Chapter Text
“Ah!!”
The scream is sharp enough to tear through the sky.
Vergil immediately becomes alert, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. Even though his arm feels as if it has rusted solid, he forces himself to raise it. The moment he moves, a wave of pain shoots through him, sharp and overwhelming. It will probably be a while before he can move that arm again.
But there is no danger.
Not that he can sense.
His vision is still blurred.
Before this, he had been caught in an acid rainstorm. There had been nowhere nearby to hide, and afterward, he never bothered wasting his remaining strength repairing his body. For someone in his condition, that would be meaningless. He is already like an hourglass covered in cracks. Whether the last grains of sand fall sooner or later is only a matter of time. Most of his demonic power is being used just to maintain one thing — being alive.
He is too exhausted. He no longer has the strength to kill every low-ranking demon that happens to see him. Even if those demons escape and report his existence to Mundus, it does not matter. What else can Mundus do to him? Make him die faster? Whenever Vergil thinks about that, a faint trace of amusement rises within him.
If that demon stops approaching, then he will do nothing.
“Vergil…?”
A familiar voice calls his name. He struggles to focus his aching eyes. A vague white silhouette appears before him. He blinks. Slowly, the world comes back into focus.
It is Dante.
A very young Dante.
“Dante? What happened? Are you hurt?”
That voice makes Vergil tremble.
No. This Eva is not the fake one. Vergil can tell from her tone alone.
Mother?
His already failing body suddenly loses all strength. He falls backward. But he does not hit the ground. Something soft catches him. Only then does he realize — he is lying on a bed. The palm beneath him touches soft fabric. There is a strange sensation. Something he has not felt in a very long time. Warmth. A warmth that reminds him of the sun. He has not seen sunlight for so long. He thought he had forgotten what it felt like.
Eva freezes when she sees him.
Dante is immediately pulled behind her.
A sharp pain pierces through the back of Vergil’s head, making even his eyes ache.
Dante peeks out from behind his mother, quietly observing him.
His little brother.
Always curious.
Always full of energy.
Always protected.
Vergil wants to ask—
why?
Why is it always Dante?
Suddenly, his throat tightens. Maybe it is acid rising from his stomach. His throat feels dry, like sandpaper. Every cough only makes the pain worse. He does not know why, but something gathers in his eyes.
This is pathetic.
What is this?
A memory?
A dream?
Or simply an illusion created by his own mind?
It seemed he really was too exhausted, or perhaps he had become too desperate, he never thought he’d see such a pathetic sight... As if he needed some comfort. Even during the darkest moments of his life, he had never dreamed of something like this.
Another set of footsteps approaches. Who else could possibly belong in this scene?
“Is everything all right?”
This…
Impossible.
Standing at the doorway is Sparda. So this is not a dream. It is his life flashed before his eyes like a kaleidoscope of memories. Is that it? Is he finally going to die?
Of course, it would be more accurate to say he was finally reached the end. The fact that he had lasted this long was already a miracle.
There were moments when he should have already turned into ashes.
His memories are painfully blurred.
After Dante had shot through his head, his final memory as the Nelo Angelo was watching Dante leave without hesitation. Walking toward that golden-haired impostor.
He was abandoned.
Just like every other time in his life.
First, his father.
Then, his mother.
Then, his own twin brother.
Fortunately… he will never be abandoned again.
Because this is all he has.
In the end, Dante still does not recognize him. Or perhaps… Dante does recognize him. He simply does not care. After all, this is all his own fault.
He is the one who almost killed Dante for the amulet.
He is the one who threw himself into the Demon World.
He is the one who lost to Mundus.
He is the one who became Mundus’s puppet, allowing himself to be controlled and manipulated.
Why would Dante care about a brother like him?
And yet… he still keeps dragging himself forward. Even now, Vergil no longer knows what remains worth accomplishing.
He is merely alive. Useless. A complete failure.
But perhaps this is the end. Everyone who has ever mattered to him is here. They can be counted on one hand. A sudden impulse rises within Vergil. He wants to scream at them and to finally ask why. He has never done this before. He has always been the mature one.
The obedient child.
The one who listened.
The one who rarely caused trouble.
The one who always completed everything beyond expectations, even ahead of the goals his parents had set.
He had always wanted to become the better one. Maybe he was wrong from the very beginning.
Now that he is about to die, perhaps he should finally say everything that has been buried deep inside him. Those roots are too deeply. Even now, with his mind barely functioning, he can still follow those roots all the way down to the deepest part of himself.
Vergil tries to make a sound. But only a broken, leaking noise comes out. He has not spoken for too long. The moment he forces his throat to work, blood seeps out along with his voice.
But even so…
He wants to say it.
“I hate you all.”
His voice is rough, filled with sand and broken by a distorted hiss. It sounds far more hateful than he imagined. “You both chose Dante over me.” He needs to stop and breathe before he can force out the next sentence, “Every single one of you has discarded me.”
He is not crying.
Even though it sounds like he is. No. He is not crying.
Then darkness takes him. So this is the end. Dying in the middle of a desolate wasteland in the Demon World, surrounded by the illusions of his family. This is nothing like the ending he imagined.
His power.
His revenge.
Everything.
It was nothing but a fantasy.
And he could not even see Dante one last time…
But Vergil could only accept it.
Dante cannot stop crying.
When he wakes up, his brother is gone.
The person who should have been sleeping in the room across from his own bed— Vergil —is no longer there.
Instead, there is a strange adult wearing a cloak.
Dante is terrified, he thinks it is because he failed to watch over Vergil properly. He slept too deeply that he did not even notice when Vergil disappeared.
He…he still has not made up with Vergil. If he had known that Vergil would disappear the next morning, even if he had to beg that bookworm, he would never have let their argument continue into another day.
Then Mom arrives.
Dante grabs onto the corner of her clothes and gathers all his courage before looking toward the stranger.
Through the torn cloak, he sees those eyes. They do not look like his brother’s at all. The color is too pale. A layer of mist covers them. But that sharpness in those eyes— that is something Dante could never mistake. This is Vergil.
Vergil has not disappeared.
This is Vergil.
How did Vergil become like this? Dante cannot understand it. His mother is no longer frozen in shock. She must have realized it too. Just like him. His mother probably understood even faster than he did.
Vergil’s condition is terrible. His voice sounds painfully dry and his throat must hurt so badly. The last time Dante had a fever, his own voice sounded exactly like this. He wants to tell Vergil not to speak anymore.
Then he hears it.
Vergil says he hates him.
Something in Dante’s chest twists painfully. How could he have abandoned Vergil? There must be some mistake.
“Vergil!”
Dante rushes forward, wanting to catch his brother’s falling body. His mother’s hand that holding him, moves as well. But his father is faster.
The hood of the cloak slips down, revealing white hair. It is dirty. Dust and mud cling to it. Where has Vergil been? Has he been sleeping on the ground? But… Vergil would never do something like that. He cannot even tolerate dirt on his own hands.
Dante looks up at his mother.
He wants to ask— does her heart hurt the same way his does? But the words never leave his mouth. Because his mother’s face is filled with shock and sorrow. She covers her mouth with one hand and eyes tremble, “That is…”
Sparda tightens his hold around Vergil. He pulls him closer. His expression is grim as he nods, “Yes, he is.”
His mother trembles so much that Dante can feel it. Mom hurts even more than he does.
Eva runs toward Vergil.
It is only a few steps, yet she almost stumbled.. Dante follows behind her.
She wants to touch Vergil, but when she sees the cracks covering his skin, she hesitates.
“Can I touch him?”
Sparda silently nods.
Eva gently places her palm against Vergil’s face. Her fingers brush through his tangled white hair, her gentle face had gained sharper edges, “He feels so cold…” She places both hands around Vergil’s neck, trying to give him warmth. “What happened to him? Why…?”
Eva cannot finish the sentence. It is as if her voice disappears.
“His demonic power is completely depleted and life force is fading.”
Sparda exchanges a glance with Eva. “I can save him.”
Eva immediately releases a breath she did not realize she was holding. Her hand moves to the back of Sparda’s head. She pulls him closer until their foreheads touch. Their breaths mingle.
“You have to do it. You have to save him.”
The look exchanged between Eva and Sparda is something Dante cannot understand.
It is as if they are having a conversation without saying a single word.
Then Sparda carries Vergil over to their room and carefully places him on the large bed. Eva quickly finds a pillow and gently places it beneath Vergil’s head, trying to make him more comfortable.
Sparda takes Vergil’s hand in his own.
A faint glow appears beneath his palm.
Demonic power.
“He comes from the future,” Sparda says quietly. “And the aura surrounding him…” His expression darkens slightly, “He came from the Demon World.”
“You mean…” Eva’s voice trembles, “The things he said were…” She looks at Vergil, unable to finish the sentence. “Were they all true?” The sorrow on her face slowly turns into fear, “My God…What have I done?”
“No.” Sparda shakes his head.
“Eva, this is not your fault. Please don’t blame yourself before we know what really happened.”
He pauses, “There must be…There must be something that went wrong.” His voice becomes quieter, but every word carries certainty, “We would never abandon him.”
The light beneath Sparda’s hand trembles slightly, flickering like a flame caught in the wind.
But his determination does not waver.
Dante has never heard Sparda repeat himself while speaking. His father always speaks with a calm elegance, using words that Dante often does not understand. That is why Vergil spends so much time reading—because Vergil wants to become someone as capable and wise as their father.
But Dante thinks Vergil is already good enough.
Eva looks deeply unhappy that she can do nothing but stand by and watch.
“Of course not,” she says, her voice filled with pain. “But look at him. Even if there was some misunderstanding…” She looks down at Vergil, her fingers trembling, “We still failed him, We failed him terribly.”
“We will find out why.” Sparda tries to reassure her with his eyes, then turns his gaze back to Vergil’s cracked face, “When he wakes up.”
There is a fire burning in Sparda’s eyes, a flame that can never be extinguished.
At this moment, it looks almost frightening.
If someone were paying close attention, they would notice that Sparda’s shadow has begun to change, twisting into the shape of a demon.
Dante instinctively takes a step back, careful not to step on the shadow. But it is not because he is afraid. Dante has never been afraid of his father. The anger in that flame will not fall upon this place. It is meant for someone who is not here, for an enemy somewhere far away.
On any normal day, Dante would have already finished breakfast and run outside to explore. He would never stay inside a room for this long. But right now, there was nowhere else he wanted to be except beside Vergil.
“Mom…” Dante looks at Eva, “When will Vergil get better?”
Eva crouches down and pulls him into her arms, “Oh, sweetheart…” Her voice is soft, but it is trembling, “I don’t know.”
She hugs him tightly, burying her face behind his shoulder, Dante cannot see her expression.
“I don’t know…”