that the child had a healing factor as well, since cuts like that would have been reopened on the forest floor. 

Nero took his hand again, and this time, he was the one tugging Vergill where he wanted to go. He didn’t find himself minding too much. It would be beneficial to explore the area as thoroughly as possible before heading back to the cave. They still hadn't found any wild plants or game trails anyway.   

Nero remained quiet as they explored, but he had a toothy smile on his face. Maybe the boy was like him, Vergil wondered, a deeper inner world than an outer one. The thought made him feel sickeningly fond, so he quickly changed his train of thought. 

After a short while, Nero abruptly stopped walking and dropped to all fours - digigrade again. It was fascinating how quickly he could reorient his body. But Vergil couldn't really see what had captured the boy’s attention. This grove looked much like all the others they had walked through. 

Tucking his legs underneath him and darting forward, the boy suddenly sprang up and clawed into the trunk of a nearby tree. He launched himself a good ten feet in the air to scrabble up the trunk like a squirrel. 

“Nero!” 

What in the hell was the boy doing? Nero didn’t respond when Vergil called out, he only climbed a bit further up the tree trunk - out of his reach. Distantly, it was impressive how well the small child navigated the branches to retrieve something nestled in the uppermost boughs of the tree. More immediately, Vergil was terrified the boy would fall and injure himself horribly. 

He couldn't see what it was, but Nero had something tucked under his human arm as he navigated his way back down. Grinning proudly, the boy made his way back to the lower branches and held out the object. 

It was a large, oblong fruit that was dark in color. It looked similar to a coconut, but with no ‘hair.’ It was not native to Fortuna, Vergil knew that for a fact. It wasn't native to the human world either. The only place he had seen this fruit was in certain parts of the underworld. The trees were often crowded by lower demons fighting for the scant food that could thrive in the harsh conditions. The fact that it was growing here at all, and prospering at that, just outside of Fortuna was somewhat ominous. It shouldn’t be here. 

Nero held his prize high over his head, letting go of the tree’s trunk to heft the fruit. It didn’t surprise Vergil when the boy lost his balance and slipped from the lower branches. What surprised him was the speed he invoked to catch Nero before he hit the ground. The head rush that accompanied his near teleportation was still ringing in his ears as he scolded Nero. “That was dangerous. Ask me if you want something, and I’ll get it for you.”

Nero was still holding his prized fruit as he gazed up at him petulantly. He looked close to arguing, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he chose to thrash in Vergil’s arms, his tail slapping the air wildly and growling lowly. If this was how the child usually acted, he much preferred his wide-eyed innocent shtick from before. 

Nero rubbed his nose as Vergil lowered him to the ground, then started stomping around. “I got it! I got it myself! I don’t need help!” the boy snarled out. Uh oh. A mini tantrum seemed to be building, and Vergil knew he should defuse it before Nero got too worked up. A stronger growl was working its way through Nero as he grew more agitated at the brief scolding. Vergil never wanted help as a child either; Dante was always the one to seek assistance rather than the other way around.

“Nero,” he tried, “I know you can take care of yourself, but I want to do these things for you. I’m going to protect you from now on.” It was hard for Vergil to get the words out, but they were true. He had promised himself that Nero would be cared for. Part of that included letting Nero know that he intended to protect him. The child had been through too much to ignore. Vergil was undeniably growing to care for Nero more deeply than he anticipated. 

The boy was silent at Vergil’s admission, but his eyes were narrowed in an eerily familiar way. “You’re lying, ” Nero spat, and the boy’s voice was full of pain. He was clutching the part of his arm where human met demonic tightly. “No one cares about me. No one protects me. They hurt me. They hurt me, and when I called, no one came!” Nero dropped his fruit to the ground as his eyes filled with angry tears. “This is a different way to hurt me, right? Being nice?”

In a way, this sight was all too familiar to Vergil. The words echoed his feelings after his mother died and he was left abandoned. Looking back, he must have seemed very similar to Nero when he lived on the streets - half-feral and distrustful towards any helping hand. Vergil would have much rather bitten the hand that fed him, and it seemed like Nero felt the same. 

No matter. His goal remained unchanged. He would shield Nero; he would prove to him that he was worthy of calling himself his protector. So without thinking, he did what he would have wanted as a child. He carefully wrapped Nero in his arms and pulled him close.

Nero, to his credit, didn’t struggle or try to pull away. Instead, his streaming tears became hoarse sobs as he hugged Vergil back just as tightly. The boy's tail wrapped around Vergil’s torso, just barely making a complete circle. It squeezed at his wounds uncomfortably, but he bore it. Vergil didn’t know what to say to soothe the boy, but somehow he knew that he had done the right thing. 

Nero’s sobs died out, but he was still clutching Vergil painfully tight. He picked the boy and the fruit off the ground. Vergil had thought he heard the sound of flowing water nearby, and as he moved towards the sound, he found he was correct. There was a small, gently flowing river hidden just beyond the tree line. He set the still-sniffling Nero down by the edge and stiffly sat down beside him, though it was more of a controlled fall. 

He decided to give the boy space to calm down fully. In the meantime, Vergil wanted to inspect the fruit further. As Nelo Angelo, he didn’t need to eat, he survived off the energy that Mundus supplied through the black armor. So, this food was still unknown to him, even if he’d seen it before. 

Peeling the outer skin of the fruit was easy, and he sliced it into small pieces using Force Edge. It didn’t smell like much, kind of vaguely floral. The coloration wasn’t bright inside either, just a pale white like real coconut flesh. Vergil didn’t hesitate to pop a small portion into his mouth. Better him poisoned than Nero, he reasoned. But nothing happened. It seemed safe after all. If demons ate it, and the pair had demonic heritage, it stood to reason they could eat it too. 

Vergil offered a piece to Nero, who took it, shuffling closer to Vergil’s side. He munched on the fruit thoughtfully. The boy’s voice was shy as he spoke up in the silence between them. “ How do I say... How can I say I’m... ” He gestured between the fruit, Vergil, and himself. Again, the boy seemed frustrated that he couldn't communicate as well as he would have liked. 

Did he want to say thank you? It made sense that Nero wouldn't know. The words didn't exist as such in Infernal, and no one had likely ever said them around the boy in English. “Thank you. Thank you.” Vergil made sure to enunciate the words clearly for him. 

Nero nodded thoughtfully and repeated the words, “Thank you. Thank you.” 

His cadence was a little off, but it was nothing that couldn't improve with time. Though Vergil had no way of knowing for sure, it felt like Nero was thanking him for more than just the fruit slices. They sat in companionate silence as they ate the remainder of the fruit together. 

Nero had resumed his oddly intent stare, but it didn't bother Vergil much anymore; he stared right back. The boy gently touched the hastily bandaged wounds on Vergil’s stomach. “You're hurt too... I’ll protect you.” Nero’s gaze was fiery, and Vergil knew deep down that what he had said earlier had gotten through. Maybe slowly, the boy would allow Vergil to tame his wildness. And in turn, Nero could help him regain the strength he had lost.

“Thank you, Nero.”

Chapter Text

The ocean is a desert with its life underground

And a perfect disguise above

Under the cities lies a heart made of ground

But the humans will give no love

A Horse With No Name - America

The walk back through the forest was uneventful, but still pleasant. In any case, it gave Vergil plenty of time to think about recent developments. 

The past twenty-four hours had been stressful to say the least. Nero was a feral, messy handful, but not wholly unmanageable. He was still a good kid at heart, even after all that had happened to him. However, his seemingly random outbursts were still somewhat concerning. 

Vergil knew next to nothing about the boy’s past. He could only extrapolate on what he could observe on his own. He didn’t feel he could just up and ask Nero either. There was no telling how he would respond. It could shut their sparse communication down entirely. He would have to be patient and remain supportive, at least as much as he was capable of being. 

Nero was still frustratingly skittish around him, but Vergil wouldn't begrudge him that. A stranger pops out of thin air, then shortly thereafter declares himself your protector? He would be nervous, too. But then again, the bond between them, even after such a short period, was undeniable. Even Nero’s demonic arm seemed to agree. It glowed intermittently when the boy got close to him. His fierce declaration of mutual protection… The boy was a spitfire for sure. 

Vergil resolved to keep in mind the location of the softly flowing stream too. He and Nero would need a scrub down at some point. His wounds needed to stay as clean as possible, and the boy was utterly filthy. As they ambled back towards the cave, his wounds started to ache again. He couldn’t stop himself from hunching over to steel himself as he walked. It was going to be a nightmare carrying Nero over the rocky path again. 

Though as soon as Nero noticed his slight limp, he slipped his hand into Vergil’s. This time, his grasp was a little firmer and more sure of himself. It made his pain lessen a little to think about how grateful the child was to have him around. He was glad the boy was at least somewhat reciprocal toward his bumbling proclamations of protection. Vergil knew better than anyone how hard trust was to give away, especially to someone you had just met. He wished he could lay out his exact feelings, but he needed time. 

In the past, his family had often struggled with how little he revealed about himself. It was working against him more than ever now. He ought to tell the boy about his heritage, his power, and the danger he was in as a descendant of Sparda. But Vergil still felt hesitant. Nero was still a little boy. He shouldn't have to worry about these things at this age, even though he had as a child. 

But Mundus could still return for Vergil. It was an uncomfortable fact. While he had been able to break free of the mind control, he was still unsure of the exact conditions that aided his miraculous escape. The onslaught of pressure from Mundus’s control had lifted in incremental amounts until it abruptly disappeared altogether. He suspected it had something to do with Dante’s influence, but he couldn’t be sure. 

As disoriented and weak as he was on Mallet, shedding the armor was no easy feat. He had to rip it off himself, piece by piece. The entire process thoroughly wounded him and landed him in his current situation. Even that paled in comparison to fighting his way out of Mundus’s palace and the greater Underworld. The fact that he had not encountered Mundus himself at any point during his journey was disturbing in and of itself. 

Only two options were available: either someone killed Mundus (unlikely, as even he could not accomplish this feat) or he was biding his time. Vergil wasn’t sure which one he preferred. 

A dead Mundus would cause other problems, namely a strong rival somewhere in the ether and sticky inter-demonic politics. His services as Nelo Angelo had been highly prized, and it would be difficult to fend off even a minor lord in his condition if they came for him. 

If Mundus were alive and biding his time, he would be even more sadistic when he returned. If Vergil thought the years-long torture he endured was bad now, he was sure what would be waiting for him would be even worse. Again, the thought of Nero’s fragile body at the mercy of the Dark Prince was heart-palpitating. The boy would survive, yes, just as he had, but he would be forever changed. 

It made him think of the Yamato again, and how Mundus had snapped it in his fist like a toy. Vergil couldn't help the frustration rolling through his body. The Yamato was infinitely precious to him; now it would never be returned. It would be helpful here too, moving Vergil and Nero to a safer place. 

But before he could spiral any further, Vergil realized they were back at the cave entrance - and he had picked the boy up at some point. He let him go to the ground carefully.  But Nero seemed to sense his lingering discomfort. “Are you okay?” Nero asked him quietly, perhaps sensing how overwhelmed Vergil had made himself on the journey back. 

He made up his mind at that moment. 

Vergil would train the boy with Force Edge. The boy was not much older than he was when he first learned to wield a sword. If something happened to him, he needed to know that Nero would be able to protect himself. He wished the child could have trained with one of the twins' birthright weapons, but this would have to do.  

He needed to warn Nero about what the future could bring too. Damn the fact that he had only known the boy for a little more than a day. Returning to Fortuna and gathering information was looking more and more enticing. It would be more helpful than hiding, at any rate. Vergil’s blood boiled at the thought of allying in any way with the Order, but would it protect him? Protect Nero? 

The boy was still looking at him with abject concern. With some difficulty, Vergil managed to lower himself to one knee so he could look the boy in the eye while he explained his plight. 

“Nero,” he began, “before I came here, I served a bad demon. The King of the Underworld.” Vergil let the words hang in the air for a moment. He wanted to choose his words carefully, to disturb the child as little as possible. But the boy didn’t say anything; he just dropped his head to look at the forest floor. Vergil wasn't sure how much Nero understood about the demonic realm, but he knew Nero had terrible experiences with demons, to say the least, so he steamrolled on.

“I escaped, but one day, he may come for me. Perhaps even for you. I need you to be ready if that day comes.” Nero was still silent, and Vergil desperately scanned his body language to gather more information. He supposed it was an odd time to reveal this suddenly, but there was never going to be a good time. 

The boy kicked at some stray rocks on the ground. “I don’t get it,” Nero finally said. He had looked up from the dirt, prominent brows drawn down in confusion. “Why would you do that? Help a demon? Help someone bad?” 

“I didn’t want to,” Vergil rushed to say, lest the boy get the wrong idea. “I thought I could defeat him. I was wrong.” The words were bitter on his tongue. His demonic side railed against the idea of letting the nestling know he had failed so thoroughly. “Nero, we may not have been together long, but this demon won’t hesitate to hurt you if he knew I cared for you. I want to train you. To help you get stronger. Don’t you want that?” 

Nero jerked away suddenly, even though he had been subtly leaning in as Vergil spoke. “Are you going to hurt me?” The boy spat the words out like he had already been expecting some sort of betrayal. What on Earth? Nero had been taking the news well, barely reacting to the fact that a demon stronger than anything in his worst nightmares might use him as he saw fit. Now he was spitting in fury at the mere suggestion of Vergil training him. 

Nero’s spectral claws made an appearance again, coming to rest on his shoulders. “I won’t be hurt again! I didn’t want to hurt them! I won’t do any more training!” he cried out. 

Vergil couldn’t understand his extreme avoidance. He had made sure his demeanor was as soft as he dared to be, what had he done wrong? Or more importantly, what about training hurt or made him want to hurt others? The demonic limbs on the boy’s back rose, and his tail was lashing with whip-like precision. 

“You're just like them! Making me feel so…!  I’ll fight this time! I’ll win this time!” He wailed. But the earlier tantrum in the forest seemed to have tired him out more than he let on. Nero fell to his butt, claws dissipating, and his cries echoed through their cavernous home. Vergil was at a complete loss. It seemed to be a near-permanent state when he dealt with the child. He stood from his kneeling position and turned away from Nero briefly to gather Force Edge from his side. 

Nero’s voice was a hoarse shout when he was able to push past his heavy breaths. “I finally... I want you to take it back! Don’t leave! I’m not bad! I’m not!” Vergil could hear Nero snarl with renewed fierceness. His heart felt heavy as he realized the boy thought he was going to abandon him if he refused to train. 

With a final tug to his belt, Vergil finally freed Force Edge. “I’m not leaving you, Nero. I promise.” His wounds were stinging again, another unfortunate side effect of speaking so much. Vergil offered the sword to Nero by its handle. “By train, I meant with this.” The boy’s eyes bulged as he tried and failed to skitter away on the rough, rocky ground. 

“You are going to hurt me! Train with that?!” he shrilly cried. “Nero,” Vergil started, but the boy wasn't having it. As Vergil approached slowly, hands and posture loose, Nero’s whipping tail suddenly cracked across his face. It hit him with so much force that Vergil was afraid his eye had left its socket. 

But as he blinked away the white cloud enveloping his vision, all he could see was that night. That is, Nero looked like he was on the brink of triggering from pure stress. His tail, now wet with blood, was drawn in tightly to his body. His small frame was shaking so drastically that it looked like he was on the brink of spasms. 

Just as he had when Vergil first met him, the boy was resorting to deeply marring his flesh to counterbalance his upset. This time, he sank his shark-like teeth deep into his demonic arm. Blood was rolling down his scales in steady drips. Nero snarled into his skin and bit deeper. There was an ugly cracking sound as his teeth broke vibrant scales. 

That was bad, but the worst part by far was the haunted look in his eyes. The naked fear in his pale face was worse than any punishment Mundus could have ever given him. For a second, Vergil couldn't breathe. Nero, more often than not, was a reflection of his darkest moments as a child. Knowing the boy had suffered the same fate, albeit differently, set his soul alight. 

Okay. Okay. Calm down. Vergil could defuse this. He could. Now wasn't the time to get wrapped up in old memories. 

“I’m not angry,” Vergil said as calmly as he could manage with blood dripping down the side of his face. “I’m not. I know you don’t believe me now, but one day, you will. You’ll know I’m always safe, always here. I don’t understand how I’ve upset you, but please tell me, Nero. No matter the reason, I’ll try my best to understand you the way you deserve to be understood.” 

Nero slowly removed his teeth from his arm, though he still looked close to breaking down completely. Vergil took this as a signal that he could move a little closer to the boy. Nero side-eyed him suspiciously but seemed to determine internally that Vergil wasn't an active threat. 

“Training… It means to hurt, doesn't it? It’s just another way for them to say it.” Nero spoke nervously, looking away from Vergil briefly. “When they trained me, it hurt so bad! I would scream and cry, but they always made me train anyway. I don’t like it. They used swords on me, too. I was always bad. A monster.” Nero said the last word in a whisper. 

The boy tucked his head in between his knees, oblivious to Vergil’s inner torment. His demonic side was roaring in fury. It was challenging to push down his trigger, and he could only hold back so much before he burst. Vergil could feel patches of scales, so similar to the boys, manifest along his body. 

His neck was tight with anger. So this is what had caused Nero’s injuries. ‘Training’ was nothing more than the torture they administered to the boy. No wonder he had such an adverse reaction to the suggestion. Vergil reminded himself to catch his breath. This wasn't about him and his feelings; it was about Nero. 

Telegraphing his movements the best he could, Vergil caught Nero’s chin and forced him to look him in the eyes as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Nero. I would have suggested learning swordplay in a different way. Training does not mean hurt.” He brushed his fingers through the boy's hair. “Training means learning. I never want to hurt you.” 

With those words, Vergil felt his throat go tight. One day, he might hurt Nero. It always seemed to happen to those around him. Others could not understand his thirst for power or his motivation. 

No. Nero was different. When the boy locked eyes with him, he knew it in his soul. 

Nero’s eyes were gleaming with unshed tears as he looked up at Vergil. Without warning, the boy threw himself at his chest. The impact bowled them both over, but the boy was smiling a faint, wobbly grin, his body silhouetted by the sun. Vergil couldn't help but smile faintly too. 

Nero touched Vergil’s face with a look of complete shock, tracing the shape of his smile with a clawed hand - as if he would never see the sight again. The boy threw himself down again, hugging Vergil with all the strength he could muster. 

Vergil, of course, returned it just as strongly. “I promise Nero, I’ll become stronger for you,” he whispered it so softly in English that he could barely hear himself. Nero didn’t seem to mind. “‘I’m glad… Vergil… I’m… Thank you,” he petered off into little happy chirrs and whirrs. 

This life was hard; that was a fact that had chased Vergil ever since his mother died. But it was his life. And for the first time, Vergil found himself glad he was born. For this moment to happen, it was a blessing like no other. 

Chapter Text

Just one more tear to cry 

One teardrop from my eye

You better save it for 

The middle of the night 

When things aren't black and white

End of Beginning - Djo

Days passed in much the same manner as they had when Vergil first arrived. 

In the mornings, no matter how far away Nero had settled down to sleep the night before, he was always on top of Vergil’s chest by the time dawn broke. Now, however, Nero didn’t skitter away when he awoke. Instead, he merely began his cat-like stretches on top of Vergil without delay. It wasn't a terrible thing to wake up to. He had certainly experienced worse partners-in-crime (Arkham came to mind). 

It helped Vergil get back in the habit of stretching too. Now, two weeks to the day that he arrived, the gaping wounds on his body were mostly closed - and he could walk much longer than he could before. At any rate, his injuries caused him to neglect his forms for far too long. Although Force Edge wasn’t the same as his precious katana, Vergil ran through the kata necessary to wield the Yamato. It was a good workout for his sore, inexperienced muscles. And Nero had fun copying the complex poses, at any rate. 

The pair would then travel hand in hand to the demonic tree close to the river. Gathering food for the day was essential to accomplish at the start of the day. Nero was a lazy thing when he wanted to be, and if Vergil wanted to get the task done, he needed to move quickly. Sometimes, Nero would climb the trunk, though much more carefully now, and toss the fruit into Vergil’s waiting arms. 

Other times, Vergil would use Force Edge to project a cut, much like he would with the Yamato. Thankfully, the fruit must have some kind of protein, since neither Vergil nor Nero felt weak with hunger after consuming so much of it daily. Live game was still extremely scarce, even with the mostly melted snow rushing off Lamina Peak. 

Next came the most challenging part in their little routine, for both Vergil and Nero. He set out to teach the boy English. Or at least, some semblance of it. Vergil could admit to himself that he may not be the best language teacher, but the barrier between them would only grow if he allowed Nero to speak Infernal forever. 

Irritating as it was to admit, Vergil didn’t know every word in Infernal either, so he sometimes missed what Nero was trying to tell him and vice versa. It was important to know a more common language like English more fully if the boy ever wanted to gain more knowledge and, beyond that, power. At least they had gotten through the alphabet with little stumbling. The boy seemed to have learned it before, perhaps when he was much younger. 

Though by far, training with Force Edge in the evening was a favorite pastime for the pair. Nero picked up the basic movements quickly and was making steady progress. Thankfully, for both his sake and the boy’s, Vergil was a much better swordmaster than primary school teacher. 

Force Edge was not his preferred weapon by a long shot, but the shorter length of the sword was better suited to Nero’s small size for now. There had been minimal accidents as well, something Vergil remembered well from his childhood learning swordplay. Dante was constantly tripping over the Rebellion’s large size, and the Yamato would frequently slice his fingers as he learned to handle her correctly. 

At night, they would exhaustedly retire to the cave. Although he was steadily healing, Vergil noticed that the weakness he so often felt in Mundus’s armor persisted. As a result, both he and Nero were usually thoroughly wiped out from all their activities at the end of the day. It was a good routine for now. Even nice. 

But Vergil could sense things subtly changing in the forest. Little whispers that everything was not as it seemed. Trouble seemed to find him no matter where he was. 

It was slow at first, the way the trees shifted into much larger species. For a time, Vergil could put it down to his unfamiliarity with the native fauna in Fortuna. Admittedly, the difference between an oak and a spruce, as well as how they developed over the season’s change, was unknown to him. 

However, this morning, it was undeniable that the walk to the riverside grove was much more challenging to navigate than usual. Vergil often had to stop to cut away large, tropical leaves from their path. It was more like a scene from a tropical island than the Italian coast. Nero fared much worse than he did during their walk. Being lower to the ground, the boy was often tripping over overgrown roots and thick undergrowth. 

Though it seemed he had finally had enough. 

After another unfortunate fall to the dirt, the boy cried out, “Up! Now!” It was more of a snarling demand than a request, but at least Nero was making an effort to be heard - and in English at that. With Nero’s arms stretched high over his head, Vergil couldn’t find a reason to deny the boy some assistance. 

The journey would go much quicker with the child on his hip or back anyway. He hefted Nero to his side and attempted to shuffle him towards his back. The boy quickly got the idea, and with a low woosh, Nero’s spectral claws gently, but tightly, encircled his middle, effectively lashing himself to Vergil’s back. 

Once the boy was secure, Vergil surprised himself when a low rumbling noise started emanating from his chest again. He quickly tried to suppress it, but Nero still seemed to like it, judging by his behavior. The boy lay his head against the back of Vergil’s neck when the noise started and sighed in contentment like he was riding the most glorious of chariots. 

Hmmm. The boy’s position must be similar to how demons carried their young around. Vergil had seen some lesser demons in a similar position that he found himself in now. The thought was a little panic-inducing. He was not the boy’s father. 

But he couldn't deny that a quiet Nero was easier to travel with. Well, if it works, it works. 

They carried on in this manner for a short while until they approached the demonic grove. Or more accurately, when they approached an entire forest of demonic trees. There were easily twenty or more of the fruit-bearing trees in the surrounding area. 

Nero quickly dispersed his claws and slid to the ground. “Look! There are so many!” he cried out, happily running around the lush trees. He amused himself by running in between them, trashing the large leaves with his tail, and leaving deep grooves in the trunks. 

But Vergil knew that this sudden appearance was a problem - a way bigger problem than he could handle right now. The low buzz of demonic energy that always emanated from the surrounding area was amplified to an even more distinctive level than usual. How had he not noticed this sooner? The daily increase in energy would have had to have been infinitesimal for it to remain undetected. It had to be the work of a more sentient demon, one that was capable of planning such a drawn-out feat. 

The question that remained was integral: Was the demon a product of the Order’s experimentation into demonic life, or was it attracted to Fortuna’s natural energy on its own? 

If the Order were bolstering its power, Vergil would struggle to dispatch it. Loath as he was to admit it, the lingering effects of his imprisonment were still apparent. If it came to Fortuna on its own, bursting through the barrier separating the realms would have weakened it, making it easier to defeat. 

This would take more investigation without Nero in tow. He couldn't risk more harm coming to himself or the boy. Strong as he was, the fact remained that Nero was only just beginning to understand his heritage - a heritage that any stronger demon would be able to ascertain and quickly dispatch him for. 

Nero’s frolicing was interrupted by Vergil’s harsh growl. “Don’t touch anything here.” He barked. “We need to leave.” Predictably, the boy started to pout a little; his bottom lip pushed out in defiance, and his tail lashed. However, he sobered up when he saw Vergil’s severe expression. It wasn't one he liked to take with Nero. The boy quickly crossed the grove and bounded back towards him on all fours. “What’s the matter?” He asked. “Isn’t it good?” 

“No,” Vergil answered shortly, scooping the boy off the ground again. With Nero firmly attached, he immediately started back for the cave. “Hey!” Nero cried. His little fists were pounding on Vergil’s shoulders, a far cry from the calm journey earlier. 

“I-want-to-eat!” The words were a little stilted and strained - it was one of the phrases they were working on. Though it wasn't said nearly as politely as they had practiced. “Enough, Nero,” Vergil said sharply. “That place isn't safe anymore. I will find something else.” With a heavy sigh, the boy seemed to accept his words at face value and fell back into Vergil’s neck. 

The walk uphill was silent. Only the crunching of gravel and his slight, exerted breaths could be heard under Vergil’s heavy footfalls. 

More often than not these days, the walk back was filled by Nero’s inane chattering. He talked about anything and everything now that he had someone to speak to. It reminded him of Dante as a child, always talking, talking, talking. It was a novel experience to hear the boy’s language skills progress. Privately, it made him proud that another descendant of Sparda shared one of his passions. 

Now, Vergil felt bad for his harsh scolding. The boy was clearly still miffed about his food and fun being taken away, even if that hadn’t been his intention. But he also knew the child would forgive him. Nero was surprisingly understanding when Vergil explained why or why not he could do things. He’d make sure to clarify this to the boy - food was something they had to take great care with.  

Food… That was going to be a pressing issue now. He never should have taken that grove at face value. How many reminders was he going to need before it stuck that the Order was in control here? Every place had a master, Vergil thought bitterly, and this place was more insidious than most. Humans who pretended they were better than demons made him sick. In his experience, they were just as cruel and savage as the Dark Prince himself. 

…

Before he knew it, Vergil found himself back at the entrance of their little home. 

The rest of the day passed slowly. Vergil was paranoid, but at least he had a good reason to be. Every cracking branch and gust of wind made him growl. Even the long-faded scents of lesser demons made the older halfbreed want to scent-mark everything in his vicinity. But his tense demeanor was starting to put Nero on edge, so he resolved to tamp down his reactions. 

But demonic interference was the last thing the pair needed right now. Vergil had been hoping that they would be safe for at least a few more weeks, when his wounds would be healed for good. He tried to put his worries out of mind for Nero’s sake, but as they muddled through English and swordplay lessons, Vergil found himself solidifying a plan for the next day. 

He would scout the surrounding area alone. He would protect Nero. He would protect the little life he had built, pitiful as it was. When the sun set and the pair entered the cave, Vergil pulled the boy close instead of leaving him to his devices as usual. As he lifted Nero on top of his chest like a limp, demonic kitten, his last coherent thought before settling was that it was better to have him nearby than across the cave. 

Chapter Text

If flowers in a bouquet, dressed in pretty lies

Can steal a heart in some way

Are they real inside?

Mesmerizer - 31ki

A few more days passed before Vergil solidified his plans to investigate the source of demonic power in Mitis Forest. At that time, he told Nero nothing. They carried on with their usual routine, sans gathering food to eat. Instead, Vergil scavenged near the cave for more earthly means of sustenance. 

Ha managed to find some dandelion greens and wild tubers buried in the ground, but that was about it. There weren't many cooking utensils on Lamina Peak, so the pair had to make do with eating the plants raw. Nero complained for the first few days, but quickly grew accustomed to the meager offerings when his stomach started growling. Vergil felt like a failure as he watched the child unhappily munch on the crunchy plants. But he swallowed his pride and gave Nero most of his portion too - at least this way, they had something to eat while the forest was otherwise off the table. 

Vergil only wished it were more beneficial in terms of protein, but they had both clearly gone with less in the past. In any case, they hadn't been without food long enough to feel those kinds of effects. Water was easier to come by near the cave anyway. The melted snow puddled into cool, refreshing rocky crevices. 

But this lifestyle couldn’t last forever, he knew that. Nero asked a few times when they could return to Mitis, clearly expecting Vergil to cave at some point, but he gave minimal, short replies in response. The boy would hardly understand Vergil’s concern over returning to the forest. Nero had suffered, yes, but a threat on this scale was very different from what he had experienced. What Vergil needed to do now was be careful and plan accordingly for every possibility, just as he always had. 

Reconnaissance would be the best choice moving forward, but he was loath to move forward with it. 

Vergil was quite familiar with the methodologies and preparations required - that wasn’t the issue. As Nelo Angelo, he was frequently ordered by Mundus to observe targets before dispatching them. Ever paranoid over potential rivals, the Demon King required detailed reports before he could act on the slightest of leads. And even then, despite his large size in the demonic armor, he was never spotted and always completed his duties without failure. 

Before that, Vergil had infiltrated the Order of the Sword more than competently, acquiring the necessary information and connections to raise Temmin-ni-gru easily. He likely infiltrated the Order too competently if that woman was anything to go by. But this anxiety that was accompanying his preparations now - no, this fear - was different. He hadn’t felt this way towards another person since childhood. 

If Vergil approached this investigation the wrong way or made a simple misstep, he wasn’t the only person who would suffer. Before Nero, he would have dove headfirst into his investigation of the demonic forest, assured of his heritage and his skills. He could be charming towards humans when he wanted to be and ferocious when facing down demons. 

But Vergil was forced to take stock of reality here in Fortuna. He was sans Yamato and slowly recovering his lost strength, a massive blow to his potential success. He had made significant progress in healing, but that could be undone quickly. It was better to move slowly, hence the detailed reconnaissance. 

All these issues, without mentioning how he was going to convince the increasingly clingy Nero to remain at the cave by himself during the investigation. 

At the thought of the boy, Vergil cast his gaze to the small clearing in front of him. Nero had just completed his little stretching routine and was amusing himself. The boy was swinging Force Edge in a childish imitation of Vergil’s complex kata, complete with exaggerated inhales and exhales. Meanwhile, Vergil was brooding in the shadows unnecessarily. 

He needed to drop this forlorn attitude and be straightforward with the boy. Explain that he was too inexperienced, too young, and too precious to Vergil to come along. But the thought made his chest squeeze uncomfortably. These were things he also had to wrestle with when he was a boy. He had felt that burning desire to be useful, to know more than he did. He was sure Nero would feel the same. 

How could he explain it in a way he would have wanted to hear it? For all his pride, Vergil was still coming to realize that he knew next to nothing about caring for a child. Yes, he was providing basic instruction and companionship, but was he providing enough security? Enough patience? Despite his complicated feelings on the matter, Vergil was sure his mother would have been more adept at childcare advice than whatever he could think up. 

Nero was happier with him around; that was a fact. If he wanted to keep it that way, Vergil would have to exercise his lackluster human emotional skills. 

This was going to be a long day. 

But, enough dawdling. Vergil called Nero to join him, and the boy bounded over effortlessly. He was excited; that much was clear. His little tail was wagging like a dog’s as he caught his breath enough to speak. “I did good, right?” He puffed out his little chest in pride, likely for his improving English and swordsmanship. 

The boy was taking well to his little lessons and wanted Vergil to praise him. Surprisingly, the words came easily to his tongue: “Yes. You’ve done very well, Nero.” He ruffled the boy’s mop of hair roughly as Nero smiled and laughed. For an eerie moment, Vergil felt just like his father when he trained with him as a child. He quickly shook it off - no distractions or getting lost in memories today. 

“I have to go out today. ” He paused before adding, “Alone.” Vergil tried to keep his tone nonchalant, but he could tell Nero wasn’t buying it by the way his smile slowly faded. 

“Why?” 

Hmm. It seemed like Nero was adapting to Vergil’s speech patterns; the boy’s tone was devoid of any particular emotion when he responded. He’d probably have to curb that at some point. He doubted Dante would be happy to know that his wayward child was becoming more like Vergil than himself (even if it did give him a funny thrill of satisfaction to see the boy act like him).

Vergil tried to be as logical as possible as he laid out his concerns. He didn’t want to disparage Nero’s abilities in any way. “What we saw in the forest, those trees… That is cause for concern. We are safe for now, but that may change. I want to investigate, to keep us safe.” 

Nero’s small face had slowly turned red from the gentle reminder he was something Vergil wanted to protect. His eyes flicked from Vergil’s face to the ground, then back to his face. It was clear the boy was working to calm himself before he responded. That was already a vast improvement from his earlier outbursts. Vergil felt a sense of pride as the boy sorted through his feelings all on his own. 

Nero let out a big breath. “You aren’t leaving forever?” 

Ouch. The boy certainly knew how to gut him in their sparse emotional moments. 

“No, not forever.” He stressed, “Just for today.” 

The boy spun on his heel and plopped down on the ground some distance away. He shredded some leaves into tiny pieces before he spoke again, “Come back. Come back or I’ll be mad. ” 

Well, that was as close to acceptance as he was going to get. 

“I’ll be back before the sun sets. I promise. With food too.” At the promise of better sustenance, Nero looked a bit more pacified. Vergil came to stand at his side to collect Force Edge, and the boy handed it over without any fuss. He found himself running his fingers through the boy’s hair again. Before he left the clearing, he committed the feeling of Nero’s warm, gentle goodbye hug to memory. 

The walk down the peak and through the forest was more peaceful than Vergil expected. 

His nerves made him believe that Assault or Empusa would be around every corner, waiting to attack him, but nothing appeared so far. However, he should pay more attention to that strange nothing. 

On previous trips through Mitis with Nero, birds were constantly chirping, and small insects buzzed lazily through the air. But now there was only an all-encompassing silence. It was as if the entire forest had been put on mute. Not a great sign. If animals knew instinctively to avoid this area of the forest, demonic infestation was sure to be ahead. Vergil sped up his pace - it was best to reach the area where the demonic forest had appeared in good time. He had to keep his promise to Nero. 

When he reached the grove of infested trees, it seemed, on a surface level, unchanged. The only difference was that the trees were heavy with overripe fruit now that he and Nero had not been around to pick it. The sickly sweet smell of rot was thick in the air, and the source seemed to be the piles of fallen fruit at the base of the trees. 

The disconcerting scent was making his breath quicken against his will. It was just like the horrible smell of his rotting wounds in the early days of his torture. The exposed injuries had been a cesspit for the underworld's filth to invade his bloodstream. The further he walked, the more Vergil wanted to run away from the cloying smell. Damn the mission, his body knew that something was profoundly wrong here - but he knew even more that he needed to investigate further. 

Treading forward towards the edge of the grove, something bright and shiny caught his eye. Amidst a pile of rotting fruit on the ground was something wetly glossy. It was small compared to the fruit, perhaps the size of a small ball. Leathery green and oblong in shape, Vergil’s heart sank as he realized what the object was. 

An egg. 

The thing pulsed with neon green energy, gaining sustenance from the rot surrounding it. This wasn’t a forest, it was a breeding ground. The eggs were difficult to see at first due to the fruits' similar coloration, but on closer inspection of other trees, it was undeniable. Almost every one had eggs under it, ranging vastly in size. Even the cracked, empty shells of abandoned eggs littered the edges of the treeline. 

This was so much worse than Vergil thought. This wasn’t an unexpected crack in the ether, it was a deliberate attempt to invade the human world. Or, that’s what it seemed like at the very least. 

He tried to calm himself once he realized he was hunched over, gripping the trunk of a tree with clawed hands. Images of Nero’s small, defenceless body being gnawed on by lesser demons that spawned from these eggs were making him sick. 

It was actually fortunate that he had come across them now, Vergil assured himself. Demons who gestated in eggs grew with remarkable quickness. It was how they kept their population so numbered. If he had come even a day later, they might have been triple the size and even more difficult to dispatch. As they were now, Vergil could crush them with ease. 

Methodically, he set to work slicing them into piles of green goo. He made sure to investigate every fallen pile of leaves to ensure these pests were eradicated. The foul deluge of liquid as he crushed eggshells underfoot was strangely satisfying. But as he finished clearing the grove, he noticed something else disturbing. 

A trail of eggs led further into the forest, and they were a fair amount larger than the ones Vergil had already crushed. 

Damn it all. 

Getting rid of all the eggs here had taken more time than he thought, and if he followed the trail now, he risked not getting back to the cave until very late. He wanted to keep his promise to Nero at all costs, but the trail was an essential piece of the larger puzzle. Vergil felt that he was this close to unraveling the demonic presence in Mitis. There was still some larger plan here that he had yet to grasp. That infuriated him. He could not accept not knowing. All of his life, he survived by careful planning, and that wasn't about to change. 

Still, Vergil agonized over moving forward. What was the better option? Leave now and risk the eggs up ahead hatching? That could be disastrous for Nero’s long-term safety. His instincts sharply protested against that. But on the other hand, following the trail ahead and risking an even longer journey could put the boy in an even more dangerous situation. 

Ultimately, his desire to protect Nero won out. As a compromise, he would allow himself to follow the trail no more than a mile. The sun setting vibrantly in the distance made his stomach cramp. There was no way he was getting back to the boy in time, but he needed to finish what he started. He would make it up to Nero. He would. 

Vergil set off, crushing the eggs in his path as he followed them. They varied in placement, but it seemed as if something large had created a path through the forest on which to lay them. After traveling past some rocky outcroppings, the eggs appeared to lead into a large clearing. 

Entering the clearing revealed something far more insidious than Vergil expected. It was a Hell Gate, or at least, a crude approximation of one. The Gate that towered over Fortuna was significantly larger than this one, and for good reason. Magic was fickle and sensitive to intent. More potent magics and desires required larger objects to channel power, which explained the miles-tall Gate in Fortuna. 

This Gate was significantly smaller, perhaps fifty feet, but the symbols remained unchanged. It was sure to be an unsteady mess when activated. Whoever built it did not have a thorough understanding of how the original Gate had been built in the first place. Beside it was a small pedestal with an activation switch embedded into it. This whole business reeked of the Order. Even demons with above-average intelligence wouldn't build a Gate like that. 

He thought to move forward and engage the control panel, but suddenly, the ground started to tremble. 

With nowhere else to go, Vergil leapt behind a tree bordering the clearing. Just in time too, as the makeshift Gate had begun to glow a putrid green, the same color as the eggs. From the glare, a serpentine body emerged. While it appeared snake-like at first, its snout opened like a flower to reveal the upper torso of a woman. 

If it could even be called a woman. A burst of yellow pollen silhouetted her entrance, and the ‘petals’ of her serpentine head peeled back to reveal her settled amid makeshift ‘hair’. Even from Vergil’s hiding place, he could see the large fangs in her mouth and her unnatural lilac skin. An Echidna. Demons like this one were a rare sight in the underworld. They tended to eat their own, leaving only the strongest behind. 

Disgustingly, the demon began to lay piles of eggs all around the Hell Gate, cooing to them as she did. “Grow strong, my babies! Enough to rip and tear the humans!” Ugh, her voice was grating. He wanted to cut her vocal cords to pieces with Force Edge. 

But tempting as the thought was, this was more than Vergil was equipped for right now. He couldn’t rush in and fight her without even more information, and he had gathered enough to think of a plan. As it was, the demon was already slinking back to the portal. In a flash of green, she was gone, likely to gather strength in the underworld after expending so much energy laying the eggs. 

This whole mission had gone sideways entirely too fast for Vergil’s liking. He needed to grab Nero and leave Fortuna. Never mind his physical strength or being at the mercy of the Order; anywhere was better than here. And it was with that thought that Vergil found himself walking directly backwards into a sigil carved into the ground. 

A phantom net wove around his body, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs together. His body was suspended in the air over the sigil. Force Edge slipped from his grip and landed in the dirt beneath him. The places where the net touched his bare skin burned like fire. He was hung like a common animal. 

Shit. Shit. 

He was an idiot. Of course, the Order would have placed traps out here. There was no way they were putting their unbridled faith in a demon. And he’d walked into it instead. For all his thrashing, he couldn’t undo the bindings through his power. The sigil was designed to be released by the maker - he was well and truly trapped. 

Vergil wasn't going to make it back to Nero tonight. Maybe not ever. As the sky darkened into night, he cursed himself. 

He cursed his stupidity, his weakness, and, for the first time, his heritage, which allowed him to be caught in a simple sigil. 

But it was his broken promise to Nero that burned the most. With no one around to see his failure, a single tear slipped out of his eye.

Chapter Text

Staring at a distance, this warmth is hard to find 

Sitting in the silence, I gave my best; I tried. 

Yam Yam - No Vacation 

Vergil didn’t come back that night. 

He didn’t come back when the sun started to set, painting the sky with yellow and orange streaks - the quiet man’s favorite sight to gaze at with Nero by his side. 

He didn’t come back that night when dusk set in either. The inky darkness took over the landscape, forcing Nero to seal the cave without Vergil’s watchful eyes on him. 

Vergil didn’t come back that night, even though he promised Nero he wasn’t leaving him behind. 

Liar. 

Nero couldn’t help the worried chirrs slipping out of his chest as he paced the interior of the cave. Letting his legs walk the familiar interior had felt comforting at first, but now it was agonizing to be left waiting so long. His steps were starting to get a little stilted and slow, like Vergil’s were sometimes in the mornings. Walking on two legs was still unfamiliar, but Nero wanted to try and get better at it. 

He had known how to walk on two legs when he lived at the orphanage, but that was a long time ago. He couldn't remember much from back then, but he had a fuzzy memory of a kind nun helping him learn to navigate the cramped bunks on two legs. It made his stomach feel funny to remember that though, so he kept pacing mindlessly, focusing on taking each step correctly and surely, just like Vergil. 

Try as he might to banish the man from his mind, at the thought of Vergil, a light woosh sounded out. His wing claws appeared, and they too began fluttering nervously around the space. Nero hated it when they came out without him making them. Vergil always looked like himself, besides that one time with his tail, so why did Nero have to look so different? 

He already knew they were the same kind of monster - well, he was pretty sure they were - but there were still a lot of differences between them. Whenever Nero felt any strong emotion, his wings just appeared out of thin air, complete with a mind of their own. The Order had tried to make him keep them in at all times for ‘test-ing pur-pos-es,' but it was impossible. 

Only the injections from that stuttering scientist could make his eyes heavy and his body tingly enough to stop them from popping out. Nero hated when that happened, so he supposed he was lucky after all to find someone so understanding of them. Vergil never seemed to mind his monstrous features or find them ‘un-si-ght-ly.’ 

He never yelled at Nero to wish them away, nor had he ever pinned them to Nero’s sides with tight bandages. He never hurt him and told him he was bad when he couldn’t control every part of himself. Vergil liked those parts of him. He played with him, taught him all kinds of things, and even slept with him at night when it got scary! 

…

Where was Vergil? 

He wanted him now, more than ever. Nero wanted to hold his hand again. Fall asleep beside him. Indulge in the warm feeling his presence gave him. The solemn man was the closest thing he had to a ‘family.’ A concept he’d only ever heard about from a kindly knight who used to watch over him. A family, the man had told him, was made up of people who cared about each other. It didn’t have to be a mom, a dad, and a child like in the picture books, it could be whoever loved you. The knight's family had been just him and his little sister. 

A cold hook of fear entered Nero’s heart. Maybe Vergil didn't think he was good enough to be a family. 

Had Vergil finally grown tired of him? Scared? The kindly knight had been scared of him too after a while. He’d stopped visiting Nero, even after he promised he’d come back, just like Vergil did. Nero’s eyes burned with unshed tears, and his throat felt tight. He could picture it now, Vergil’s proud, angular face turning away from him in disgust like so many others had. 

“Nero,” he would say in his strangely accented voice, “you’re a bad monster, not a good one like me. That’s why you were so easy to trick.” Then his steely eyes would flash all mad, and he would whip around, his tattered blue coat swishing after him like a storm cloud. 

Then Nero would be all alone again. That had been fine for a while, and he had even liked it! Staking out his territory and providing for himself had been satisfying deep inside. But now that he knew company, he wasn't so sure he could go back to just him. 

Nero felt tears start to fall down his face at the imagined rejection, but he rubbed them away furiously. Vergil would never say something so mean to him, he liked Nero, he did! He said so all the time, in his silly way. Vergil wasn’t as cold and distant as he pretended to be. In reality, he was often downright kind. He even smiled and hugged him, in his stiff, regal way, when he asked. 

When Nero would do well at his lessons or say something silly, Vergil’s lips would twitch subtly and his eyes would crease in the corners, even if the rest of him were still. It was always clear when he was pleased, worried, or unhappy, to Nero, at least. 

Vergil’s subtle emotions made him think of their promise and its overwhelming intensity. Nero stopped pacing abruptly. Could he have really faked that?

Vergil had looked so serious when he said it. His eyes, so much darker than Nero’s, had been lit from within by some mysterious emotion. He had gripped Nero so tightly too, but with so much care. It was so different from the way he was used to people touching him. Without the intent to hurt, the feeling was closer to the way he had seen other orphans be hugged by their new families. It all made Nero feel something burning in his gut that he couldn’t describe, and he had given his blazing promise in return. 

Something very bad must have happened for Vergil not to return, he decided. That just meant Nero would have to fulfill his end of the promise sooner than he expected. 

But could he? 

His tail thrashed on the dirt floor, skimming the top layer of silt off. The Order had always told him how strong he was as a ‘de-cend-ant of Spar-duh’, whatever that meant. And Vergil said his progress with Force Edge was impressive. But that didn’t mean he never felt scared or unsure. He wasn't like Vergil yet, no matter how much he wanted to be. Even his journey out of the cave would be difficult, blocked by a combination of his own anxiety and real dangers. 

Nero had learned his lesson long ago that moving around at night, despite being easier on his eyes, was too dangerous. Vergil’s presence usually warned the monsters off, but he wasn't here now. Maybe monsters were waiting outside the door right now. Maybe they even knew he was all alone, no protector in sight. But leaving was exactly what he needed to do now. He had to unseal the door and face whatever was out there. If he waited until dawn broke, it might be too late. 

The thought made his stomach twist, and Nero’s heart started to race as he tried to plan out his next course of action. His monstrous arm started to glow a bright blue, illuminating the cave with pale blue light. Maybe he needed to take that thing out of his arm… No. He had no idea how to use it or whether it was helpful. Vergil will know, he decided, he’d ask if the older man could use it. 

Alright, Nero hyped himself up, he could do this on his own. He could! All he had to do was track Vergil’s scent down to the grove and find him, wherever that was. Yeah, he could do that. He really could. But the stone covering the door loomed large in front of him like an ominous reminder of his shortcomings. ‘Y-y-you can't help anyone,’ it seemed to sneer in the voice of the mean scientist. ‘You l-l-like hurting people. It's all you can do.’ 

NO. 

Nero was good. He was getting better every day. Better because of Vergil! With a frustrated growl, Nero ripped the stone away from the entranceway in one fell swoop, cracking it down the middle in the process. 

Oops. 

The night air was cool on his overheated skin as he dashed out of the entrance. He had taken the first step. There weren’t even any monsters outside the cave. Nero took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, but in the process, all he really did was gasp in deep lungfuls of Vergil’s scent. It served the same purpose regardless, soothing him enough to make his way to the edge of his ‘territory.’ The scent trail was still strong, and Nero let his senses guide him to the path his protector had taken. 

The rocky trail down the mountain was challenging. Usually, Vergil carried him on his hip, so he didn’t hurt his feet walking on sharp rock. But for now, Nero knew he’d have to bear it. It was worth it to find the man who had done so much for him. He ignored the way the crunchy ground shredded the soles of his feet as he made his way down the narrow path. A little blood never scared him before. Besides, he healed quickly, just like Vergil and his scary wound. 

In more time than he would have liked, Nero made it to the forest. His feet hurt a lot, but he had to keep moving. He kept hearing strange, scary rustling noises in the leaves. He found himself speeding through the forest on four legs rather than two, just to end his journey sooner. 

When he reached the clearing, the fruit trees the pair usually harvested from looked mostly the same. The only difference was that now, they were heavy with bigger fruits and covered in denser and greener leaves. Nero wasn’t quite sure why Vergil found them so worrying. His companion acted like they would leap from the trees and attack them! They didn’t look so dangerous to him. 

Vergil’s scent was all over the grove, he must have lingered here longer. That meant he should look for signs of the man here. Though Nero wasn’t quite sure where he should explore first. Nothing leaped out at him as out of the ordinary. He strolled around aimlessly, hoping to catch something unusual. 

…

What was that? 

There! Something was under the base of the tree closest to him, and it was glistening. It looked like a pile of green goo, like the squishy toys from the orphanage, but it smelled foul and rotten. Nero recoiled away from it, something in his gut told him to stay away from those disgusting piles. Eggs, something buried instinct told him, these are monster eggs. 

Eggs? Like the chickens in Fortuna laid? These certainly didn’t look like that. These ones made him scared - scared like Vergil had been when he saw the trees. Eggs also meant a momma had laid them, Nero knew that. His heart started to palpitate in fear, a monster momma? That couldn’t be good. He needed to keep moving, keep looking for his protector. The scent trail led to a small path in the distance. That’s where he needed to go. 

But as Nero turned backwards, he bumped into something cold and hard. It felt scratchy and sharp on his back, like the knives the scientists used. From somewhere above his head, a deep rumble began, and wet, warm saliva from an open maw dripped onto his hair thickly. 

He hadn’t backed up into a tree. He had backed up into the chest of a monster. 

Nero scrabbled to launch himself away, but he was too slow. The scaled monster raised one taloned hand and smacked him clear across the grove. His body rolled until it reached the base of a tree, and he curled up in pain. The impact had slammed all the air out of him, and he quivered violently as he tried to suck in a breath. 

Just as Nero was able to rise to his knees, the monster was on him again. The reptilian thing was hunched low to the ground as it sped towards him, pinning him on his back. Its eyes were dark, with no pupils to be seen, and its mouth was a sea of sharp fangs. A long forked tongue flicked out of its mouth and licked a stripe up Nero’s face in hunger. It seemed to like what it tasted because its talons were digging into Nero’s shoulders harder now, and he thrashed in vain to free himself from the overwhelming weight on top of him. 

He was going to die. He was going to die . Nero tried to summon his claws, but they wouldn't appear. He couldn’t concentrate with the monster tearing deep gouges into the flesh of his shoulders, and Nero shrieked in fear. He couldn't make his power work how he wanted it to, and he started to cry miserably in a combination of frustration and terror. 

I’m sorry, Vergil. I’m sorry! I just wanted… to be like you! 

ROOOAARRRRR!!!!!

Nero felt an overwhelming heat pass over his body and the shine of something red-hot. 

Oh no. Nero’s stomach dropped to the floor as he realized who had saved him. This was way worse than the monster. At least that death would be a quick one. These monsters were a totally different breed. 

The reptile that had been pinning him to the ground dissipated in a shower of blood. As Nero once again scrabbled to his feet, he saw them clearly. A group of men in long white cloaks carrying the revving swords of the Order were standing by. A cruel-looking man with a long twisting scar on his cheek was coming towards him. He must be the Captain, Nero realized, and the one who killed that monster in one strike. 

Nero hissed and growled to warn him away, but it did no good. The man was crouched right in front of him now. He gripped his chin tightly, forcing him to stop backpedaling away in fear. His body was frozen, too afraid to move in the presence of his tormentors. 

“Well, well, well.” The man sneered, “I didn’t expect to find our little escapee out here. Did you, boys?” 

The man hadn't turned to address his men, but it was clear he still expected them to answer. Nero had never seen this captain before, but he knew instinctively that he must be one of the cruelest ones. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard as he snapped at the gathered assembly. 

“N-No, Amon,” a timid voice spoke up. “We patrol Mitis every day, but we never saw him.” A sharp silence fell over the group. The man who had spoken up looked young and inexperienced. Nero thought he could spy a training patch on his left arm. Even though he knew these Knights would bring him nothing but pain, he shared the fearful expression the young man’s peers held. Nothing good could come from displeasing this ‘Amon.’

But he surprised Nero by merely singing, “Wrong answer!” in a childish voice. “Let’s try again, cadet. Tell me, why is the Order’s most precious experiment wandering Mitis when I explicitly assigned you to this task?”

There was no immediate response from the group. Amon stood to face them, a peaceful look on his face that screamed, ‘I won’t be angry at you! Just tell the truth!’ The man from before, maybe comforted by this expression, shuffled anxiously before opening his mouth to speak. Nero noticed at that moment that the cadet was twisting a golden wedding ring on his finger for reassurance. 

But in the end, the young Knight never had the chance to vocalize his response. 

Amon pulled a gun from his robes and shot the cadet point-blank. The close-range bullet nearly destroyed the Order member's head, and it gushed a fountain of meat and blood. The sound of liquid spraying against the leaves almost sounded like pattering rain. The man’s twitching body dropped to the forest floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Unfortunately, he didn’t die right away. The young man’s death spasms seemed to last an eternity while his mouth opened and closed unconsciously. 

Nero started to tremble with more intensity. 

There were some in the Order who joined for purely self-motivated reasons, like the ones who hurt him. They tended to work outside the rules of the organization, but Nero had never seen one use a gun before. The other Order members were clearly afraid and covered in the remains of their companion, but remained in formation. 

“Tie him up,” Amon sneered, all previous serenity forgotten, “We have a meeting to get to.” With that single command, the other Order members advanced. 

Nero had nowhere to go, no way to fight back. He tried to run, but one of the men hit him in the head with the heel of his sword. Nero’s vision went blurry, and his body ached. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the leering face of Amon. 

Chapter Text

Alone at the edge of the Universe humming a tune

For merely dreaming we were snow

Dream Sweet in Sea Major- Miracle Musical 

Hanging in a trap for hours was even less exciting than it sounded. 

To continually test his bonds, Vergil would attempt to thrash and claw his way through the phantom threads - but no such luck. A weak or poorly made sigil would often come undone when stress was applied to it, but this one was holding fast. He wasn’t able to fully trigger either, only partially transform himself. The creator must have been decently proficient in spell casting, which was in itself an irritating thought. Magic wasn’t an easy thing to learn, even for demons. It was usually found in the form of small innate spells, like his mirage blades or Nero’s wings. 

What arrogant person dared to build an unstable Hell Gate and a sigil like this? Vergil could only cast his mind back to his youth. There was only one member who stood out among the rest. That older priest, Sanctus, had come across him once while investigating church documents. That woman had warned him that the man was rising in the ranks rather quickly. Vergil hadn’t believed it then - the man was pitifully weak. He’d easily broken into his chambers and stolen what he needed. 

Yet, that foolish man’s will had come to fruition. 

Complacency and weakness in humans were easy to destroy - true talent and ambition were much harder to squash. Again, he was reminded of Arkham and his insidious ways - that man was willing to kill his wife and daughter to advance his goals. Who could say what the Order was willing to sacrifice? They had increased their knowledge over the years in ways Vergil hadn’t foreseen possible. Nero’s litany of scars and his profuse fear in the face of human interaction had made it clear that they weren’t above much. They had likely done even worse before the child had come along. 

The sigil proved that they at least had some grasp on a world outside their own. Speaking of, Vergil’s muscles were starting to ache. A combination of stress and the rope tension across his body was slowly sapping his strength. It might have been his imagination, but it felt like the bonds were getting tighter and tighter the longer he remained trapped. A headache was starting to brew behind his temples and across the bridge of his brows. The captivity and sensation of helplessness were forcing uncomfortable feelings to well up inside him. Mundus had always favored chaining him down as a sign of submission. 

Unbidden, the memories of The Dark Prince’s displeasure began flashing behind his eyelids. At first, Vergil rebelled whenever he could. But soon, he realized how futile that was. The chains holding him down in the dark ether were unbreakable, no matter how hard he struggled. The armor was forced on, piece by piece. It suctioned to his flesh like a leech gulping down blood from an open wound. Vergil felt how the magic of the corrupt metal subverted his own, turning it just as dark as Mundus’s aura. Pain became familiar, and he even enjoyed feeling it at times. It meant he was alive. That he was still… someone. 

Before long, he wasn’t himself at all. He became ‘Nelo Angelo,’ the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant, despite being a seed of Sparda. He lived to follow orders. He was a tool, something to be wielded. You wouldn’t ask an iron why it pressed clothes, that was simply its natural purpose - what it was built for. Looking back now, the scariest part of his capture hadn’t been the considerable pain of the ordeal. It was how he still unconsciously desired direction, a master , even now that he knew he was free from any influence. 

Vergil struggled to blink back the tears that had surfaced in his eyes. He had to push these feelings away. Nero… Nero still needed him. He could never let the boy suffer the same pain as he had. If he gave up now, he was condemning the child to a life of slavery. He squeezed his eyes shut and dispelled the thought. 

As he shifted uncomfortably against the restraints, he could only hope there wouldn’t be any lasting damage. His chest wound was nearly healed, if it was ripped back open, he couldn’t guarantee his fighting ability. That, and he desperately wanted to relax his body in the hopes of appearing more nonchalant when his assailants appeared, but he was too tightly wired to put on his usual smug charade. 

His instincts were starting to go wild due to the proximity of the artificial Hell Gate. It oozed a slimy energy that was beginning to taint his own, like being slowly coated in a cold, but viscous, tar. It was likely a measure taken by the Order to keep the Echidna from becoming too bold in her exploration of Mitis, but it was dulling his senses the longer he was trapped. 

Vergil wouldn’t have even been able to detect Nero’s slight signature if the boy had been standing right in front of him. 

Nero. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on breaking the sigil.  

Vergil knew the boy was going to be angry with him, and deservedly so. He had made a promise with every intent to keep it, yet he still failed. He shouldn't have pushed forward for intel when he had more than enough information. Once again, his stubbornness had been his downfall. 

Vergil could only hope the boy had stayed put like he had asked. But the more he considered it, the less likely it seemed. Nero was as stubborn as he was, and that might lead to dangerous results. The boy was attached to his hip on most days and had already promised his fealty. Guiltily, he hoped the boy’s innate fear of the unknown would keep him in the cave. At least that way, he’d be out of harm's way. 

Though Vergil felt a pit in his stomach as soon as the thought crossed his mind. Nero had made significant progress in the short weeks they spent together. He was no longer the feral boy who attacked him mindlessly. He was becoming something much more fleshed out and real. The boy had a fiery personality that his trauma couldn’t contain. He loved learning new things, whether it be swordplay or language. Most of all, Nero adored doing anything and everything with him.

Vergil wasn't sure how to feel about that. Arguably, it was a good thing for Nero to become more functional in human society, but his progress was affecting him in odd ways. 

He felt things much more deeply than he had previously.

He had desires beyond power.

He dreamed about more than the misfortune he endured. 

Vergil was changing, and he couldn’t tell if it was for better or for worse. 

It was scary, losing himself like that to another person. It was why he left Fortuna in the first place. Vergil wanted to run away from these thoughts - Mundus, the Order, Nero - and push them to the back of his mind, but the situation didn’t allow him to. Stuck at the mercy of someone else, all he had were his thoughts. Miserably, he resigned himself to more waiting. 

Though he didn’t have to wait much longer. 

He was broken out of his reverie a short while later by the sound of crunching leaves and thudding footsteps. It sounded like something heavy was approaching, no, being dragged by a crowd of people. From an outcropping to Vergil’s left, figures cloaked in heavy white garments emerged from the opposite treeline. 

The Order of the Sword had arrived. 

One figure in particular led the pack, a broadly built man whose cloak was slightly more luminous than the others. Great, a true believer then, or at least, one who purported to be. As the man turned the corner to the clearing, Vergil saw he had a nasty scar twisting his otherwise soft features. He was the kind of man who, in any other circumstance, would have been a benign sight - a true blend of non-noticeable features that denoted complacency. 

But it was what the man was dragging behind him that had Vergil seeing red. 

Nero’s small body was tied like that of a wild animal, knotted at the bendable joints uncomfortably tight. Drips of fresh blood coated his luminous hair. In the moonlight, the boy looked even paler from blood loss. He was covered in bruises and cuts from the rough treatment he must have endured during his capture. The group had dragged him through the forest like he was a common demon killed on a hunt. They paid no attention to the rough ground, letting every bit of forest debris catch and pull at his skin as they entered the clearing. 

At least Nero was unconscious, or just barely there, as he didn't make one squeak of protest at being dragged across rocky ground. Vergil instinctively tried to touch his energy to Nero’s to comfort the boy and himself, but he felt nothing. Nero’s gentle sleeping power was silent. For a quick, terrifying moment, Vergil thought he must be dead. 

Dead. 

Dead. 

What did that mean, again?

It meant no more walking up with the boy’s small chest pressed to his. It meant no more happy smiles when Nero managed to complete a complex sword swing. It meant Vergil wouldn’t see anymore growing up the small boy had in his future. It meant no more anything. 

For one blissful second, Vergil’s mind was perfectly blank. Then it was filled with a primal rage like he’d never known. He couldn’t stop the flood of deep-seated instinct flowing through him even if he wanted to. The pressure of defending his nestling, the terror that Nero might be dead… He could no longer think as a human, and the majority of his mind slipped away. 

He roared out his displeasure in a growl that shook the trees nearby. His, his, his. That man killed what was his. His baby. His nestling. The snarling noise transformed into a truly monstrous cacophony of noise. Distorted words in a mixture of Infernal and English spilled out of Vergil’s mouth in a whirlwind of vitriol. 

Most of the Order group jumped back in terror at the sudden screech, heads whipping towards him, but the leader didn’t react. The man slowly pivoted to look at Vergil and smiled with a broad, toothy grin, making his way closer. 

It was an ugly thing, that smile. It was laced with barely human excitement. Excitement for what Vergil couldn’t place in his current state. It only infuriated him further, taking the man’s teeth as a sign of returned aggression, and he snarled deep in his chest. His body ached to trigger fully, and he allowed it to transform him as much as he could. 

Vergil could feel his own broad, spiked tail pressed against his back, twitching with agitation and fear. His nestling was in danger; he needed to get to him. He needed to get to him. And this human was preventing him from doing so. 

Undeterred by the display in front of him that would have cowed even the most fearless of Order members, the man began to speak to his men while facing Vergil. “What a wonderful surprise, it seems we've caught the little demon’s sire as well.” The others shuffled nervously, clearly too afraid to come any closer. Though at the word sire, Nero’s body began to twitch in the dirt, and his eyes fluttered. Swiftly, the scarred man kicked Nero in the side, hard. The boy’s small frame folded in on itself, clearly in pain. When Nero didn’t cease twitching, the man kicked him again and again until he stopped moving. 

Vergil roared savagely at the act, sharpened claws swiping through the holes in the net that bound him. He very nearly managed to slice the human's neck before the man calmly stepped backwards. How dare he touch what was his? How dare he harm his nestling? He wanted to scream at the man and debase him thoroughly, but he couldn’t think past his rage. Still shaking on the floor, Nero let out a feeble call for protection that must have been instinctual, as Vergil returned it unthinkingly with a high croon of his own. 

At that, the man laughed heartily. “They’re just alike these two. Disgusting hybrids, both of them.” The other recruits laughed too, and some called out for Amon to kick Nero harder. With a tug, the man lifted Nero’s body by a single rope, so he was eye level with Vergil. “I am Amon.” The man said smugly, as if Vergil was meant to know who he was, “And if you want this back, I suggest you listen closely.” 

The meaning of the words hardly mattered to Vergil in his current state. He only knew Nero’s pain, and he writhed and snarled. When he was free, this man would die, savaged beyond recognition. Vergil forced himself to speak, to tell this human, this Amon, that he was looking at a descendant of his God. 

“Worthless creature,” Vergil hissed through his now forked tongue. “You will regret this; I am a son of Sparda! Return him to me NOW, and you stand a chance to live.” 

Some Order members looked conflicted by his admission, but others continued jeering. At the mention of their God, some of the more faithful devotees seemed to lose their conviction for beating a helpless child. But what were they ultimately more afraid of? Sparda’s wrath, or Amon’s? 

One stammered, his eyes glued to the floor, “Amon, if that is true, if they are descendants of Sparda, we should leave them be.” The Order member looked at his comrades for support, and some nodded shakily in agreement. 

“Fool!” Amon spat, his face twisted in anger. “They are nothing but fragments compared to Sparda! Nothing more than demonic scum. Conduits for a power they hardly deserve. What do you think the boy is for?” At this, the few conflicted recruits fell back into line, their faces stony. “You will learn tonight, all of you!” Amon barked. “These demons are not to be trusted, they are to be contained!” 

“Contained?” a feminine voice hissed. “Oh, Amon, you wound me!” It was then, from the depths of the glowing Hell Gate, that the Echidna slipped back into the Human world.

Chapter Text

Next time you point a finger

I might have to break it, break it off

Next time you point a finger

I’ll point you to the mirror 

Playing God - Paramore 

As the Echidna slunk out of the gate, she seemed even larger than she had been a few hours ago. And perhaps a little uglier as well, but that was probably the fury still thrumming through Vergil’s body speaking. The mauve petals of her upper torso unfolded with a sticky snap, revealing her fanged smile pointed in Amon’s direction. 

“Am I not your favored one? ” The beast hissed lowly. “Am I not the ressssult of your Order’s precioussss Hell Gate? ” The sound of slithering scales was like a thunderous waterfall as the Echidna wrapped her way around the clearing, effectively sealing in its occupants. “Oh Amon,” she cried, “I believed I wassss your only!”  

The Echidna’s teasing tone resembled a predator stalking prey, not mutual respect. She pretended to cry, wiping away false tears, but Vergil could still see her savage grin beneath her clawed hands. He understood then that these two were in an unsteady alliance based on nothing more than mutual gain. The ‘game’ being played was not just one of physical intimidation, but also mental aptitude. 

The Order’s interference in demonic summoning had allowed the Echidna to escape the Underworld for better prey. In return, Amon received a weapon more deadly than he could have imagined, if he could outwit her. This type of posturing was a favorite pastime for higher demons who had the power and intellect to engage in it. Vergil found it sickening in this case. It was a deformed parody of the inspired intellectual debate he had once preferred with someone else…

But Amon, for all his previous posturing regarding demons, smoothed the twisted expression warping his face. “My Lady,” he said with a slight bow, “of course, you are more magnificent than these half-breeds.” 

The man stalked forward, dragging Nero roughly behind him once more. Vergil roared again in abject fury. He needed Amon close if he wanted to create an opening to destroy his bindings and kill the man. But all he succeeded in doing was drawing the attention of the Echidna. She said nothing, merely observing his struggle underneath long, pollen-dusted lashes. 

“Our meeting may have been… delayed, but I remain committed to our continued success.” Amon was within reaching distance of the Echidna’s human-like limbs, but he showed no outward signs of fear. If he had, Vergil was sure the beast would have devoured him whole. However, speaking to the vague idea of past wins was still the wrong move. “Successssss? ” The snake spat. “And what would I know of successss, trapped as I am? ”

“You are gazing upon it, my Lady,” Amon spoke with such smugness that Vergil longed to tear his vocal cords out. “These half-breeds will function as decent sacrifices for you, won’t they? If they don’t please you, perhaps these cadets will.” The other Order member shuffled nervously at this, all previous violent camaraderie with Amon forgotten. “But, as you surely understand, these two carry the blood of Sparda. That should strengthen you to move beyond your bindings, should it not?” While Amon moved closer, the Echidna pretended to contemplate this.

Meanwhile, Nero’s light twitching against whatever had incapacitated him had worn off. The boy was fully awake now and attempting to squirm away from the snake beast as Amon moved closer. It was fruitless, as Amon was now face-to-face with the demon. In a move that disgusted Vergil beyond words, Amon started to twine his fingers through the petal-like appendages that adorned the Echinda’s head. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Amon spoke lowly, as if in bed with a lover. His hands were covered in the sticky substance that coated the flower-like limbs, and he licked it off his fingers with purpose. “More power?” Amon purred, “I can give that to you.” The Echidna seemed to lean into the contact one moment, but in the next, she was snapping her whip-like hair in an attempt to decapitate Amon. However, Amon seemed to anticipate the snake's reaction; the appendages met the end of his broadsword with a clash of sparks. 

The Echidna laughed uproariously as her attack was deterred. The She-beast swiveled the upper portion of her long body to resemble a more lounging, relaxed coil. “Bring him forward then.” She purred out. “Let me sssssee for myself if this child is the ssssspawn of Sssssparda.” The Echidna turned to coldly stare at Vergil, “Besidessss, there issss nothing more sssssatisfying than reliving the ssssire of a nestling. Especially one sssoo… weak.” 

From within his robes, Amon revealed a small dagger and pressed it to Nero’s throat. The boy started to whimper and cry. “Vergil! Vergil! Please!” 

His boy’s cries spurred Vergil to push more forcefully on his bindings. In his soul, he felt the magic of the bindings creak against his force. But he still couldn’t break the ropes! Amon's knife cut into Nero’s throat as he screamed for help. The Echidna’s mottled tongue curled around the boy’s throat, greedily lapping up his spilled blood. Drips of crimson spilled from the corner of her gaping maw. The serpent barely resembled a human being now, twisted by her blood-drunk pleasure.  

The Echidna threw her head back and laughed as her extended claws came to encircle Nero’s face. “Ssssooo it’ssss true… You are a descendant of Ssssparda!” she crowed. “Yesssss, you will be a fine ssssacrifice for my babies!” She opened her mouth wide, wider, then even w i d e r to devour his boy whole like the snake she was. Her jaw, once confined to the laws of nature, was now so large that she could swallow Nero whole with little effort. 

Vergil couldn’t breathe. Once again, he was going to fail protecting the one he loved. Memories started to flash in his mind. He saw his mother’s face again, eyes wide in terror and burned black by the flames that engulfed his home. He saw Dante’s stricken expression as the Yamato sliced his hand, letting Vergil fall to the Underworld. He saw that woman’s saddened, yet resigned face as he told her he was leaving for good this time. It was too much. An explosion was gathering in his body, and it only needed a final push to ignite the fuse. 

As his mind went fuzzy, Vergil thought he saw his father frowning amid a transparent meadow of Purple Hycaniths - just as he used to in quiet moments alone in the family garden. Then everything went white. 

The bindings holding Vergil in place exploded into nothing as he broke the sigil. Fully triggered, he roared all of his anger and pain into the night. The tough hide that he could only partially manifest before his capture now covered his entire body, slipping on like a second skin. The horns erupting from his skull felt like they were cooking his brain with the intense blue flames they emitted. His whole body felt hot and pulsating with his fury. 

In his mouth, he felt his tongue and teeth elongate. Once blunt and human, now, Vergil’s maw was filled with rows upon rows of sharpened fangs - aching to rip and tear. Drool poured out of his mouth as he caught the stink of human fear. His tail, now fully freed, cracked in the air. The deadly spike at the end sang in the air as it cleaved through the remaining ropes. He fell to the ground, on four legs rather than two, more like how Nero preferred to stand. 

Vergil’s power had never felt so untamed and wild before. He hadn’t even felt this way going all out against Dante. He fell upon the frightened Order members with the ferality of a starved dog. They stood no chance against all of his demonic might. He ripped and tore until he could feel no more movement beneath his claws. Even then, he tore into the throats of the dead until blood sprayed in wide arcs across his body. Their flesh tasted like life itself after weeks of a plant-based diet. The fear pumping through their veins made blood bloom quickly across his tongue, and he struggled to swallow it all. 

The screams of the dying were so pleasurable that Vergil almost forgot his purpose, lost in the mindless slaughter. Over the death gurgles of the remaining Order members, he heard it. The squeaking cry of his nestling. Nero was the reason he was fighting. With huge snarling breaths, he forced himself to leave the gore behind and face Amon. 

Narrowing slit pupils, he could see that Nero still had tears streaming down his cheeks, but was giving off a pitchy cry that resonated in Vergil’s bones and made his teeth and claws ache. The Echidna, for her part, looked annoyed, likely put off by her spoiled feeding. Amon had taken the boy back by the scruff of his neck and was shaking him roughly. 

He would die first. 

Vergil bounded across the clearing, intending with everything he had to kill Amon slowly. First, he thought giddily, he would puncture the man’s lungs. Watching Amon struggle to breathe and use his poisonous tongue would be so sweet. Then he would maim him to the brink of death. Slices here and there, just as the Order had inflicted on his boy. His flames could char the horrid man’s flesh to the bone, leaving him alive, but barely.

He wanted the man to be alive while Vergil cracked open his ribcage and devoured his organs. The chewy flesh would be so sweet, fattened by a life of perceived superiority. Nero could have the man’s heart, sharing in the spoils of their enemy’s flesh. It would make his child stronger to devour his enemy’s spirit. The bone marrow, cracked open by his protector's claws, would make a fine treat for the little growing devil. 

Even then, Vergil wouldn’t let the man rest in death. He would reduce the leftovers to atoms, no longer recognizable to man or demon. Just a fine red mist spattered on the ground. Perfect. 

Yet, Amon smiled as Vergil streaked toward him. 

In his scattered and demonic mind, he couldn’t understand how the man didn’t seek to extend his life - even if it were just for a short while. But he would understand soon. 

Just before Vergil could sink his claws into flesh, the Echidna’s scales blocked his way, forcing him to skid back, belly low to the ground. “My, my, aren’t you a protective one? Sssson of Ssssparda… You will die. Then I will devour your corpse and feast on your child.” The beast had reared up in striking position, protecting Amon and shielding him from physical attack. 

Fine. 

Vergil flexed his muscles against the dirt ground and planted his feet. One clawed hand scooped Force Edge off the ground. He would just have to settle for killing this bitch first. 

Chapter Text

Like the ocean needs the moon to take the tides away

All we need’s a little time to chase the blues away

Into Yesterday - Sugar Ray

The Echidna immediately reared up against Vergil’s defensive position and slashed forward with her massive tail. Vergil leapt back and dodged it, but she followed it up with a volley of strikes from her whip-like hair. These too were deflected and avoided, but the cloud of pollen that perfumed the air after the attack made his lungs burn with effort. It was impossible to get close to the beasts' weaker, more human-like flesh. She kept a remarkably tight defense interspersed with heavy, far-reaching blows. The ground below them shook and rumbled with each lunge of her massive body. 

Roaring in a combination of fury and pain, Vergil managed to nick her tail as it swiped past him for another whip-like attack. But her quick coiling mass avoided most of the damage Force Edge could provide. Again, the loss of Yamato was palpable. He wasn't used to the far shorter reach of his father’s blade. He had to thrust forward much further than he expected to land blows on the toughened scales, and that left him open to attack. 

Vergil knew he was usually quicker than this too, but the internal flickering of his trigger told him that his body was still not at peak performance. When he tried to call forth his doppelganger as a distraction, it did not appear. With irritation, he conceded that his reserves were simply not large enough right now to summon it. The best he could do now was sparse mirage blades. On the next pass of coiled flesh, he tried to strike the beast with his summoned swords, and miraculously, they struck true. But they pierced the Echidna’s hide shallowly. With an irritated flick, the swords were dispelled and dislodged from her body. 

It was starting to dawn on Vergil that this snake wasn’t to be underestimated. She had gained significant power from the Hell Gate, and the gap between their physicality was starting to show. The Echidna must have realized this as well, because she let out a hissing laugh between strikes. “What’s the matter, sssson of Ssssparda? Giving up already?” 

He didn’t respond. The beast was trying to goad Vergil into losing focus, and that was something he could not allow. He still had other weapons at his disposal. His claws did significant damage to scaled targets, but again, it was difficult to get in close enough to use them. The hit on her tail was mainly due to luck and instinct working together. The Echidna’s sweeping attacks forced Vergil to stay on the defensive anyway. He had to use Trick Down to bypass her broad swipes by a hair's breadth each time. 

The quick curves of her tail gave Vergil little to no room to contemplate how he would keep a lock on Amon and Nero while he fought either. Her large body was still doing a decent job of protecting her ally, though she was forced to leave him unguarded at times. The brief seconds between her sweeping attacks let Vergil sneak peeks at Amon and Nero. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see how the man had retreated behind the Hell Gate. He was using the solid block of stone as a makeshift shield against the debris being whipped up by the battle. Now fully awake and thrashing, Amon was straining to hold Nero’s rope tightly. He wasn’t causing any direct harm to the boy, but as the past had shown, he clearly would if the need arose. 

Vergil had to trust that the threat of the Echidna being taken out would make Nero a good enough bargaining chip for Amon. If the snake fell before him, there would be nothing protecting the fragile human. The boy’s energy was also pressing into Vergil’s insistently, making him shake with alien need and adrenaline. Across the clearing, he briefly locked eyes with the terrified child.  

BAM! 

The ground shook with the force of the Echidna’s strike, and she let out a high-pitched laugh. The tail end of her attack had clipped Vergil in the shoulder and spun him to the ground. He’d been successfully distracted. He moved just in time as the Echidna let loose a cloud of pollen where he once stood. 

Vergil’s shoulder ached; thankfully, the damage was surface level and healed quickly, but he couldn’t afford to be preoccupied like this. He was not built like his brother despite their facial similarities. While Dante could tank powerful hits, Vergil, frustratingly, could not. He was more suited to quick strikes and speed-driven movement, neither of which was helpful against the Echidna. He was usually single-minded and focused during battle, but the boy’s safety and the potential threat of Amon were distracting him. 

If he wanted to ensure Nero’s safety, he had to give his all in this fight. It pained him to look away from the pair, but taking out the snake was the higher priority. His usual fighting style prioritized strategy, and he intended to use that to his advantage. Think, Vergil thought to himself, why does she attack this way?

The Echidna always used her lower body to create massive strikes, limiting her upper, more human-like portion to secondary follow-ups. She would intermittently cover it with a more snake-like facade as well. Her scales also didn’t cover the fleshy whips on her head or the skin of her torso. Vergil had initially assumed that they were toughened regardless of appearance, like others of her kind, but now he realized it was a weakness of hers. 

No wonder this beast needed the Order; she was malformed compared to other Echidna. Surging forward, Vergil made a dash for her tail, and the beast twisted to meet his attack. But at the last moment, he used his momentum to leap upwards to slash at the Echidna’s face. Finally, his claws found purchase against his enemy. Vergil clawed deep gouges into her neck, and the snake shrieked in pain.

The wounds dipped green over the snake's breast as she thrashed in anger. “YOU!!!” she yowled in rage, “You’ll regret that Sssson of Ssssparda!” Her wounds healed with a sickly green light. 

Using her now coiled lower body, the she-beast leapt into the air and split her snake body into sections. No, split was the wrong word, the Echidna had somehow transformed her lower body into a parachute-like shape that spanned the entirety of the clearing. The skin unfurled with a sickening crack as it covered the moon. 

She secured herself with large, tentacle protrusions that embedded themselves into the ground. The flesh of the ‘parachute’ was thin and membrane-like, but it was the egg-shaped sac that descended from the middle that disturbed Vergil the most. Was she preparing to lay eggs? Right now? Well, this would be as good a time as any to use Force Edge. 

Gripping the dirt with elongated talons, Vergil took the risk and propelled himself across the clearing. He made it! But not before something made a heavy impact on his spike-lined back, flattening him to the ground. Head spinning, he heard the crowing laugh of the Echidna from above him. He forced himself to his feet, Force Edge held in front of him defensively. 

The egg sac that had descended from the membranous skin was functioning as a makeshift turret, firing eggs of various sizes at him. Disgusting. For a demon so concerned with procreation, she didn't have a problem using her children as weapons. No matter, now that he had an opening that was much more obvious, he could fight more efficiently. Dashing forward and springing into the air, Vergil landed several damning hits on her thin-skinned underbelly. With a caterwauling yell, the umbrella of skin abruptly slammed shut, and the beast was back to her original form. 

The she-snake was starting to look exhausted from their brief battle, and to be honest, Vergil was feeling the strain as well. He could feel his trigger waning, nearly depleted. He wasn't sure that he could teleport away from the Echidna fast enough without it. Then, from the Hell Gate, Vergil heard Nero’s frantic cries rise in pitch. 

Amon was on top of the boy, straddling his hips with a knife pressed into his neck. He couldn't hear what the man was yelling at Nero, but Amon’s face was split into a fearsome snarl. It looked like the side of his head was bleeding profusely as well, an injury from Nero? 

The boy’s arm was glowing something fierce in the man’s grip, and Vergil could practically taste the boy’s anguish and fear. Forget the Echidna. He needed to reach his nestling NOW. He made to dash across the clearing, but his trigger vanished in a burst of sparks, leaving him running on human legs. As if in slow motion, Vergil watched Amon raise the knife above his head, preparing to plunge it into Nero’s chest. 

Almost there, almost! He was so close. He was always so close. Vergil watched in horror as Nero ripped his glowing arm out of Amon’s grip and raised it to block the blow. But when the knife touched his scales, a blinding light flashed out, and a familiar power shook the ground. 

Chapter Text

Hey, what did you hear me say?

You know the difference it makes 

What did you hear me say?

Erase / Rewind - The Cardigans

A few moments earlier…

How could things have gone so wrong so quickly? When Nero had left the cave, he felt braver than he ever had in his life, practically on top of the world! But all his fight went out when the Order was involved. Just the sight of them had him twitching in remembrance and fear. He would have much preferred the demon that attacked him to rip him to shreds before being recaptured. Not for the first time in his short life, he longed for more power. I’m worthless after all, Nero thought to himself. Even with all the training Vergil had given him, he couldn’t make a difference. 

When he finally came to, bound and trapped by Amon and his crew, he could sense Vergil’s presence in the clearing. But he couldn't see him properly. His eyesight was still blurred from the sharp blow to his head. Without the aid of his physical senses, Nero felt even more helpless. He tried his best to press his feeble energy against Vergil's, but the returning pressure was strangely subdued. Something was wrong, really wrong if Vergil couldn't make things right like he usually did. 

This was more than finding odd forests, more than being attacked by Order members, more than anything he endured in the labs. This is what Vergil had tried to warn him about, but he didn’t listen. Terrified cries slipped out of his mouth, and he felt the familiar hazy headspace that usually foreshadowed a massive demonic breakdown coming on. 

Vergil could probably barely understand him, much less come to his aid right now. But distantly, Nero heard him returning his cries with the same frantic intensity. In the throes of blurry pain, the throaty roars of his protector both soothed and incensed him. If he were here, Nero needed his help now. But as his vision slowly stopped swimming and his heaving breaths evened, he understood why Vergil hadn’t immediately killed Amon and rescued him. 

Vergil was trapped by the Order as well. Nero could only wail in distress, far beyond human words. 

Yes, he was reunited with Vergil as intended, but at what cost? His protector was trapped in some kind of off-putting human magic, and even he could feel the power radiating off the seal. It wouldn't break easily - Nero knew that for sure. In the lab, they used similar ones to keep him immobile and drain him of strength. 

That didn’t seem to be stopping Vergil, though. The man was pressing against the seal with everything he had and roaring his displeasure all the while. For a fleeting second, Nero felt happiness at how much more Vergil looked like him, partially transformed. As they briefly locked eyes, Nero could feel Vergil’s energy as it usually was, his flowing power unrestrained and wild despite his usual appearances. 

But now, Amon was steadily edging closer to the massive snake-like demon that emerged from the portal during his disoriented struggles. Nero couldn't help but try to wiggle away as the man cooed lovingly at the beast, but his bonds were too tight. Amon had twisted and turned him like a prized cut of meat for the demon, cutting off his line of sight with Vergil. His eyes darted back and forth wildly, trying desperately to regain that comforting eye contact. He could hear Vergil roaring and snarling for him, and it only made Nero’s escape attempts more frantic. 

He needed to reach him; he needed his strength. He tried to call back, but all that escaped were more feeble chirps. 

Amid another struggle to move away, Amon started to lift him by the long stretch of rope tied to his back. But something Amon said must have irritated the snake because she whipped something at his head too fast for Nero to see. He started to cry in earnest now - fat, hot tears sliding down his face as the fear pulsing through him made his body quake. 

The beast was looking right at him now, and he felt paralyzed under her slit-eyed, unnatural scrutiny. His demonic arm was burning from her proximity, and the incessant chant of his instincts to do something, anything, increased tenfold. He knew what his arm wanted him to do, but it was useless! That thing was broken beyond repair, no matter how many times the Order had tried to make him fix it. The snake was letting out a low hum as she appraised him. It was the sound of a predator’s satisfaction as they closed in on their prey. 

Even worse, Amon whipped out a knife and started to press it against his throat. Nero began to really wail now. “Vergil!” he screamed, regaining his human voice. “Vergil, please!” Nero couldn't hear the conversation between the Knight and beast, nor whether Vergil had answered him verbally, because his ears suddenly started ringing with power so intense he feared he might go deaf. 

It was Vergil! It had to be Vergil! 

But still, no one came. 

The sigil couldn't be broken; that was the whole point of it! Nero couldn't look away now to check either; the irises of the snake were scarily mesmerizing. They kept him in place the same way a horrible accident roots bystanders to the spot. From deep within her dark maw, the snake unfurled a long, tentacle-like tongue. The slimy appendage slowly coiled around his throat and licked up the thin line of blood from Amon’s knife. The mouth of the giant snake loomed over Nero, stretching wider and wider until he could count all of her razor-sharp teeth. 

He was going to die. He was going to die! That feeling was welling up in him, the feeling that only meant death and pain for others... Should he release it? The pressure was so much…Then everything went white. 

When Nero finally managed to open his eyes again, he was no longer in the jaws of the beast. Instead, what stood before him was a mighty demon. His power roiled over Nero’s body in eerily familiar waves. Sire! Something deep within him cried. It was Vergil, no doubt about it. Now covered in blue scales, talons, and a snapping jaw so similar to his own, he was making short work of the Order members that accompanied Amon. 

Rending flesh from bone seemed like second nature for Vergil, and soon, the men who had once terrified Nero were dead. While the gruesome sight should have horrified him, instead, it filled him with a sick elation. His sire was worthy, a fearsome protector and challenger who would always protect Nero from harm. Even though tears were still falling from his eyes, the pitchy cry that escaped him called for Vergil from a place deep within. 

Amon started to shake him in anger, but Nero didn’t care in the slightest anymore. The call was unlike anything that he had ever released before, and it had a profound impact on the demon in front of him. Vergil whipped away from the pulpy remains of the Order members with gore dripping from his feral maw. He was bounding across the clearing now, coming to Nero’s rescue! Finally! 

But nothing in life was that easy. With one slick movement, the snake demon slung her massive body in front of Nero and Amon. 

From above him, Nero heard Amon laugh lowly. It was a foul sound after the previous happiness Nero felt. That laugh signaled further suffering for him. “I knew he was an overly sentimental fool, but this is an even better outcome than I could have hoped for!” Amon sneered. Taking Nero by his bindings once again, he dragged him towards the large pillar of black marble. But with renewed confidence, Nero started to thrash more aggressively, snarling and clawing at what he could reach. Behind him, a massive sound akin to an explosion rang out. Vergil was fighting his hardest to get back to him, so Nero should do the same. 

Whipping the short length of tail not bound to his body, he scored a lucky jab that pierced through the leather of Amon’s boot. Thundering in pain, Amon kicked him harshly in the stomach. “Insolent wretch!” he shouted. “ You’re lucky the Order needs your blood for the Savior!” The pain in Nero’s stomach was bad, but he was sure it was nothing compared to what Vergil was going through fighting the snake beast. The sounds of their epic clash echoed through the clearing. Nero couldn’t give up, not at any cost - not when he had so much to lose and so much to gain. 

Reaching deep into the well of his power, Nero was finally able to push past his fear and manifest his spectral claws. He slashed through his bindings and fell into a deep crouch, snarling all the while. Amon looked truly unhinged now; the knife that had once been pressed into his neck was being wielded wildly by the man. “You are a beast! Nothing more!” he roared, punctuating his sentences with wide arcs of his knife. With sweat dripping down his brow, he screeched, “I know what you are! What you’re capable of!” Amon made to kick him again, but Nero was ready this time.

Rolling away from the decisive blow, his ghostly claws made contact with the side of Amon’s head. Digging in as deep as he could, Nero could only pray that the wound was deep enough to kill. The resulting scream from Amon sounded agonized, but he was still standing. Nero’s knees started to shake - Amon was advancing on him with a manic expression on his face. Eyes entirely too wide and bloodshot, his voice was eerily calm as he moved forward. 

“I saw it... Your little escape... but it was more than that, wasn’t it?” 

He had seen that? Nero almost tripped over his own feet as he tried to scrabble away. He didn’t remember Amon being there or having ever been in the labs, but his memory was still muddled. Maybe the man had been there or witnessed the aftermath. 

“It was the work of a monster... Those men, GOOD men, were ripped to pieces like they were meat!” 

No, that wasn’t true, it wasn’t! Those people weren’t good! Those people had hurt him and destroyed him until there was no ‘Nero’ left inside his mind. Amon’s hissing voice was making him tremble, but the man didn’t stop there. 

“Eyes plucked from their sockets, innards spilling out from their empty stomachs… You devoured them.”

Nero started to cry. He hadn’t wanted that, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. But his body and mind couldn’t take any more abuse, he had to act. He already knew he’d gone too far the second he broke his chains, but the part of him that reveled in the bloodshed was too strong. Before he had known it, Nero was free and atop the mountains he’d always seen in the distance from the orphanage. 

It was too much. The painful memories of his ‘training,’ the harsh beatings, and monster attacks…

In between blinks, Amon’s fist landed hard on his nose, and he fell to the ground. Falling heavily on top of him, the man’s knife was digging into his throat again. Maybe Nero deserved this. Maybe he was finally getting what was coming to him. He knew he was a monster, that was just how he was born. He remembered how the nuns had looked at him once his arm changed. He was no longer just a strange, abandoned boy, he was a dangerous one. Something that had to be locked away. 

But despite it all, a small part of Nero still believed he could be saved. Flashing behind his eyelids were all the memories he had made over the short time he had the privilege of Vergil’s companionship. His protector's words echoed in his head, “You’re not a monster.” Vergil would say with utmost seriousness, “You’re just a little boy.” And at that, he would smile and ruffle his hair. 

Was it as easy as believing in himself? 

Maybe not, but it made Nero want to accept it. Distantly, he thought he heard someone call his name. But something louder was thumping inside him to the beat of his heart. The visage of a man he had never met was looking at him behind Amon. He sort of looked like Vergil, but different somehow. Maybe it was the slope of his eyes, or the quirk of his smile, but the boy knew in his heart that this man was kinder than anyone who had ever lived. And he even loved Nero. In his hands, he held a bundle of vibrant irises, just like the ones that grew by the cave in the summertime. ‘You’re ready,’ the strange figure whispered, and Nero let the freeing feeling gathering in his arm flow over his body. 

At first, it felt like a bucket of ice water being thrown over his body, then a raging fire licking at his skin. Then, all at once, the sensations calmed, and Nero found himself brimming with power. The Yamato had materialized in his hand, completely whole, as if it had never been broken at all. 

Amon’s complete eruption overshadowed Vergil’s startled gasp behind him. Now standing some feet away and covered in burns, he screamed like a madman, but no coherent words escaped. He made to rush again at Nero, but the boy, guided by some unknown hand, just planted his feet and swiped the Yamato through the air in one clean strike - just like Vergil had shown him how to do with Force Edge. 

Amon’s eyes popped from his head, and his throat gurgled once but went completely silent after that. Bisected at the waist, his torso slid from his pelvis and hit the ground with a wet thump. The man’s organs sloshed out of the two halves of meat that once was a person, and his blood made a steadily growing puddle. 

Amon was dead. 

Chapter Text

And the Earth looked at me and said: ‘Wasn’t that fun?’

And I replied: ‘I’m sorry if I hurt anyone.’

When I Was Done Dying - Dan Deacon 

Vergil felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin in a combination of stomach-turning anxiety and awe-inspired amazement. Having been blown back several feet from Nero’s pseudo-trigger, he dashed forward again to embrace the boy fully. Nero stiffened at the force of the bone-crushing hug but didn’t immediately move to return it. But intermittent pleased chirrs and whines escaped from somewhere deep in Nero’s chest as he was smothered in Vergil’s arms. The boy seemed to be in a daze still, somewhere between conscious and being taken over by demonic instinct completely. Vergil wasn’t surprised that the boy was devoid of his usual ferociousness. 

Not only had Nero killed Amon in one fell swoop, he had repaired the Yamato through his still-growing demonic power, which led to other questions in and of itself. Had the sword been encapsulated in Nero’s arm this whole time? Vergil supposed so; in fact, it may have been the source of the profuse glowing his arm took on intermittently. Surprisingly, Vergil didn't care to know where he had gotten it initially. His primary concern was making sure Nero was stable. 

Dispelling that much energy to heal the blade would have severe repercussions on anyone, even more so on a child. Vergil was terrified that the explosion of power would cause extreme exhaustion that could lead to death, though thankfully, it seemed like Nero’s extreme force of will was keeping him on his feet. That, or his inherited stubbornness. 

When Vergil pulled away from the impromptu hug to inspect him more thoroughly, the boy was still panting heavily over the bisected corpse of Amon. The heated steam escaping from Nero’s mouth burned Vergil’s chest, and though Nero’s glowing eyes were struggling to stay open, his spectral wings were spread wide and flexing their claws. 

“It’s alright, Nero,” Vergil muttered as he dropped to his knees. He carefully stroked the boy’s tangled locks with shaky hands. “You’ve done enough, my boy. Rest now.” Taking care to infuse what was left of his energy slowly into Nero’s tiny body, the boy sank to his knees and dropped the Yamato, utterly content to lie asleep in the dirt for now. 

But not to be forgotten, the Echidna roared her displeasure at Amon’s death. “Foul thing! That man was sssstill of ussse to me yet! And you!” She howled and thrashed her tail wildly across the clearing, but lacked the strength to reach Nero or Vergil. That battle had drained her as much as it had him. 

Perhaps sensing she was running out of options, the demoness resorted to old tricks. The Echidna’s venomous hiss turned as sickly sweet as it had with Amon. “You could have had the power you sssseek if you had the ssssense to let me devour that little brat! But you’re poisoned by human weaknessss. But you can still gain power.” She cooed. “Ally with me. Let ussss devour the Order, together.” 

Altogether ignoring the snake, Vergil cast a sidelong glance at the Hell gate. The structure had taken quite a beating. It was crumbling and cracked in large areas, with the engraved sigils flickering intermittently. The snake-beast must be truly afraid that the gate was going to leave her stranded if she was attempting to broker a truce with Vergil. But he could barely pay any meaningful attention to the Echidna’s commotion over the siren song of his blade. Brought together with his inheritance, his rightful power, he silently stood. Yamato sang in his grasp with barely repressed bloodlust. She would be fed by her master soon. 

Furious at being cast aside, the Echidna resorted to insults. “Nothing to ssssay, Sssson of Ssssparda? I know your brother issss the one who killed the demon lord Mundus in your sssstead, whelp! You’ll sssstand in his sssshadow for asss long as you live, powerlessss and weak! You think thisss isss the end of the misfortune Fortuna will endure? My brethren are coming and they-ACK!” 

Briefly withdrawn from her newly manifested saya, the Yamato cut a thin line on the beast's neck, stifling her manic ramblings. From what appeared to be an insignificant cut, blood and viscera suddenly gushed forth in a deluge of red. The thin line was no shallow blow; the phantom strike practically decapitated the Echidna. Now fallen to the dirt and choking on her life force, Vergil regarded her feeble attempts to staunch the wound with cold indifference. The Yamato slid back into her scabbard with a metallic clink. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Vergil brought the heel of his boot down hard on the tattered remains of the Echidna’s throat. A muffled cry escaped her rippling, exposed vocal cords. “So Mundus is dead? No matter. You’ve cleared up a misconception of mine, how kind.” 

Reaching into the bloody mess of the beast's throat, he slit her human torso in two with claw-tipped fingers, flaying her open, neck to stomach. Barely conscious and gurgling blood, the Echidna dragged her claws through the dirt in a vain attempt to crawl away. But the Yamato cleaved through the air and pinned the she-beasts hand to the mud. “Forgive me,” Vergil drawled, “What was that about weakness? About power?” 

Vergil felt the buildup of demonic instinct crawling over his skin again. The threat to his nestling was as good as dead, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have his fun with what remained. The Echidna was trying to suck in air, but it whistled through her ruined body. Just as Vergil made to trigger again, he heard Nero shifting around behind him; still struggling to stand after all he had been through. 

Ah. No time for fun then. The boy had seen enough carnage for a lifetime. With a quick draw of the Yamato, the Echidna was sliced into even quarters of bloody meat - dead for good. Only the Hell Gate was left now, and it too came crashing down with a few phantom cuts. The Order’s little ‘project’ was over. 

Exhaustion weighed heavily on Vergil’s shoulders, but he kneeled and picked Nero up and into his arms anyway. The boy’s pale blue eyes were tired, but creased with happiness. He laid his small hand over Vergil’s heart, as if sensing his unrelenting trepidation. “We did it.” The little boy muttered, “We’re safe.” 

Vergil didn’t quite know what to say. The confirmation of safety had unexpectedly set his mind alight with possibilities. Now, he was free to live his life with Nero at his side. There were untold paths yet to be taken, more power to be gained. Though even filled with opportunities, worries managed to creep in his mind, as they always did. Yes, they were safe, but only for now. Sparda’s blood ensured that this wouldn't be the last time the pair would face mortal danger. 

But couldn't that be set aside for now? Just this once, maybe it was okay to accept the warm balm of a loved one’s safety. Maybe just this once, he could have Nero’s trust and love for himself. 

“Yes,” Vergil said in a much more wobbly voice than he expected. “You’re right. We’re safe.” Nero relaxed even further into his arms, if possible. “Are we going home?” The boy asked. 

“I don’t know where we’re going,” Vergil spoke truthfully. He was walking away from the clearing now, but had no idea where they should go. Not back to that cave, but not into Fortuna either. 

As they made their way through Mitis, dawn was breaking, washing the trees and foliage in shafts of orange and yellow light. It reminded Vergil of the night he first met Nero, scared and alone but oh-so willing to trust. He let himself be directionless for a while. 

The demonic infestation was breaking down without a power source, and the natural wildlife was returning to its proper shape. Ultimately, he found himself facing the river that the demonic grove had once accompanied. Now, the area was a shady oasis for the pair to rest. Arms aching, Vergil laid Nero down gently on the banks of the stream and sat heavily beside him. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep moving. 

But thankfully, Nero seemed enamored by the running water. He crawled over to the edge of the stream on his hands and knees and touched the surface, testing the temperature and laughing when the water sprayed over the rocks. He even used his clawed hand to try to catch minnows pooling in the calmer pockets of water. Vergil just practiced breathing evenly. 

He was so relieved that Nero was a resilient kid, not even questioning their brief stop on a directionless journey. He really trusted him, Vergil realized. Perhaps the fact shouldn’t be so shocking, but it was. Despite it all, Nero wasn’t leaving anytime soon.  

“Bath.” Nero suddenly exclaimed. “You said-You said I could have one before. And hair!” A bath? Out of everything Nero could have wanted right now, food and shelter, namely-he wanted a bath? 

A laughing huff of air escaped Vergil’s throat before he could stifle it. You know what? A bath was something he could do. Maybe washing off the layers of filth would be cathartic. He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘no’ to that toothy grin either. 

“Alright. We’ll have a bath.” 

“A bath! A bath! How do you do it?” The boy screeched excitedly. 

Oh. That’s right. Nero had probably never been washed properly, or was too young to remember if he had been. But Vergil didn’t let that sour his mood. He couldn’t repress a slight smile at Nero’s excitement. If only Dante had been this excited to bathe as a child. 

“Come.” He said and gestured for Nero to take off his shirt and pants. Vergil did the same, edging into the water before the boy so he could see it was alright. The water wasn't very deep near the center, but it was enough for the two of them to stand in. 

This certainly wasn't the morning he imagined, stripped to his undergarments, washing an unruly Nero and himself. He took the boy by the shoulders and moved him so he stood in front of Vergil. Slowly cupping the cool water, he poured it over Nero’s head in a valiant attempt to clear away the years of dirt. Slowly, but surely, pure white hair and pale skin were revealed beneath the grime. Despite the monotony of the task, Nero enjoyed every second, frequently speaking through mouthfuls of water. 

“Now you!” The boy exclaimed with a splash when Vergil deemed him finished. 

Vergil had to admit, rinsing his body did feel refreshing. As the dark mud, blood, and hellish dirt washed away, his screaming muscles thanked him for the rest. Twisting lightly as Nero floated in the water nearby, Vergil appraised his skin with satisfaction. His wounds from the underworld had healed completely, leaving nothing behind but light scars. All that was left now was his hair, which was surely distastefully long like Dante’s. He opted to dunk his head under the water a few times rather than scrub it as he had Nero’s. 

“You’re just like me!” Nero suddenly shouted excitedly, climbing Vergil’s body like a tree. “Just like me!” Nero threaded his clawed hand through Vergil's freshly rinsed locks and then his own, back and forth as if to confirm it to himself. For some reason, Vergil’s eyes suddenly burned hot with happy, unshed tears. Had Nero just noticed they shared an unusual hair color? 

Well, in fairness, the boy’s hair and his own had been constantly covered in blood and mud. As Vergil smiled and held Nero up towards the sun, he noticed how human he looked. The boy’s legs were no longer bent at an abnormal angle, nor were his tail or sharpened teeth visible. Even the patches of scales on his body had disappeared. Right now, Nero’s demonic arm was the only indicator that he was special. 

The boy wiggled in delight at his sudden increase in height. “Higher! Higher!” He giggled with a blunt-toothed smile. 

When did Nero become a little boy like any other? 

No, that wasn’t the question, was it? When had Vergil turned into a proper father? 

Surprising even himself, Vergil started to cry in earnest; broken sobs and heaving breaths left him scrambling for recovery. What was wrong with him? He hadn't cried like this since he was a small child. How embarrassing. Tugging a very confused Nero to his chest, he was finally able to choke out the truth that he had known from the very beginning, “Yes, we’re the same Nero! We’re the same.” 

It was as close to a verbal admission as he could get. Nero was his son. He knew it in his heart and his bones for sure. He had never been Dante’s wayward child, he was Vergil’s. Of course, he had been. This wonderful child, who was so much like him but not at the same time, was his own. That woman had given him the greatest gift of all, even after she was gone. She had loved and protected their son as long as she could. He swore her sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Yeah! Yeah! The same!” Nero crowed, happy to be right. 

The same. Yeah, they were the same. Vergil just knew then, keeled over in a stream on the outskirts of Fortuna, that they’d be alright. It didn’t matter what happened today or tomorrow; they had each other now. More than ever, he was assured he had taken the right path after that fateful night. His brother was so foolish! Power was the only way to keep what you loved. And Vergil would stop at nothing to protect his son.