#drew something messy as I relived my trauma

[buildoblivion]

serving penance (rewatching season 4)

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 37

Author’s notes: So. Remember when I was sitting on something big? Yeah

Chapter 37

The Outsider smiled softly once the area around you settled, his dark eyes meeting yours with an emotion you did not recognize.

He looked so calm, so pleased with how things were going. Meanwhile you were aghast, heart thrumming away like a caged bird after all that you had seen and experienced. The cold was so very jarring as it followed the scorching heat of flames, like being doused in ice water and sending chills down your spine and arms. What the hell had any of that accomplished, other than putting Vergil through a harsh punishment? Even you, who hadn’t known Eva personally had been shaken by what your eyes were made to witness. No one should be forced to watch a mother and her children suffer through that, especially not one of the very children who went through the tragedy and came out the other side damaged.

Your mind was a whirlwind of questions, mostly pertaining to what happened to Vergil when he left that house. Demons had been crawling all around the surrounding town and homes, attacking and destroying everything in sight. Young Vergil, all alone on a playground, still upset about his mother and brother’s actions...what terrible things must have happened to him? Attacked by demons, hurt by them, forced to suffer through it all without the love of his mother and knowing that she was killed. No wonder he was such a surly, bitter man--he was starting to make more sense to you, bit by bit. God, what would Eva have thought if she knew what would become of Vergil? How many deaths that he would cause, the man he would grow to be.

And worse...you couldn’t stop thinking about the what-ifs of the situation. What would have happened had Vergil not ran from the house, if he had stayed behind with his brother and mother when the attack started? He would have been forced into that closet too, maybe his mother would have stayed with them and survived. But...things were rarely so cut and dry. The fact that the closet Dante was in didn’t burn was a miracle, coupled with the demons not finding him despite being explicitly sent by Mundus to kill Sparda’s kin. Maybe they assumed since they found Vergil, that both sons had been taken care of? Or maybe they assumed Dante would burn with the mansion. Whatever the reason...maybe the circumstances of the situation would have changed if all of them had tried to hide.

Maybe the demons would have found that closet. Maybe all three would have been lost.

Regardless, the tragedy of it all was a lingering wound on you now, one that you doubted would be soothed. And that pain was starting to translate into rage, seeing Vergil wheezing on the floor, one sleeve scorched by the fire’s illusion and hair unkempt and messy. You knew the kind of pain he was feeling, one so heavy it could make people drown in it. There was a tolerance for these kind of things that existed inside your body, made strong and firm by years and years of gritting your teeth through suffering and terrible memories. You could still stand after seeing that, you could still breath despite how much it hurt. Vergil was not like you, years of coping mechanisms and cold-heartedness made that pain all the more heavy to bear. 

This solved nothing. All it did was hurt the man for his sins and break him down further and further.

You stood up from the floor, eyes still black as you approached the Outsider with rage boiling in your veins. He was steadfast, staring you down with the calmest expression you had seen and poise in his posture.

“Vergil Sparda has passed his first trial,” He said once you paused before him, your eyes steely and lungs still stinging from the smoke. The Outsider tilted his head, a smile playing on the edge of his lips as he regarded you with something close to amusement, “Is there something you wish to say to me, Y/N? You seem distressed.”

You didn’t hesitate, especially when he was using a tone like that. Your hand whipped out, cracking him across the cheek with as much force as you could muster and ringing the sound out through the Void. Had you ever showed such defiance to the Outsider before, physically striking him in retaliation for his actions? Never. Never. But...Respecting a God who had helped you was one thing, sitting by and letting him be cruel and sadistic was another. Your fear and caring you felt for this creature, one who was seemingly a father figure to you, was like a weight on your chest battling with the anger and fury at his actions. But some things could not be excused, and you had been a slave to ignorance and the wills of this God for far too long. Powers be damned, blessings be damned. After what happened in the Qliphoth tree, this had been a long time coming.

You hurt me, you betrayed me. And now you’re trying to break him.

“Are you satisfied?!” You hissed, grabbing the God by his collar while he put up literally no fight. In fact, he hadn’t even flinched when you hit him, merely blinking slowly and tilting his head back to look at your furious eyes. Somehow his lack of reaction made you even more angry, “What the hell are you thinking, forcing this upon him like it will somehow solve anything! It solves nothing!”

The Outsider’s gaze did not waver, eyes steady as they stared at the black gaze you inherited from him. What had become of him, this creature that you once looked up to and would willingly say you adored? He was the closest thing you had to a parent and he just...He was crushing everything. 

“This man has hurt you, has he not?” The black-eyed God replied, narrowing his stare and tipping his head to the side, “Yet you still wish to save him, to preserve the part of him that you think still exists.”

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard it drew blood, the taste coppery in your mouth. Just because he was right didn’t mean a damn thing.

Your fingers still gripped his jacket, feeling his cold breath as you leaned closer and said in a biting tone, “And what does that matter? Why are you doing this?!” All the pain of his betrayal was spilling forth, mind reliving the moment of V’s absorption and the feeling of the Outsider’s firm grip on your neck, “You wouldn’t even let me try…! You wouldn’t even let me attempt to stop him, to find another way…! All of this, forcing me down, torturing Vergil with his past--just tell me why…!”

Please. I don’t want to hate you, I don’t want this doubt. 

You could remember the beginning years of the Void, of his blessing. The first years of learning your powers, of pulling your shattered mind back together. The Outsider had been calm and patient, kind to you and understanding of the trauma that came with your existence. It was he who had done all that he could to rebuild you, taking away the burden of memories and shaping you into a fighter, one who could withstand the Void’s power and not break under its weight. Yet through all of that had been a distance, a wall you had always secretly hoped would be breached. The Outsider never embraced or touched you, never gave the physical affection that a parent would. 

It was as if he had never knew how, just as puzzled by you and what your relationship was as you were. There was a sense of naivety, an impassiveness covering up a lack of understanding and years and years of passing human contact. All you had wanted was to regain what was lost, what you had never properly tasted--the chance at having loving parents, ones who were proud of you and not afraid to say it. To be strong, to love and be loved equally with no trauma of pain holding it back anymore. Human existence had robbed you of that, taking it all away and leaving you wanting, hungering for the fruits of happiness you were only allowed to briefly sample.

It was why you couldn’t hate Vergil, still wheezing and rasping on the ground, trying to gather his emotions together. He had been hurt time and time again, broken down without rhyme or reason and searching desperately for a means to cope, to feel strong. Had you been offered it, had a darker power sought you out...would you have hurt people as well at a chance of happiness, drowning in that desperation and letting it choke you? The son of Sparda had done terrible things, been selfish and cold and greedy. Things that could not be excused by his trauma, but...you understood it. You did. When one had their face constantly pushed into the dirt, they tended to do all they could to breathe. 

You had done that too. Had taken the first hand that pulled you out of the dirt. 

The Outsider let out a slow breath, the icy chill of it making you shudder lightly as you wheezed out your own angry, panting breaths. That calm expression shifted a bit, and if you weren’t mistaken....was that sadness in those endless, dark depths? The Outsider shocked you then, lifting his hands from his sides and doing the one thing you had never felt from him--he cupped your freezing cheeks with his own icy fingers, making you gasp and muscles tense almost painfully. The tender action shocked you to your core for a moment, anger trapped between the surprise and confusion with nowhere else to go. 

But...why? Why is he doing this?

I don’t understand.

“You are the closest thing to a child I have ever been allowed,” The Outsider replied in a low tone, sounding  a bit grave and serious as he continued on like you weren’t staring at with an expression so lost, “Born of my power, my essence. All that I do, I do to make you stronger, even if those actions make you hate me.”

What? 

You blinked in shock, eyes wide and staring at him with a tortured expression on your face. This was too much, this was too much. All those months of thinking, waiting, not understanding...this didn’t help, it only served to increase the turmoil coiling inside and breaking down the walls of hatred you had formed to protect yourself from the Outsider’s betrayal. This validation, the knowledge of him seeing you as his kin...it only amplified the pain, leaving you wondering and pleading internally, not able to understand why he hurt you so much despite claiming you were his only child.

Why now, when it will only sting the most?

I just want to be happy. 

I wanted you to be a part of that happiness too.

 “P...please...Outsider...Father...” Tears started forming in your eyes, voice hoarse and conflicted as you whispered, “I don’t want this…! I don’t want anyone else to be hurt…!”

Not you. Not Vergil. Not anyone.

Using such a name for the God made his pause, eyes finally closing and breaking the stare he held between you both. He looked a lot closer to a human when he wasn’t gazing with those deep, empty eyes. Softer. Up close it was apparent just how unbelievably tired the Outsider looked, dark circles lining his lids and skin so pale in complexion. 

“There is still so much you do not know,” He finally replied after some pause, opening those exhausted eyes of his to meet your teary gaze, “Things that cannot be forgiven. Even if it means earning your malice, there are things that must be witnessed.”

That was not the answer you wanted to hear.

You gasped, stumbling when the Outsider removed his hands and took several steps back with his expression switching back to the calm, unfazed look from before. As he did so, black crystal started swirling around the space, morphing the surroundings like they did before, but...only partially this time. No no no--No more trials, no more punishments…! You summoned your tendrils, wrapping them around Vergil to help him sit up, shielding him from the view in front of you. The dark crystal formed a wall behind the Outsider, like a screen that stretched all the way into the Void’s non-existent sky. On that screen formed an image, like the two worlds had been spliced over each other and now overlapped.

Your eyes widened, taking in the view of what could only equate to...Hell.

This was Hell.

It was dark, a vision of red and blood in a cavern that you knew could never see sunlight. Unlike the previous illusion, you were not immersed in it, not standing in it, but...seeing what was going on was bad enough. You felt your chest clench, staring beyond the Outsider at a man suspended by fleshy tendrils from all directions, dripping blood into a pool below. He looked like hell, practically ripped apart and completely limp. You knew that white hair, even with his back to you it was very clear who you were seeing. 

Vergil.

The man behind you was panting, making you turn to see him sitting up with a glassy look in his eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze still burning with tears and expression conflicted. No more trauma, he shouldn’t be seeing this--but you doubted he would even if you weren’t there. He wasn’t seeing anything with a faraway expression like that, eyes downcast and hair draping over his face. You resisted the urge to embrace him, to cover his gaze and ears to protect him from this madness. V’s trauma was a vision in your head, breaking you down to nothing for each moment you remembered, that vulnerability so raw and real. It hurt, Vergil was in pain and you just wanted it to stop.

“Outsider…!” You whipped back around to stare at him pleadingly, stepping back and raising a hand to shield Vergil from view, “No more of this, please…! He’s had enough, we both have…!”

The Outsider clicked his tongue, shaking his head at your words and walking a slow circle around you both. Your tendrils summoned around Vergil as he went, acting as a shield despite how little you knew it would do. The God could stop your power with a flick of his fingers, but...he didn’t. Those eyes remained trained on you, watching with curiosity and something a little...disappointed. You half expected his new illusion to encompass the surroundings, enveloping you in the wet, hot air of hell and furthering the torture for the son of Sparda behind you. But that didn’t happen either.

“We will forgo this second trial a bit,” He replied to you, clear and precise. Like the training lessons he had given you all those years ago, “If that would please you, dearest Y/N. But you wanted to know, didn’t you? About Vergil’s bloody past, about what the poet spoke to you of...his trauma caused by his time as Nelo Angelo.”

Not like this, not at his expense.

As you watched in shock, the image before you moved, a newcomer appearing in view before the suspended Sparta. Your gaze snapped back to the screen, fists clenching at your side and tendrils resisting the urge to shield your eyes too. By the Void--He was huge, emerging from the shadows as a behemoth tall enough to be  sky scraper. There was no mistaking this creature, with his king-like stature, curling beard and powerful presence--this was Mundus, the King of the Underworld you had heard mentioned before.

The realization made you gasp, feeling a chill travel up your spine and your fists clench at your sides. It was a strange sensation, wanting to protect Vergil behind you while also watching the Vergil of the past suffer and struggle. Alone. He wore different colors then, more in hues of blue, but...they were so sullied by his own blood that it was hard to tell. 

Mundus stared at the son of Sparda with a cold expression, eyes not visible in the shadows of his face. You knew Vergil would have never fared against something of his stature, the very aura he exuded through the screen of illusion enough to make you want to turn and run. The younger Vergil’s fingers twitched, dropping the broken remains of the Yamato down into the pool where it landed, slowly beginning to sink into the blood. This is how the sword was broken, to be found by the Order of the Sword and then by Nero later.

Things were coming together disgustingly well. Griffon had only told you the minor details of his own existence, about how Vergil took on the King alone and had fallen, Mundus manipulating his weakened form and making him into Nelo Angelo. There his three Nightmares had spawned forth, bringing with them the trauma and reminders of his failure. They never told you what Mundus had done to Vergil, how bad it was. And you were going to learn why.

Mundus parted his lips, voice emerging in a sound that dragged along your earlobes like razor blades. You flinched, hands instinctively rising to cover your ears and taking another step back. But as soon as the sound reached you both, you heard Vergil gasp, the sound choked and hard as he raised his head. His expression was one of shocked fear, of remembrance. And it shattered you into a million pieces.

He cannot see, he can’t know this pain again.

“Sparda...Sparda--that traitor!” Mundus growled, the sound loud and vibrating the air as the Outsider continued to circle you both, not looking fazed in the slightest, “Had he not sullied demon blood with a human womb...Perhaps he could’ve had a son with at least some grit.”

He spoke of Eva, Vergil and Dante’s mother. Something about his dismissal of the woman made your blood boil, but you couldn’t afford to focus on that now. You snapped your gaze to the Outsider, feeling your shoulders shake as he met your gaze like it was a challenge, as if there was something to prove. 

This helps no one.

“I wish to see no more…!” You spat at him, kneeling by Vergil and putting an arm around his waist, trying to urge him to his feet. Your voice seemed to snap the confused, panicked daze Mundus’ voice brought, icy blue eyes sharpening and lips parting in a gasp. He finally met your gaze, chest rising and falling with slow breaths and expression so very conflicted, almost...humiliated. He was at his weakest mentally, and he knew it. To fall to pieces in front of you, to break down into hysterics and cry for his mother...you couldn’t image how much that did to his pride.

“Y/N…” He rasped, voice raw from yelling even as you helped him slowly to his feet, “This..this is...I cannot…”

He didn’t have to elaborate, you understood.

The Outsider paused, tilting his head when the other Vergil spoke, the one from the illusion. It made you and his present day counterpart turn, watching as the Sparda lifted his head and rasped.

“...Done with the drivel yet?” He was so young then, so cocky and full of himself. It made you want to shake the poor half demon, the feeling doubled when he added weakly, “I can keep going.”

An obvious lie. You doubted Vergil could lift his fingers at that moment if he was asked. The one at your side stared at the memory with regret, his hands clenching into fists so tight that he was digging the nails into his palms. You gasped when blood started to trickle down, pattering onto the piece of debris you stood on like the blood trickling from his past self. He looked like he was going to be sick again, forced to watch a moment in his life that had brought much trauma and pain. And that heavy, drowning humiliation. Mind you, it was his choices that lead to this outcome, but…it didn’t make things any more tolerable. In fact, you were willing to bet it stung a lot more knowing he could have avoided all the pain had he just went with Dante, had he tried.

Like with everything, what would have happened if he swallowed his pride and decided to live his life with his brother? The agony of that uncertainty was drowning him, and that was a truth you knew he didn’t need to face anymore.

No more of this. No more.

“Outsider…!” You summoned more tendrils, cracking them out along the ground and stopping the God’s infuriating pacing, “End this, please…! What more must he endure before you are satisfied, what truth does this bring other than pain?” 

But that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Bringing pain.

You took one of Vergil’s hands, stepping closer to him and feeling his fingers grip yours like they were a lifeline, “He knows what happens here, and so do I…! If you had any ounce of caring for me, you would stop this nonsense where it starts…!”

You could feel Vergil’s gaze leave you, staring at the image of Mundus pulling him up into his grasp, hand big enough to hold his whole body. His fingers twitched, Vergil stepping back and pulling you close enough to put your back flush against his side. He was gritting his teeth again, trying to hold onto the anger above the pain and maintain his composure. Those walls wanted to rebuild themselves so fast, but Vergil seemed so exhausted, so tired. Each breath was slow and measured, brow dotted with sweat and hand gripping yours tight enough that you were afraid he would break bone. 

The Outsider paused at your side, keeping his eyes on Mundus and raising a hand to freeze the image. You could almost breathe a sigh of relief, seeing the King’s mouth open and say nothing as the illusion waited for the God to continue it.

There was an air of aggravation now, the Outsider turning toward you and letting out a low hum as he asked, “Do you truly wish for me to end this trial?” Those black eyes lingered on Vergil, narrowing slightly in annoyance as he added, “I will forfeit this as you ask, child of mine. But...the final trial I will not. There is truth to find there, since you claim truth should be the the only trial he faces.”

The God almost sounded...sullen, like your desire to protect Vergil disappointed him. There was something hidden in those black eyes, a sorrow you did not understand. Regret. What more did he possibly have to see, what other truths? You hesitated at the bite in his tone, feeling like a child who had been reprimanded by their father despite all efforts not to. But...this was not something you could tolerate any longer, sitting idly by and letting the God have his merry way. Someone needed to protect Vergil, even if he didn’t want you to. Not that he was going to say anything now, staring down the Outsider with such a fierce hatred that you were shocked the God didn’t catch fire from the heat.

No, all he offered in response with a slow smile, seeming utterly pleased by seeing the Son of Sparda so wrecked. Vergil was growing more and more furious, crackling with an air of anger that made the cold of the Void pale under its fire. You knew damn well he didn’t want to take part in these trials to begin with, especially not with no other choices and no way out. Now, seeing exactly what it had in store for him...he must want the Outsider dead, hating feeling weak in any capacity and being forced back against the wall. You saw his fingers twitch, free hand grasping the hilt of his Yamato like he wanted to attack the Deity before you. But trying was a waste of time.

And he knew it.

“I care not for your trials…!” Vergil growled, tone gravelly and raw as he narrowed his gaze on the smug God, “If you wish to punish me, then leave her out of it…!”

That made you jolt, indignation rising along with the worry in your throat as you protested, “Vergil--!”

“Enough,” He snapped in reply, cutting you off and meeting your pleading gaze with an exhausted one of his own, “This is what V wants, would you really deny him that which he desires?”

Of course he would say that, of course he would bring V into it.

And for the record, hell yeah you would, especially if it meant him sacrificing himself. You learned after those four months that doing so was never the right way to solve anything, not when there were people who cared about you. And everything be damned, you knew there were people who cared about Vergil. You, Dante, even Nero...you owed it to your friend to make sure he got to know his Father, that he would return home to make amends. Becoming one with the Void was a fate worse than death, losing your consciousness to the thousands of others and becoming a part of the chorus, lost to never be found again. You had been a strange case, you had gotten lucky--By circumstances beyond your control, you had not been consumed and were promptly found by the black-eyed God.

Vergil did not have that kind of luck.

“I’m done with losing people,” You replied to Vergil in a harsh tone, gripping the collar of his jacket and forcing him down to stare at you on your level, “You don’t get to make that choice…! It was my interference that brought us here, my mistakes…!”

Because of that, you refused to run. You would see this through to the end.

Vergil scowled at that, desperation in his eyes as he parted his lips to reply. But the Outsider was faster. You heard the God sigh, making you both turn again to look at him as he waved his hand at the image of Mundus and the younger Vergil, making it shatter into crystal that swirled around you all.

“Is this what you want, Y/N?” He looked straight at you, a thousand warnings in his eyes as the wind whipped his black hair slightly with the force, “To see this final trial by his side, to observe this truth no matter how much pain it will bring?”

You had stayed by his side through the death of Eva, through the fire and torment of his burning family home. No matter what came next, you could handle it for his sake. The deaths of those in the Qliphoth, seeing Dante’s struggles, maybe Nero’s? You could handle that, you could be the pillar of strength he needed to get you both out of there alive. Whatever the truth would bring, you weren’t going to sit and be ignorant anymore. Consequences be damned.

So you nodded, squeezing Vergil’s fingers and ignoring his sharp, desperate gaze as you replied, “I will not be swayed. After all, you’ve been showing me new pains for my entire life...haven’t you?”

Every ache, every agony...he made sure I went through them.

I just want to know why.

The Outsider tilted his head to the side at your words, as if he could sense the very context held beneath them. Silence passed between you both, punctuated by the Void’s howling and the whipping wind. You didn’t know what was going through his head, but you hoped it was something close to mercy, closer to what you thought the Deity was upon learning from him, from doing his bidding. There was a pleading look in your eyes, silently begging him to understand and listen. You didn’t want this anymore, didn’t want this conflict or hatred. You didn’t want to hate him anymore. Getting to live your life a second time was a blessing, getting to try again was a gift. And being able to do it all with the power of the Void and the Outsider guiding you was more than anyone could ask for.

But...there was something in the Outsider’s expression that made you nervous. A reluctance, one that was enhanced when he raised his fingers, sending the cloud of dark crystal swirling about you both like a cloud.

“Then so be it. But let it be known that I tried to warn you.”

You flinched, closing your eyes and gripping Vergil’s coat tightly between your fingers as it weaved around you loudly, coldly. Changing the landscape again, you knew that much. It was hard to get your sense of direction, like being turned upside down in mid air and trying to regain balance. You felt the cold start turning into warmth, the shimmering rays of the sun painting on your skin and making you gasp. Inhaling brought the taste of salt water on the air, wind sending your hair adrift and feeling nice despite it being utterly fake. Another illusion.

In a matter of seconds, the Void’s howling dissipated, leaving behind the quiet sound of footsteps, of voices low and murmuring as they brushed past your ear. It took a few moments for you to catch your breath, to get your barrings after being thrust into a new space so quickly. Your brain was scrambling, confused and trying to tell you that the Void was now gone, but you knew better by now, didn’t you?

You knew this place too, that was a fact.

You opened your eyes, feeling shock settle over you as the surrounding registered within. This was Fortuna, you would recognize it anywhere. The architecture, the towers reaching toward the sky and that ocean breeze you had experienced for months of peace. But...it was different now, not the crystal woven buildings of your home with bustling in the streets of new and old technologies alike. No, this was far more subdued. You stepped closer to Vergil, anxiety settling in a hollow pit of your stomach as you watched people walk by with their heads down,  wearing cloaks and hoods and all keeping to themselves. It was so quiet, a far cry from the laughter and talking of the city square now, Fortuna opening its doors to the outside world and finding peace and culture they enjoyed.

And even more shocking was the behemoth looming over the city in the distance. Made of stone, towering high into the sky and staring eerily into the distance. 

Nero had told you the story of how that statue fell, a homage to the demon Lord Sparda that was built by the Order of the Sword. But it was still here, the damage caused by all the events Nero was involved in no longer there. This was definitely the past--so maybe your assumption was correct? Maybe you were seeing what happened to Nero growing up, the truth of living without his parents? But...why weren’t you in front of the orphanage, instead in the town square several streets away. What was the truth to find here?

You looked up at Vergil, finding him frowning and staring around with wariness in those sharp eyes.

“We’re in Fortuna,” He stated the obvious, tone low and still rasping from before, “I...remember coming here to investigate the Order of the Sword.”

You blinked, stepping back from him and looking out at the people oblivious to your existence. One hand reaching out phased right through them, proving this illusion to be just like the other. It felt real, but you could not interfere with those who existed in it. 

But...that wasn’t important right now. A realization was forming in the back of your head, one that made you take pause and turn to look back at Vergil.

“H...how many times did you come to Fortuna?” This was where he met Nero’s mother, wasn’t it? Had to be, considering the fact that Nero was born and raised in Fortuna his whole life. Getting in and out of the city at a time like this was difficult, if not impossible considering the grip held on it by the religious group. 

Vergil frowned, putting a hand to his head and wincing slightly, as if he was in pain.

“...Once,” He finally replied, almost reluctantly, “The memory is vague, most likely due to my run in with Mundus afterwards. I do remember finding a book telling me the information I needed, then leaving to form the tower as a means to gain my father’s power, but…”

He didn’t remember Nero’s mother.

As soon as the thought formed, you froze, seeing a familiar shape walking through the crowd nearby with his head down like the others. The man stood out a bit, tall and broad shouldered with the familiar handle of the Yamato peaking through his cloak. You could recognize Vergil’s air of confidence anywhere, even when his younger self was seemingly trying not to be noticed. Blending into the crowd as best he could, people of Fortuna clearing a path out of his way and not looking at his face at all. His older version at your side noticed too, standing at attention as he watched himself walk past, face younger but still wearing that cold, cocky look he always had. It felt so strange, seeing a closer version to the Vergil you knew, but so much softer and more naive looking. Vergil at his peak of stupidity, it would seem.

But you knew now, the truth you were realizing here. The fact that Vergil didn’t seem to remember anything about Fortuna, about Nero’s mother told you everything you needed to know. What had happened to this woman, one who somehow managed to gain Vergil’s attention enough to form a child? Imagining the son of Sparda engaging in a quick fling seemed heavily unlikely, especially given the lack of interest he seemed to have in anything but power. Vergil clearly had not stayed behind for her, and Nero didn’t know who she was either. It didn’t bode well, and you were willing to bet her story would be a painful one. Of course the Outsider would want him to see what happened to this woman, the mother of his child, and make him feel terrible about that too.

He was doing things out of order--why this last? Wouldn’t it make more sense to show Mundus last, considering that happened after Vergil fornicated in Fortuna?

“Nero’s mother…” You murmured, making Vergil tilt his eyes back to you, “Is there anything you remember about her at all? She must have been special, especially considering the fact that she somehow caught your eye.”

 Vergil seemed so focused, so driven. Romance or lust was so low on his spectrum.

The man in question furrowed his brow, letting out a low growl from his chest and rubbing his temple with hard fingers, “Why do I feel insulted by your tone?” He asked flatly, making you raise a brow at him, “I remember very little. She wore a red dress--does that help at all?”

A woman in red...that kind of narrowed it down, right?

You sighed, running a hand through your hair and feeling absolutely exhausted by the whole situation, “This is what the Outsider wants you to see so pay attention--didn’t you wonder at all what happened to this woman considering the fact that you barely remember her?” You met Vergil’s eyes, a serious expression on your face as you continued, “Nero searched Fortuna for her, but she was nowhere to be found. You are meant to see her fate.”

And like it or not, you would both be witnessing it.

Vergil looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw and an uneasy air settling around his form. You knew this might be less damaging than watching his own mother die, especially if he had no attachment to the female. But...this could bring closure to Nero too, and that was important. Guilt could be an effective teaching tool, one that Vergil needed to become more familiar with after spending his entire life ignoring such things. Her fate was as important as his own, and he owed it to Nero and himself to at least try and see what happened to the poor girl he left behind.

Almost on cue, you saw something out of the corner of your eye--a flicker of color. Right on time. It made your head turn, a breath catching in your throat as you saw a hint of red walking from the direction illusion-Vergil was heading in. You gripped the real one’s hand, making him follow your gaze before you let go and started heading toward the woman in question. This had to be her, there was no doubt about that--head down with a white hood, dress a scarlet red and walking slowly past Vergil on the quiet street with a gentle stride. Her face was obscured, which was unfortunate. But you assumed you’d see it soon enough. 

You walked to her side, phasing through the people of the crowd and pausing once she did in the middle of the cobblestone street. Vergil didn’t look at her, didn’t even seem to notice her--but it was clear she noticed him. You need to see this, right? You weren’t bothered by knowing Vergil had slept with another woman, especially considering he and V had no knowledge of you then. But...Something felt...off?

Something isn’t right.

Your foresight started prickling in your chest, growing in heat and intensity and making anxiety boil through your veins. What the hell was all that about, there was no danger here, correct? If demons showed up in an illusion, would you sense them too? But….you felt nothing in the house when it was attacked, no indication that danger was coming. Your Foresight had been completely quiet then, not seeming to notice the manifested danger or the fire threatening to burn you. So why was it coming to life now, warning you of something that was not seen?

You halted your steps, standing feet away from the woman in red with confusion and worry in your eyes. Vergil approached your prone form, watching her as well but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face. Instead focused on her, observing as she turned away from the both of you to look behind, seeming to notice Vergil and stop to look back at him with a soft smile peeking out from the hood shielding her face.

What was it that got her attention?

Maybe the energy he carried, maybe the way he walked. You weren’t sure which, but you could feel her interest like a tangible force in the air. That and...more. You felt recognition above all else, like you had met the girl before at some point in your life, as impossible as that was. It prickled at the back of your mind, sending off warning bells and making you incredibly uneasy.

The only women you met in your travels of this world were Nico, Trish, Lady, and Kyrie--and that was excluding the women of Fortuna you grew to recognize.  And there was no way this girl was any of them based on her body type alone, and the fact that two of those girls would be babies at the time. Not like the women working the shops, not anyone you had helped. In fact, this was years ago was it not? This woman would be in her forties by the time you knew her. And she carried no aura similar to the older women.

But...something felt off, something felt wrong. The foresight was growing louder and louder as you stepped away from Vergil, frowning as you tried to move close enough to observe her face.

Don’t.

Don’t look.

Hide your eyes away, child of the Void.

The whispers turned to screaming in your ears, making your steps falter and eyes blink in confusion. What...was happening? What was going on? You were feeling rooted to the spot, standing next to the woman with your heartbeat increasing on every breath. Vergil wasn’t immune to your fixation, to the intensity of your gaze. He asked you if you were alright, but you barely heard it, ears starting to sound like they were underwater, drowned by your own pulse.  Look away look away, the Foresight chanted, growing louder and louder as everything around you seemed to slow, to dim, You can’t, you shouldn’t, you mustn’t. This was not something you were supposed to see, but it was far too late now, wasn’t it?

The girl’s hands raised from her sides, gripping the edges of her hood and gently peeling it back, revealing her face to your eyes.

Wh--

What? 

Th...that’s not…

This isn’t--

That’s not possible.

There must be a mistake--

Your eyes were wide and unblinking, staring at the face before you and unable to comprehend what your head was seeing. What...what was going on? You saw her eyes, the same color as yours. Her hair, the same color as yours. Her face...that...that was your face, was it not? Those were your lips, your nose, your cheeks, your everything. That was your smile on her lips, gentle and full of interest as she watched Vergil walk away. Your fingers lifted on her hand, touching your-- her cheek like she was in awe. Your breath stopped entirely in your lungs, heart pounding so hard in your chest that the roar of blood in your ears was deafening. Impossible impossible impossible--this was not possible. Your fingers started shaking, the Foresight in your body screaming in agony as you stared into her face, like a mirror, seeing yourself and unable to comprehend any of it.

She is--We are--I am--

I can’t--I can’t I can’t I can’t.

This cannot be real.

Your brain snapped like a weak twig, mouth opening but no sound coming out as your power and soul screamed out in absolute agony. Anger, despair, horror, pain, fear, incomprehension--It was like a tidal wave shattering the glass holding you together and flooding all in its path. You felt yourself crumble, mind shutting down and all the powers enveloping you in a sea of blackness that felt all too familiar to your body. And for once...you welcomed it, that feeling of nothing. Everything went howling into the Void in an instant--no more thoughts, no more sight, no more feeling. You fell to your knees and entirely shattered apart, the image before your eyes snapping away into the darkness like it had never been there at all. 

You fell to pieces, mind shutting down before it could destroy itself even more. Like razors, the weight of the grief and absolute horror was ripping apart any sense of sanity you could have, protecting your soul from cracking into the state it had been all those years ago in the Void. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. This cannot be. This cannot. Be. She is me and I am--

You lost it. You lost it. 

Your mind writhed and thrashed, body going limp on the ground as the blackness consumed all the chaos and sent you into a state of absolute darkness. And in that split second of lucidity that remained before it was all taken, you heard the Outsider’s voice in your head.

Forgive me, my child. There are some things that even you were not meant to see.

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[Red = Completed; Blue = In Progress]

“Childhood Trauma” for Bad Things Happen Bingo

Avedis Risinger is an OC of mine, and this scene actually immediately precedes my first entry requested by @i-blame-my-love-of-whump-on-ryan

—

“There.” Ma'am stepped back with a sweeping glance of appraisal, smiling in mock admiration at her prisoner, her gaze pausing for emphasis on every familiar scar on her body. “Now you’re much more recognizable as yourself. Katherine 857.”

“That isn’t my name,” Avedis snapped, letting raw anger take the tremor out of her voice. Staring at the last person she’d ever wanted to see. Telling herself that she wasn’t afraid of the warden’s wife anymore. 

That the room itself didn’t terrify her more with every minute she spent in it, restrained in a standing position with a collar anchored to the ceiling. That she didn’t feel exposed, strung up naked in front of the person who’d tortured and terrorized her for much of her young life. That she was over it, and there was nothing behind the creeping dread around the edges of her mind. That she didn’t care about the camera, that the others had probably shut the transmission off by now anyway.

That some part of her hadn’t been afraid of this all along.

“Now, now,” said Ma'am, frowning in mock-parental disapproval. “We’ve been over this. You may have something else printed on that ridiculous uniform, but microchips don’t lie. You are Katherine 857. You know it. I know it. You might as well admit it to the rest of your merry band.”

“My name is Avedis Risinger. Katherine is a middle name, nothing more.”

Ma'am laughed. “Close, I suppose. But we both know Katherine is your first and only name, and there is nothing more beyond that. Only that you were the 857th mongrel whelp named Katherine since the foundation of this institution. Not terribly original of your mother, but what else can you expect from criminal stock?”

“My name is Avedis Katherine Risinger of the Sovereign Legion of the Chosen. Captain of the airship Stormchaser. My identification is—”

“Eight. Five. Seven.” Ma'am cut her off, in an insistent tone and gradually escalating volume that was meant to be a warning. “Katherine is your only name. You were microchipped the day after you were born, like all the scum offspring in this hellhole.”

Avedis glared back at her in defiance. (Her. Not the camera. Not once at the camera, or Ma'am wins.) 

“My name,” she said, matching the older woman’s tone, a vicious, desperate mockery in her eyes, “is. Avedis. Katherin—nngh!" 

The retort was cut off in a barely-swallowed scream, ending in a whimper she couldn’t control as the rod slammed into her stomach for what had to be the tenth time, delivering another charge. Her body jerked forward, the inside of the collar jamming into her throat.

"That’s enough!” Ma'am snapped as Avedis leaned her head back, coughing. The point of the rod trailed from her navel to her chest, then back down. “Scars don’t lie either,” she said with a taunting note that made Avedis’s skin crawl. “We did tell your friends we’d get to that, didn’t we?”

The rod struck her right upper thigh, almost six inches above where her shorts had ended, and Avedis didn’t need to look down to see what it was. A cluster of cigarette burns.

“The warden wouldn’t brand the offspring he brought home for his vanity project, you see,” Ma'am said into the camera. “So it fell to me. I had to make do with what I had. She screamed like a stuck boar. And oh, what I had to do to make her stop.”

Avedis closed her eyes. Ma'am would not get the satisfaction of her pain, rage, fear, desperation. No matter what.

The tip of the rod moved to her other leg. A series of shallow stab wounds. “Katherine 857 was helpful on occasion, I won’t deny. Whenever I got a new letter opener, or scissors, she would break them in for me. It helped build her resilience and self-control, you see.” Avedis could hear the smug smile in her voice. “Yes, you have me to thank for that. By the time she was sixteen, she barely made a sound.”

She dragged the tip to her lower abdomen, just before the waistline of her clothes began. A messy spiderweb of an electrical scar. Ma'am’s souvenirs were always carefully placed to avoid detection by the warden. “Why Katherine 857,” she exclaimed in mock surprise, “whyever would you hide this? Don’t you think it’s lovely? Like a pink lace on that pale skin. Beauty hurts, whelp, you never did learn that." 

There was another on her left side, and one at the small of her back. Ma'am went for the side first. "This was a birthday present. I caught her and two other urchins ogling the tattoos of the builders, so I decided to give them their own… body art, I think they’re calling it these days. I think it turned out well. Wasn’t satisfied with the placement, though. The one in the back turned out better. Centered, you see. Much more balanced to the eye.” She chuckled. “She seems rather determined to have at least one more before I’m done with her.”

Ma'am leaned in close, close enough for Avedis to feel the air expended in the vicious whisper. “If I’m ever done.”

The sensation made her skin crawl. Avedis shoved her away, but Ma'am grabbed her arm, spinning her around and pinning it to her back. Another hand seized her shoulder. Put pressure on it. Avedis bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

“Could it be you don’t remember what happens when mongrels misuse what they’re given?”

Avedis shook her head silently. Much of her childhood was a foggy mystery, but that she remembered. She still had nightmares about joints being partially dislocated by cold hands, brutal but careful and precise. The penalty for lifting a hand–or any part–against Ma'am. 

Ma'am tone shifted. Addressing the camera again. “Ah, now you can see the back. And to think, she’s been hiding it from you all this time… the lines, of course, are belt-strikes. Those she never quite stopped howling at… did you?”

You’re not hurting me, I’m just mad!

The memory hit her like a belt-strike, the sound of her own voice in a hoarse attempt at a defiant roar, ragged from sobs and howls of pain. Her breath hitched in a sympathetic sob, and she felt a burning sensation at the bridge of her nose, an early warning that tears were coming. She closed her eyes tighter and willed it away.

Ma'am let go of her shoulder to run her hand slowly over her back, cold and menacing and still tipped by what the Lucky Few used to call her claws when she wasn’t around. Humiliation, rage and nausea washed over her in alternating waves as Ma'am’s hand dragged searchingly over her back, down to her buttocks.

“No marks here? Well, I suppose hatpins are too small to leave much. Remember why you got those?”

Katherine 857, stop squirming in your seat or I’ll give you something to squirm about!

“No,” Avedis lied, and swallowed back a surge of bile as the fog around her childhood started to dissipate. It used to irritate her, but now she wanted it back. 

“I’ll have her call back sometime and tell you the story herself,” Ma'am told the camera, “when she’s had a chance to remember. You’ll find that all her best qualities are down to my instruction.” The hand curled into a claw and dragged back up to her shoulders, leaving a stinging trail. “I certainly can’t imagine a filthy bunch of brigands teaching you much,” she added into Avedis’s ear. “Your kind have nothing to contribute to the world.”

“I still prefer them,” Avedis growled, then caught her breath and braced for the sharp twist of a partial dislocation when she remembered where Ma'am’s hands were. It didn’t come, but she could taste blood from her lower lip. She’d forgotten she was biting it.

That happened a lot here.

The burn between her eyes intensified, and she took shallow, forced breaths to try to cool it. She was not going to cry. She was not seventeen. She’d come too far, done too well, grown too much to cry like the girl she’d been in here.

“Now,” said Ma'am, “Your name. For the record.”

“Ave–” That was as far as she got before the words were replaced by a choked cry she couldn’t quite silence in time as she felt the familiar push-and-wrench of Ma'am’s favorite punishment. Pain blossomed in her shoulder, running up to her neck.

Pinpricks raced down her arm to concentrate in her index finger. She didn’t need to try to move to know her arm wouldn’t respond right, knew not to try to move. Knew from lectures by the first person to call her by that diminutive that trying was just liable to make it worse. God, she was going to miss his fussing when this was over–not that she planned on admitting it if they ever met again. Ma'am dropped her arm, and she winced.

“Try again,” Ma'am snapped, seizing her other arm and twisting. 

She wanted to give in, and she hated herself for it. She wanted to tell Ma'am whatever she wanted to hear, beg to keep her right arm functioning, even let her put her in manacles. She was almost willing to deal with the panic attack from having her wrists restrained, risk Ma'am finding out about what Sasha called a phobia and she still insisted was a minor peculiarity. It was almost better to endure what was likely the result of her first seventeen years than relive those years like this.

Almost.

She grit her teeth.

“Avedis K–”

Ma'am dug her nails into her skin this time as she shoved her arm up, then yanked it down and backward with practiced precision, kept them sunk in even afterward. Six nails drew blood. “Name!”

“Katherine, damn you! Katherine!” Her voice broke as she practically felt the words ripped from her throat, shoulders hunching in an approximation of her body’s instinct to curl up. Nothing in her tone but ragged desperation, shouting to keep from audibly sobbing. “God in Heaven, I kept it! It’s still there! Damn the numbers! Why do you care?! What does it prove?!”

“It proves that you understand what you are.”

Avedis stood silent for a moment, except for ragged, uneven breaths. Sweat had been beading on her forehead from her efforts at defiance for at least half of the ordeal. She leaned her head back, resting against the heavy collar around her neck, and a few drops ran down, framing her face. 

As long as they weren’t tears.

She straightened. “Katherine 857,” she said slowly, opening her eyes, “is… is my name.”

Ma'am smiled, stepping back to look at her, the embodiment of smug satisfaction. “Good.”

“Avedis Katherine Risinger,” Avedis continued, a note of defiance returning to the rasping voice, “is what I am. And you can strip me down and… do it all to me again… I’m not going back. You–you can’t have me back. You can’t have her back.”

Ma'am’s expression soured. She took a step toward Avedis, then seemed to change her mind. Her gaze flicked to Avedis’s uniform, that she had so gleefully compelled her to shed, and her smile returned.