Disclaimer: As much as I would like to, I in fact do NOT own devil may cry or its characters which are the legal property of Capcom. Any original characters used in this story are the intellectual property of me, myself and I. Without further delay, lets get to the story!

Miseria Cantare: The Beginning

He had been to hell. He had felt each of its horrors, endured every torture it had thrown at him. But that was nothing compared to this. The Dark Knight heaved over the battlements, writhing in agony as his mind was set ablaze. A chaotic mix of images, voices, sounds flooded his consciousness, drowning him in memories he couldn't understand. One word was repeated over and over again in his mind. A name.

Vergil.

None of it made any sense. He wasn't Vergil, his name was Nelo Angelo, and it always had been, for as long as he could remember. Mundus was the one who had raised him, taught him, given him power. These memories were useless to him. Complications keeping him from carrying out his task. And more than that, it was causing him pain.

The Dark Warrior was no stranger to pain. He could take a sword thrust with barely a flinch, shrug of bullet wounds with ease. But this pain was new, sharper and burning deep inside his skull. Nelo clawed at his scalp with an animalistic fervour. His gauntlets gouged into his own skin, drawing blood. The red liquid trickled down his face and dripped down to the ground hundreds of meters below, as the warrior heaved dangerously over the parapet, close to plummeting to the ground himself.

He had caused this.

The man in red who looked almost exactly like him. The man who bested Nelo Angelo in combat, something that no one except his master had been able to do. The man who wore his amulet. Nelo growled and clenched his fist and howled to the moon, giving in to his primal instincts.

A chuckle behind him.

"Aw, is little Vergie having some trouble?'

Nelo whirled around, swinging his colosal sword at whatever was behind him. There was a rush of wind and suddenly it was standing precariously on his blade, grinning at him mockingly. A demented clown of some kind danced infuriatingly up and down his sword, paying no attention to the bewildered knight.

A wide grin was plastered across the creature's white face. The bell's on it's Jester's hat jingled cheerfully as it continued its bizzare jig. Nelo glared into the clown's multi coloured eyes with a mixture of annoyance, anger and...recognition? There was something eerily familiar about this clown, the way it spoke, the way it moved, it's colourful costume and it's eyes.

Red and blue.

One of those eyes winked and the clown ruffled Nelo's silver hair.

"It's been a long time, Vergil." The clown's voice had changed from its previous high pitch into a more deep and menacing tone.

Reverting to its previous high pitched cackle, the clown backflipped off his sword just in time as Nelo jerked the blade, intending to send the little nuisance over the battlements and plummeting to its grave. The clown landed lightly on its feet a few meters in front of Nelo, eyes twinkling with malice.

Nelo growled and raised his sword. "My name is not Vergil. I am Nelo Angelo, the Black Knight of Mundus."

The clown cackled once more.

"Nelo Angelo? Well, that's quite a mouthful isn't it?"

Nelo leaped forward and swung his blade in a downwards stroke that would have easily cleaved the clown in half if it hadn't suddenly appeared atop Vergil's shoulders, continuing his speech as if nothing had happened.

"Hmmmm. In the case of 'the Black Knight of Mundus" stuff, I guess you can scratch the Mundus part out. Your little twin in red's made sure of that"

With a grunt of anger, Nelo thrust his sword up over his shoulders to skewer the clown, but it was already gone. It reappeared in front of him to deliver a well placed boot to Nelo's unguarded stomach. Nelo staggered back, surprised by the force of the blow. This little idiot was more powerful than he looked.

The grinning clown leapt into the air and knocked Nelo clear off his feet with a spinning kick to the chest. Nelo collided with the stone battlements, making a loud cracking sound as several sections of stone broke off and crashed to the ground. Nelo was onto his feet in less than a second with his sword ready. This demented freak seemed more than a match for him in his curent weakened state. Curse that man in red!

The clown laughed again and prepared to attack as Nelo quickly changed his game plan. It sprang at Nelo, but the Black Knight quickly leaped out of the way and swung his blade at the battlements behind him. The stone burst asunder from the force of the blow, leaving a gaping hole in the parapet. Jester teetered over the edge, his arms windmilling comically, until Nelo put an end to his misery with an unceremonious boot to the rump. Nelo watched the little imp plummet hundreds of meters down with grim satisfaction.

"Now, onto more important matters," He murmered to himself. Nelo turned around and with a look of utter shock, he came face to face, once again with the clown.

The clown wagged a gloved finger in front of Nelo's nose.

"What's wrong Vergie? I thought we were pals! Why did ya have to go and-"

Its remark was cut short as Nelo drove his sword straight through its chest and and out its back. The clown looked down at the blade and to Nelo's surprise, a slow smirk crept across its face.

Dark tendrils of smoke wreathed around the clown's form and crept up the sword. Before long, the clown was completely covered in darkness. Nelo snarled and tried to wrench his sword out. The sword didn't budge.

The smoke receded and Nelo found himself staring not at the bizarre clown, but at a bald man, clad in black. The man had the same red and blue eyes as the clown, sunken into a heavily scarred face. The ghost of a smile flitted across the man's face. In a single fluid movement, he prised Nelo's hands from the sword, wrenched it from his own body and ran Nelo through, cleaving through armour, skin, bone and muscle. Nelo fell to his knees, impaled by his own sword. Blood bubbled from his lips as he stared into the man's eyes. Dimly, he noticed that the entire castle was beginning to crumble.

A word came unbidden from his lips.

"Arkham?"

Arkham smirked and wrenched the sword out of Vergil's chest.

"Welcome back. Vergil."

As his vison faded over, the last thing he saw was Arkham holding up the sword, stained with blood, so that it glowed an unearthly blue light. The metal seemed to drip off the blade like water to collect in molten puddles on the ground. Arkham was left holding a long katana like sword in his hand.

The Yamato.

Without another word, Vergil, Son of Sparda collapsed to the ground and lost consciousness.