Characters: Dante, Vergil
Pairings: There is a little bit of Vergil/Dante, but in truth- there's hardly any romance at all.
Setting: The conclusion of Devil May Cry 3.
Notes: Honestly, I finished DMC3 today on my laptop and despite the keyboard combo issues, the game was amazing and I thought the ending was beautiful. This is kind of my own take at the last confrontation between the Sparda twins in Hell before Vergil throws himself off of the rock and all that good stuff.
It started with overconfidence- overconfidence that was not necessarily undue. After all, it was only Dante that Vergil was facing and not someone that he actually gave a proper second damn about. His trust in his own superiority was not at all just a façade of arrogance since it was backed by material evidence of his stronger might and will. The younger had fallen to Yamato's wrath countless times when they faced each other. Who was to say that Dante would prevail after being knocked down so often when they crossed blades? Yes, Vergil had no doubt of his victory. He hardly saw his twin as even a candidate for a threatening opponent but more like an irritating obstacle that had to be removed from his path to reclaim Sparda's legacy.
The first signs of disturbance in his gauging of the situation, he dismissed as unneeded doubt and paranoia. Then it only became too clear that it was he who underestimated Dante's poweress and not the other way around. Katana met longsword with equal force- and for a while, remained at stalemate until Rebellion forced Yamato to bow and block, little by little. Vergil's previously unmatched weapon started turning leaden in his hands- each laboured stroke made with only desire to keep the rivaling blade at bay. His mind tried to work a way around it, though his other instincts screamed at him that his efforts were in futile. He was fighting a battle swiftly moving downhill. The only thing that still kept Yamato moving in his bloodied hands were the remains of his pride, and because it was simply unthinkable that his younger twin should surpass him. Him. Vergil, the proper heir to Sparda's blood.
And yet, he was enough of a fatalist (because really, he was one) to know that the inevitable could only be delayed, not changed. The battle was turning tide for Dante. Fate would always cut the strings, and there simply wasn't a way around it when there was nothing more to look up for.
His weariness gave that half second window Dante needed to knock him over with Rebellion's blunt edge- and on his knees too, the irony of it all. Anger mixed with disbelief and then disgust as he fought to push himself up from the water and see exactly what the fuck had exactly just happened. There could be no way he was defeated. No- it was an impossibility. Dante couldn't have. The pathetic moron couldn't be the one standing above him, watching with half pitying, half mocking eyes. That was supposed to be him. It always was him looking down at his brother and never anything else aside from that. Vergil was better than Dante. Vergil was supposed to be better than Dante.
For once, the icy rationality that he had valued himself to hold fled him, and left his mind a panicking blank. Things were not the way they should be. Dante had just flat out destroyed the generalization of things that he had always categorized all with. It wasn't possible. It simply couldn't be.
"I cannot be defeated." Vergil forced the words out as he rose with great difficulty, spitting out a mouth of metallic tasting blood in the process. He wished for nothing else as of the moment than to wipe that smirk off of his brother's face. It was naught but a reflection of his apparent failure- and hell, it pissed him off. The laugh and the "you can do better than that!" that followed from Dante's mouth though, made him positively see white as he gritted his teeth. But he was right. It wasn't over yet. There was still one thread dangling- one thread- a thin, almost broken thread but a thread just the same that kept him suspended above the inferno.
Vergil was not a gambler, but this he knew was a gamble. A desperate one- a stupid one- but what harm could it do? What still did he have to lose?
The first drops of freshly spilt blood from Rebellion's edge turned to a shower of crimson as the sword cut open his abdomen. His own sword, in his blinded clumsiness, missed Dante entirely.
It was finished. Everything was over. He didn't bother listening to his brother's semi-sarcastic, semi-oversapped speech about souls and all that sentimental nonsense Vergil would have gladly spit on. Souls. Huh. What was a "soul" in metaphorical terms anyway? A foolish whim that the humans had thought of, no mistake. It was exactly like that despicable race to invent such whimsical crap.
But now here was a good question: what was left but whimsical crap?
"Go back to the human world while you still can, Dante." Vergil's voice had regained that cold, bitter (empty, lifeless, defeated)edge, "I shall remain here. It is my home, after all."
There was nothing left for him anyway on the surface. Let Dante return to Earth. Let him piece together in Hell what was now the dark mass of chaos that seemed to be his future if he was to ever have one.
Vergil had never been one to deny what was reality and what was the byproduct of his thought. He was also one who always accepted what was reality, because denial was only a weakness and a useless vice if one were to ever live on. No. Here was where they parted ways. It was only the natural order of things after all: ice and fire never existed in harmony. Fire melted ice to water. Fire was always the element that overpowered and outshone the other. Likewise, there could never be a world that could peacefully contain both Dante and Vergil. There could only be one victor to hold triumph- and the victor in this fray… it was Dante, and not him.
They were standing on the edge of an endless waterfall that Vergil was sure had a bottom- but not one that his eyes could pick out. Was this it though? Where it all concluded…?
In a lightning fast grip that his younger twin didn't resist to, he- hesitating for only the briefest of milliseconds- pulled Dante closer to him, and cold lips met the warmer ones of his adversary for a second or two before Vergil let himself fall backwards. It was a silent farewell of sorts- a reflection of acceptance too, in a way. A lamentation of the lives that Fate would not allow the sons of Sparda to ever have…
He cut at Dante's hands with Yamato as they tried to pull him out from the abyss he condemned himself to after that first moment of shock at falling through nothing. Don't interfere, Vergil's eyes said as he plunged down. This was his decision. This was how he wanted the final chapter to be written.
And so he spread his arms as he fell, as if they were invisible wings. There was no pulling back now. There was only one thing- and that was what awaited him ahead. No regrets. No what if's. Just his own path that only he could be the master of.
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