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llunarys · 1 year ago

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𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔. If it wasn’t for his inhumanly enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t have heard the large, filthy bundle of fur whimpering for pity.

Pity.

Annoyance surged within him, for pity is yet another indication that the certain condemned part of him, his ever sentimental human side, the very cancer in his character that he had been doing everything in his power to get rid of, yet has once again proven stronger than his own willpower.

If the expiry of a mere mutt swayed me, how would I hope to accomplish my goal?

The aggravated thought had him turn his head away and urged him to move forward without looking back as he had been doing, yet another whimper, louder and even more piteous, stilled his feet mid-turning.

Snowy head impulsively swiveled back, allowing icy gray eyes to scan the filthy bundle and locked with a pair of blue eyes brimming with plea and pain.

The blue eyes that reminded him painfully what he had thought have been lost and forced to leave behind for the sake of a more dire necessity.

Dante.

The name of his twin brother and other half echoing in his mind brought back years of suppressed emotion, ranging from yearning to animosity. Memories of their bellicose encounter last summer flooded in, threatening to overwhelm him. Betwixt myriad emotions, he was aware of how foolish of him to even associate a dying mutt with his brother, merely because they possess similar shades of blue in their gaze. But deep within him a voice traitorously whispering, reminding: how desperately he himself used to yearn for someone to come and shield him from the demonic assault laying waste upon his infant, fragile form. How he used to wish fervently for his dear mother, his twin brother, to come and save him. To envelope his battered form in the warmth of their embrace and assure him that no more harm shall come upon him.

I kept waiting and waiting, but no one ever came.

What recourse did I have, but to take it upon my own hand and fight back?

But if any of them did come then…

Letting out a heavy, aggravated sigh the Dark Slayer deigned to divert from his course and strode into the dingy alley and stopped in front of the shivering mess of fur.

“ Consider yourself an unforeseeably and exceedingly fortunate mutt, ” the Scion of Sparda muttered as he went down one knee to take the canine creature into his arms. His expression contorted in distaste at the smell of flea-infested fur and days covered in filth, yet the carefulness in his action belied his aggravated bearing.

♛

The room he had rented was meager and drab but sufficiently clean to his minimal standard. Nothing that met his predilection but it would do for his brief stay for the night to care for the shivering bundle of fur in his arms.

The Son of Sparda let the door close behind him as he scanned the surroundings briefly, pinpointing his destination then crossing the narrow space in one stride to enter the bathroom. His nose crinkled slightly in distaste as he carefully lowered his shivering burden over the dingy tiles, earning him a loud but brief whimper.

“ I need to clean your wounds and you need to stay still lest you aggravate them further, ” Vergil commanded, not wanting to prolong the creature’s discomfort and his inconvenience.

He couldn’t tell whether it was comprehension over his intent or survival instinct to not provoke his annoyance, or pain and exhaustion altogether that prompted the mangy creature to settle down under his stern gaze. Blue eyes looked up to meet him as the canine lowered his muzzle upon the tile, as though entrusting his safety under the Slayer’s ministration. Whichever it was, he couldn’t care less so long it did not hinder him.

“ Good boy, ” he acknowledged whilst carefully setting aside the Yamato against the duvet then proceeding to take off his coat and gloves, setting them aside neatly and retrieving a clean cloth, a bottle of alcohol, and a basin.

The next hour passed with Vergil painstakingly scrubbing off every speck of dirt from every inch of the canine’s body, the while said canine had been whimpering and on some occasions nearly bolted away in pain to the point Vergil had to hold him down. Nevertheless, he achieved his purpose and at the end of the hour had the mangy mutt restored into a proper appearance befitting an ovcharka dog.

“ Well, I must say that I am faring remarkably at restoring your smart appearance, ” Vergil exclaimed as he beheld the result of his industrious work that was the male canine who now sporting clean, cascading gray fur that covered its entire form like a comfortable winter clothing.

A weak bark responded to his remark. At least the mutt was no longer whimpering and shivering.

“Remain immobile until I finish putting this upon your wounds. ” Vergil gestured with his chin toward the ball of bandages he held in hand.

The dog let out another weak bark then lowered his muzzle back upon the floor, blue eyes looking at him expectantly in an innocuous manner that elicited a crinkle of amusement in the corner of his eyes.

If only Dante was ever this tractable…

Immediately a frown creased his expression as his awareness caught up with his subconscious thought, berating himself for allowing a room for such a wistful thought of the past in his mind, which should be focused on the task in hand. He broke his eye contact with the dog, not wanting anymore reminder of what he thought to have lost and now forced to leave behind.

As if sensing his internal turmoil, the dog suddenly raised his head at the time Vergil was bandaging his leg, muzzle pressed against the back of the cambion’s hand and began to nuzzle it, eliciting an arch upon his snowy brow.

“ Mind you, I am not the one laying battered and helpless, accepting care from minacious strangers. ”

The nuzzling continued even as Vergil moved on.

“ You knew naught, cease presuming I need comfort let alone from a mangy mutt. ”

Another nuzzle that tested his patience, prompted his head to snap up with the intent to quell the snowy mutt with a draconian glare, but instead such a movement proved to be a grave mistake as Vergil now was greeted with two pair of clear sky blue eyes, peering from between the now clean silvery bangs.

Dante...

His throat tightened as his heart constricted, in that moment all the emotions, the indignation, the longing that had been suppressed by sheer motivation and resolve over his requisite quest for power, erupted to the precipice of his self-mastery, threatening to flood through his parted lips.

“ Begone, now. ” Vergil nearly hissed as he wrapped up the last bandage and sprang to his feet, looking down at the shepherd dog with a scathing glare as he tilted. “ I have wasted enough of my time playing savior to you. ”

But instead of heeding the ire of a Son of Sparda like any creature with well-functioning survival instinct did, the snowy shepherd canine merely let out a bark and rested his muzzle back onto the carpeted floor, displaying a familiar brand of rebellion to his little brother, furthering the ache in Vergil’s bosom.

“ Does your hairy bearing impede your hearing as well? Begone as I bade you to! ”

The mutt remained stubbornly glued over his spot, ears twitched beneath his thick snowy fur and eyes blinked as it looked anywhere but Vergil. If that’s not a canine version of dismissal, then Vergil couldn’t find another human act equivalent to what the dog was doing. Thus the Dark Slayer drew fully to his lofty height and took a step closer to loom over said dog with the very intent to scare the creature away.

“ I see your proximity to death’s door has reduced you into a foolish daredevil of a mongrel, ” Vergil adapted a tone he normally used before unsheathing his famed Devil Arm and was known to successfully sent a horde of lesser demons scurrying away with their tails literally between their legs or whatever appendages they sport.

Evidently the mangy mutt possessed either a keen sense of courage or suicidal urge than said horde of demons, because he remained where he was, not an ounce of alarm was detected upon his sprawling form.

Why this infuriatingly maddening, malapert, mangy mongrel…

Vergil let out a loud growl and turned away sharply toward bed, perching in the corner to take off his boots in preparation for the night. It has always been considered a luxury that he has a roof over his head and a mattress beneath him to rest his body, especially seeing as he had gone all the way to obtain lodging then he might as well avail himself of it.

Retrieving the Yamato, the Dark Knight’s scion then proceedeed to climb over the bed and recline against the headboard, clutching his father’s keepsake against his chest, so that she would always be within immediate reach; his personal, silent protector ever since that fateful day of fiery tragedy. There had never been a moment of repose wherein he did not rely on her presence to feel safe enough to close his eyes.

And that’s exactly what he was about to do, before suddenly his ever enhanced senses detected a sudden movement approaching him in steady steps. Adrenaline flared, his heart skipped a beat and his palm moved to Yamato’s tsuka, thumb erected in pure habit to unsheathe her…

Before he detected an extra weight dippin the mattress followed by something soft and ticklish yet warm like thick fur pressed against his hip and something rested upon his abdomen.

His eyes were opened in blatant shock as his brain registered the sight currently transpiring: the snowy shepherd dog he had rescued and cared for, then subsequently dismissed during the course of the evening, was currently nestling at his side, muzzle making a pillow out of his abdomen.

A piercing silence ensued as the Dark Slayer’s wit was contemplating the nature of this turn of event, ranging from bewilderment, disbelief to annoyance.

What form of impertinence is this?!

“ Insolent mongrel!! ” he growled, eyes flashing with uninhibited indignation, “ Your audacious nature evidently senses no bounds! ”

Faced with a son of Sparda’s furious aspersion, the shepherd dog did what any other creatures or demonkind would never do: blink and nuzzle his abdomen.

“ Remove your mangy self of my person and get off the mattress, post haste! ” He tried again, this time with a gelid, forbidding tone that he used before cutting through a legion of Underworld in a single strike.

The fur-covered ears stirred and twitched, and for a moment prompted a budding hope within Vergil that the mutt would finally gain some semblance of self-preservation against his diabolic presence. For he was by no means a nobody, for power’s sake! He was Vergil, Son of Sparda and rightful inheritor of the Dark Knight’s mighty legacy, the prevailing Darkslayer and unsparing revenger of his family’s honor𑁋

(WOOF!)

… Who, despite his impressive range of daunting titles, has apparently been reduced into a mere comfy pillow for the snowy shepherd dog he had unwittingly rescued from death’s grip.

For instead of recoiling from his threats, the hairy creature let loose two successive barks accompanied by a pair of literal puppy-dog eyes and wagging tongue.

Those sky blue eyes, who apparently held a force of endearment that compelled even his hardened heart into compassion and stirred his long-buried sentiment, once again.

How could they not? For they were the very counterpart of the very same eyes that had long since been ingrained into his memory since his genesis and thus served as an integral part of the motivation that kept him going still even to that very moment, despite the duress and death that followed his every step ever since he was awakened to his true demonic endowment.

The harshness upon Vergil’s features ebbed and he relaxed back against the headboard, suppressing a heavy sigh from turning verbal. He lifted a bare hand to massage the veins over his youthful temple, contemplating. There was little to no purpose to achieve by dispatching the mutt, and aside from audaciously making his abdomen into a makeshift pillow.

Which itself was a privilege he never granted to anyone or anything beyond his petit frère, but how would a mere mutt could ever perceive that?

“ You seem to share not only his appearance but also his streak of undeserving luck and natural wiles. ”

The dog’s ears perched and its tail wagged and it looked up to meet Vergil’s gaze again, as though saying: but you can't resist my doggy charm.

That impression elicited a reprimanding arch of brow from Vergil. “ Don’t get cocky, you are still a mere mutt who sprawled dying in the corner of a filthy alley only a few hours ago. ”

(WOOF!)

“ Just keep your paws to yourself and stay where you are, mutt. ”

A noise of acknowledgement, or was it contentment(?), emitted from the creature's muzzle as it rested against the cambion's abdomen, eyes fluttered into a close and its thick-covered form went still. The creature was by no means loud, but due to Vergil's enhanced hearing, he could discern the gentle, regular rhythm of its breathing and that's how he ascertained that Dante's canine effigy has fallen into a slumber, likely out of exhaustion and its body's need to heal.

“ I would never hear the end of ridicule that oaf would likely make at my expense if he ever discovered this, ” Vergil muttered with annoyance without actual rancor in it as he too closed his eyes.

For some reason, the awareness of having another creature, one that reminded him of his little brother's audacious quirks at that, evoked some semblance of serenity enough to convince his mind to rest.

♛

The trajectory of flaxen light that filtered through the thin opening between the blinds tickled his cheek, rousing him back into awareness. Blue-gray eyes fluttered slowly and the first thing his rarely mollified senses detected was something tickling his nose with something heavy arm pressed closely, intimately, against his chest, which he knew by instinct was not the usual sensation of the Yamato pressed against it.

His eyelids sprang open as the somnolent hold over his senses was immediately dispersed by instinctive alarm over the alien morning sensation and his left palm immediately closed around his dark blade tightly as his form tensed, about to draw it…

Until his mind caught up with the sight he currently beheld: a large snowy shepherd dog snoring against his chest, unheeding of the current danger looming over it.

Memories from last night rushed into his awareness, allowing his body to relax. But his relief was short-lived as mortification immediately streamed from his chest throughout his body to the tips of his finger, upon seeing the position of his hands earlier, it was not only the mutt had crawled over the bed and his arms some time during the night, but it was Vergil himself who encouraged him to do so out of instinctive want for warmth and comfort.

It also occurred to him that unlike most of the time, he did not wake up drenched in cold sweat and racing heart from a recurring nightmare, but from a rare feeling of rejuvenation and tranquility, something that he couldn’t recall ever experiencing again ever since he was driven out from his cradle.

All because of one damned mangy mutt who happens to share similarity to him…

“ Intolerable, ” Vergil cursed under his breath, pressing his palm over his face as though concealing the emotion apparent upon his countenance.

What was meant to be a fleeting act of rare compassion had extended into a one night display of wanton sentiment. It must end.

Now.

Not sparing the dog another glance Vergil immediately yet carefully entangled himself from the comforting warm of the hairy creature, retreating into the bathroom to wash himself and getting ready to resume the course he deviated from yesterday in favor of playing a shining knight instead of the Darkslayer he was meant to be.

♛

The azure cambion exited the bathroom, clad in full regalia and hair slicked back neatly as he strode across the room when he noticed that the snowy mass of fur had regained awareness and was currently sprawled on the floor, specifically on the sole, narrow aisle connecting the center of the compact room to the door.

Initially, Vergil took no heed of the creature’s choice of seating and disregarded it as a mere happenstance, extending his long arm to retrieve the Yamato from the bedpost. But as he turned and set his course toward the door only to find the snowy dog seemingly rooted on its spot, his eyes narrowed in askance.

“ Move, ” he commanded with a tilt of chin, gesturing to the side the creature should retreat to.

But in a reenactment of pure stubbornness that the mongrel demonstrated just the night before, it refused to give any sort of acknowledgement toward Vergil’s command beyond a mere twitch of its fur-buried ears.

The display of wanton insolence coupled with the aggravation of a night having to put up with the emotions that the impertinent cur stirred within him finally snapped the final shreds of patience left in his arsenal.

The metallic sound of the Yamato being drawn swiftly resounded briefly before the mutt’s snout was reflected upon the blade’s sleek surface, only an inch away from the glinting, deadly tip.

“ You do not wish to hear this command for the third time: Move. ” Inhuman cadence seeped into his tone with a foreboding promise and his eyes flickered with diabolic blue.

The next sequence happened in succession in the wake of his violent warning: the dog’s fur seemingly tense and its head snapped up, Dantean blue eyes suddenly leveled his with an intensity that made the creature appear human. For the first time ever since he rescued it, the dog rose to its full height that reached past Vergil’s waist, brandishing thick gray-white fur that covered, no, accoutred its formidable bearing.

Vergil’s hold upon the Yamato wavered not even if the deadly tip of the dark-forged katana was now pressed against the dog’s neck, belying the aggravated manner of turmoil warring within his bosom.

Two can play this game, impudent cur.

Both the Darkslayer and the silver-clad canine were now locked in a seemingly swingeing deadlock, neither was willing to make a move first either to relent or strike.

Beneath his combative pose the Son of Sparda could not but wonder, what motivated the mangy creature to cling to his presence to the extent it would risk standing against the tip of his blade then scurrying away like a common mutt would have done.

Is it some sort of an instinctive gratitude? Or some animalistic sense of loyalty toward the first and only being to ever show it compassion?

Compassion.

The word rang bitterly in his head and his fingers twitched in temptation to swing his blade if only it would ever grant him some form of assurance that his demonic heritage still triumphs over his ever curtailing humanity.

Yet after what felt like an eternity, the creature suddenly bowed and turned away, no longer imposing yet hunched in pose. Not like a defeated contender but a despairing vassal that could do nothing to sway his master from his suicidal pursuit.

“ You know nothing, ” Vergil spat out the last word as he swiftly returned his blade into her saya. “ Not of my purpose, ” my burden, “ –nor of my motivation. Steer clear of my path. ” You, blinded, ignorant fool!

I will show you, Dante, what I am capable of, what I am entitled to. What we both are meant to be. Set free our father's legacy and claim that which is our birthright.

The umbrage of having been regarded with pity which to him translated as doubt and belittlement over his capability, his motivation, to achieve what he sought. He had had enough for such misunderstood animosity from his own twin brother, but from a mere mutt?

Never.

Vergil marched over his now unobstructed course yet just as he pushed open the door, a loud bark halted his advance, prompting him to look over his shoulder and greeted with the pitiful sight of the shepherd dog, facing him and looking up with humanly glassy eyes and a deep whimper.

The tightness that was burned off by his affront earlier returned in two folds, for the very sight evoked a vivid memory of a much younger Dante, regarding with the very similar forlorn bearing during one of those moments Vergil refused to indulge his demand of combat game in favor for a solitary reading session.

Dante.

How long has it been, ever since he had someone to await his return?

How long ever since he had a home he could return to after each tussle and struggle?

Home.

Such an intimate concept that has long since become harrowingly alien. The fire did not merely take from him a building, but also the very souls associated with that very concept.

And yet here he was now, leaving behind that which remained from what his heart still unwaveringly perceived as home; the very person whom his soul was halved from.

The irony of the callous, unfeeling force called fate. Is there an end to the cruelty whereto it subject a soul?

Graceful fingers clad in brown leather gloves clutched the doorway with such a force that the wood cracked beneath them, as the firstborn of Sparda mustered every ounce of determination, calling forth every reason that served as his fundamental motivation to persevere and keep going.

I am doing this for us. For you. Can you not see past your bellicose ignorance, the prevailing threat that even now looms over our very existence and will remain as long as we stay as we are now; vulnerable and powerless?!

The sound of wood breaking and its splinter cascading down the air heralded the Darkslayer’s silent departure. The azure tail of his coat billowing behind him as his lofty and unturned figure concealed the humane turmoil raging within, leaving behind the snowy canine and everything its very presence reminded him of.

Thus with a hardened heart and unwavering motivation he resumed the path of ascendancy, to become that which was his birthright. Further and further away from home he absconded with his heart, so that he may inoculate it.

If our distance puts him out of peril then keep and lengthen it I shall.

♛

He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy He who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sunrise ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ — 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚖 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎

#reblog to main #proper tagging from main #timeline is post DMC3 manga in which the twins reunited #and pre DMC3 game

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