#inspired by dark souls

[the-world-of-palara]

The Black Rose of Tyr Pt. VI

Sarai did not know how long she had been unconscious, but she had eventually woken up in a cell on a cold stone floor. She knew it was a cell because there were blue lanterns scattered about the areas around her that illuminated her surroundings, and they were surrounded by bars. Judging from the other people of different races in other spots around her, she was in a slave pen. The drow had taken her alive to be used as a mule for their dirty, backbreaking work. That much was painfully obvious. She sat upright and propped her back up against a pillar nearby, and she let out a long sigh. She was in horrible pain all over, but strangely she felt no pain in her left arm. She took a look toward it…

And it was gone.

She was still delirious from the entire ordeal. Seeing no arm where one should be sent her into a panic. Her breathing came fast and ragged as she stared at where her arm should be. She did her best to calm down but she couldn't. Soon, she was set upon by someone that was in the cell with her, doing their best to hold her down. They weren't trying to hurt her but rather keep her under control, gently and reassuringly, taking her hand and holding it firmly yet softly.

"Please calm yourself. The guards will come beat you if you make too much noise."

The hushed masculine voice spoke to her in a calming tone, and Sarai squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could. The person was strong enough to hold her down and keep her from thrashing about in her panic but the grip was also as gentle as a parent's to their child. It was more like a hug than anything else. The words helped to settle her after a bit, and the person's calm grip on her was able to keep her body under control.

"Deep breaths, friend. I am sorry, but your arm is gone. Take your time."

The man's voice came again. She breathed deeply over and over, her hand gripping his own, and she tried her best to calm the tremors in her body. Sarai's eyes began to focus again and with the light from the lanterns, she could see that this man was a rather small human man, but despite his size, his strength through the softness of his touch was great enough to hold her trembling body under control, signifying that he was a monk of some kind. He was fully bald and had a thick, unkempt beard that reached his chest in length. One striking thing about the man is that his eyes were covered by a a band of cloth.

"You've been asleep for quite some time since they laid you in here."

"Where… a-am I?" Sarai asked in a whisper.

"Daruma, the drow city deep beneath the Ironstone Mountains in the abyss. They captured you to be a slave."

A frustrated growl came from Sarai's throat as she calmed. "Damn it… They took your eyes as well?"

The monk shook his head. "They did not. I am a Monk of the Sightless Path. I carved my own eyes out long ago."

"Hm. It seems I am… not so lucky, then."

She remembered her arm had been thoroughly crushed and destroyed by the two devastating blows made by the Skrios cultist captain. It was most likely beyond all repair, and the only hope for it would have been powerful healing magics. Considering it was gone, she could guess the drow did not wish to waste their time and magic on healing a lowly slave's arm.

"I am Agmoss." The monk spoke once more, finally introducing himself.

"Sarai Rose."

"You are the one the mystic spoke of. A Sevlrass woman with one arm, red eyes, and a rose branded into her palm."

"A mystic? Why would one speak of me, knowing of…" Sarai clenched her fist, "...this?"

Agmoss leaned in close to her. Despite his visual impairment, he knew exactly where she was. He spoke in a low whisper. "We are to wait for a lunar seraphim woman however long it takes, and we are to enact an uprising with her aid."

Sarai stared at him for several long moments, contemplating what he had just shared with her before she finally nodded slowly. She didn't know why, but she quickly trusted the monk. "Then we will wait."

After that day she awoke, it was soon made clear to Sarai of why the drow had taken both herself and even Agmoss captive. While both were still strong, their impairments made the drow slow to put them to any meaningful work. Instead, they were used for entertainment for their corrupted overlords in the form of whipping targets. Each day, the two had been stripped and mercilessly whipped across their bodies, each drow spectator hoping to hear them scream out in agony and beg for it to cease.

But the two were strong, and they held strong against it for the entirety of their time as slaves. Agmoss had been there two years before Sarai had been captured, his story being that he allowed himself to be captured after showing how capable he would be as a slave. But the drow sought to break him due to that strength, and he would have none of it.

Sarai was treated much the same as him. She was whipped nearly day after day across her bare back and legs, and each pass she made by commanders or nobles she was whipped in the back, arm, or legs to "entertain" them. Even when she was doing a task she was told to do, they would whip her for their own entertainment, trying to make her scream out from the pain. The most she or Agmoss ever gave them were short grunts from unexpected lashings. Their will and pain tolerance had continually frustrated their drow overlords. Agmoss never acted out of line before, but Sarai made things difficult for herself by protecting other slaves from abuse, at one point being whipped across the jaw with a strike that left a large gash. After Sarai arrived and protected the other slaves, Agmoss began to as well.

Sarai had no choice but to trust the monk, trusting that the lunar seraphim would one day come and they could act out some sort of plan to break themselves and the other slaves free. It was just a waiting game, and by herself Sarai would be unable to break free and escape. She just had to endure. She had to stay strong. She had to stay unbreakable to the abuse of the corrupted drow. She had to trust that Tyriel would see justice done, for her and all of the slaves that she had grown to know. She had to stay completely focused on that goal.

During her time in enslavement, her depression had risen once more despite the focus she tried to put into the end goal of the planned uprising. It was hard for her to keep herself occupied while trapped in a pen at nearly all hours of a day or night. It was hard to keep track of the time, and it was hard to keep track of her sleep. During that time, Agmoss had been the only person she opened herself up to and she told him of her past one day, and that she hoped that she could bring justice for her family and friends one day. The monk listened intently and heavily sympathized with her, and told her that he had lost his own family to bandits as well. He told her that what they did led him to become a Monk of the Sightless Path so he would not have to witness any more atrocities with his own eyes again. After the two shared their stories with one another, they learned more of other slaves they shared the pens with as well.

Many were dwarven warriors that had been taken in the recent skirmishes. Some were mercenaries that had been captured trying to aid the dwarves. They were fed, but not anywhere near as well as they should be fed. The ones that were struggling more with malnourishment, Sarai and Agmoss gave them a bit of the food from their bundles. It was harsh for them all to suffer through.

Sarai and Agmoss both kept up exercising to keep their bodies in shape. It was all they could do to keep occupied in their time in the slave pens when they weren't being put to work or whipped. Although, Agmoss had his meditations as well to keep his mind clear and calm. It was something Sarai had learned to do as well, to help aid against the turmoil that were her inner thoughts. It somewhat worked, but the temple of her mind had thoroughly been desecrated.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years. Sarai's hair, fallen out of its usual braid, grew unkempt and tangled. Some nights she suffered through nightmares, and was promptly beaten for screaming from them and making noise during curfew hours. Each month passed in the wait for the lunar seraphim to arrive, and it had eventually turned to five years. Sarai and Agmoss both still held strong, although the time had worn on them and they had grown tired more often than not. They were tired but their wills were not shaken.

One day, the door to the slave pens was opened and a very fit and muscular human-looking woman was thrown in. She didn't fall to the ground, instead she held her footing, glancing back at her captors for a moment before turning her gaze back to the slaves. She didn't seem very concerned, despite the bruises and cuts across her body from whatever battle she was in before the drow captured her. She scanned the pens for several moments before her eyes widened upon the sight of Sarai and Agmoss. A smile spread across her lips and without a thought, she stepped over to the two and sat down in front of them, her smile wide.

"You are the ones I am meant to find."

Before Sarai's eyes, her body began to change into a different form but keep the same physique. Her skin became a dark shade of blue, and across her skin showed what seemed like silvery-blue spots, much like stars spread out and in long patches, with larger star-like freckles under her eyes. Across her skin between all of the star-like freckles were tiny black ones. Both orbs became fully white, the irises and pupils blending in with the sclera. Her hair turned shorter to around shoulderblade length, silvery-white and slightly poofy and wavy like clouds. She grew two pale silvery-blue horns protruding from the back of her head above her neck, curving around her head above her ears, ending in tips pointing upward above her eyes. Lastly in the center of her forehead was an emblem of a silver crescent moon. The horns and the emblem were glowing a lunar light, nearly like the glow of the moon.

"And you are… the one we were meant to wait for, I take it. I can feel your celestial energy. I am Agmoss. I have waited for seven years. Sarai has waited for five."

"That long? Damn!" The woman's quiet curse hissed out, "I only recently met the mystic that told me of you both. I wish I had learned sooner."

"How will we escape?" The question, almost in a desperate, pleading tone came from Sarai.

The lunar seraphim's body changed once more and she was soon back in her disguised self. "We have to wait a few days. I'll keep my disguise up, and then we'll get out of this cell and I'll send a signal to the attack force."

Agmoss grunted a bit. "How will you do that?"

"Through a mind link I created with someone. They'll let me know when they are ready."

"And how can you hold your disguise without the drow discovering you?"

"The magic of gods is beyond the detection of mortal means and warding magics."

"That is very useful."

Sarai rolled her neck a bit and stared at her hand. Her bandages had fallen deteriorated and left her hand bare. The burn on her palm pulsed with a dull pain and she grimaced before clenching her hand into a fist. 

"We've waited this long... We can wait a few more days."

Agmoss turned to the seraphim. "What is your name, friend?"

"My name is Luna. I will tell you both the plan we have…"

The plan was much bigger than Sarai or Agmoss anticipated. With the corrupted drow's constant battles against the dwarves of Khandaral to invade and conquer, actions had to be taken. The council of Khandaral had sent requests for aid to multiple kingdoms and they had received it in the form of numerous mercenaries from Artristan and Sanguine, many of them from one of the most well known guilds in Artristan and the fabled Sanguine Knights.

During the days leading up to the assault, Luna told Sarai and Agmoss about herself. She told them of how she was a barbarian mindstriker from a tribe in a far off continent to the east that she did not name, because it had no name. She had left to venture the world in search of knowledge many years ago when her parents passed away of old age. She told them of the ship she was captain of for a time, sailing across the Moonfire Sea and hunting pirates for coin as she learned more about the world. She had since moved on from her seafaring life, letting her former crew of the time continue on their bounty hunting, and she had eventually come to the central parts of the world to continue her grand search for knowledge of all forms.

Agmoss did not have much to tell about himself, and Sarai did not wish to tell anything of herself or her journey. Luna understood her wishes, and didn't pry into it

Soon it was time. Luna received the word in her mind, and she relayed the information to her new allies and the rest of the slaves, who she had quietly informed of the situation over the past few days. The entirety of the dwarves relished in the thought of fighting and taking their freedom back. The non-dwarven mercenaries were slow to trust this sudden plan to escape, but the attitude of the dwarves was infectious, and they soon joined in silent celebration for the days leading up to now.

Luna stood up and dropped her disguise, standing to her full six foot and six inch frame, and she rallied the slaves behind herself, Sarai, and Agmoss. Luna focused her mind and sought out the mind of one of the drow, projecting her consciousness into the drow's mind and without much resistance, took it over for the time being. She used the drow's memories against her and as the drow, traveled to the armory, and took two sabres. Then, she took her unwilling vessel to the slave pens where she tossed the sabres into the cell, and Luna severed the connection.

The drow's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed, unconscious but alive. Luna opened her eyes and picked the blades up off the ground. She equipped them and took the blades from the sheaths, each blade a silver color with lunar blue runes along the sides, silver crossguards, and black leather-wrapped hilts. Both blades matched the other in every aspect. Luna held the blades in her hands and activated their enchantments, causing the runes to glow bright and cause blazing blue flames to erupt along their edges. With two quick motions, she sliced the bars of the cell door at the top and bottom, and she led the slaves out and into the streets of Daruma, and then ran to do the same to the doors of the other pens. Agmoss had no need of a weapon, and Sarai grabbed the shortsword the drow had on her. Luna led the slaves through the city toward the armory where they met little resistance, and they quickly arrived inside the building where many of their weapons and armor had been stored.

Sarai looked for her zweihander but could not find it and she cursed as she remembered she had seen a massive drow warrior had claimed it as his own. She then began to search around the armory for the blade she remembered the captain of the cultists five years ago had carried. The blade that her father carried, and his father before him. If she could at least find that here then she would be content for the time being. While everyone else equipped themselves for the coming battle, she searched endlessly for the blade and finally found it in the hands of a dwarf appraising it. She quickly strode over to him and grabbed the sword's sheath, and she pulled the weapon from his hands without a word of warning.

"What- Oi!" Flabbergasted, the dwarf turned angrily toward her, before he realized who had taken it, "I found that first!"

"It is my father's ." Sarai replied in a low, cold tone, poison dripping from every word.

The dwarf quickly decided to back down. "R-right, I'll just… go find another."

Sarai's scowl slowly faded and she sighed as she wrapped the sword's belt around her waist, and she was even able to find her cloak of elemental protection. She then found the empty sheath to her bastard sword and her own shortsword, and she equipped those as well despite not having the blades at the moment. When she finished all of that, she found the dwarf and apologized to him, explaining a bit more about the shortsword, and then regrouped with Luna and Agmoss. Luna had gained another pair of sabres, both looking much like the others but with different runes along the sides of the blades. They were runes of aquatic magics, much like the runes of the other sabres were of fire magics.

Luna opened her eyes, having finished communicating telepathically with her allies outside the city, and she smiled. "The liberation of Daruma is beginning! Fight for your freedom, and the freedom for these corrupted drow!"

A collective battle cry sounded through the slaves, and they all left the armory. Sarai was one of the first out of the building, and she could already hear cries of alarm throughout the district closest to the caves leading to the surface. She nor the others had time to go aid their unknown allies, as a group of drow passing by on the way stopped and engaged them in combat. If they were to use non-lethal means, then Sarai was of little use unless she only used the hilt of her father's sword to strike the drow, or just punch them. Still, being of little use was preferable over being of no use.

The battle for the drow city of Daruma had begun. Sarai, Agmoss and the other slaves were led into battle by Luna while her allies and dwarven attackers had slowly pushed into the city. The drow did not expect the assault to take place, and least of all the slaves to break free of the pens and revolt against them so easily. 

For any drow that came near Sarai, she decided to just try to punch them or slam her arm into their chests or necks with wicked lariats, knocking the air from their lungs when she could hit them. She wasn't able to hit many due to their skill and athleticism, but those she did hit were incapacitated easily thanks to her strength. Thankfully for her, Agmoss, Luna, and the other slaves were able to defend against the drow and incapacitate as many as they could. Some weren't so lucky though, and they had no choice but to kill them.

Agmoss was a powerful force against the drow. While he had no sight, he was trained for years to sense the energy that dwells within all matter, living or not. The Way of the Sightless Path granted Agmoss great sensory awareness and, despite his diminutive size, he was powerful and quick due to the rigorous training all monks subject themselves to. At times when he focused further on single targets, he could even sense their movements before they even made them, allowing him to easily counterattack.

Luna was quite the formidable ally as well. She wasn't using her flame enchanted sabres, instead she held her other sabres and made very good use of the enchantments in them. With each swing of her blades, whips of water lashed out and struck at the drow before they could even get to her. Not only that, from time to time when she focused her energy, she slashed her blades in unison and created crashing waves of water across the ground, slamming multiple drow into walls with such force that few of them were knocked out. That was without mentioning her barbarian strength, iron-like flesh, and her ability to strike directly at her enemies' minds with her psychic abilities.

The battle in the city continued on for a few hours. While Luna's allies fought toward the citadel against the western wall, Luna herself led Sarai, Agmoss and the slaves through the city streets to free any other slaves they found. They had much success in freeing who they came across, as the drow guards were spread thin through the city and mainly focused on the attacking force. Some were able to take spare weapons and join the fight, while some were freed of their anti-magic bindings and worked to heal any injuries as best they could as they got used to being able to use their magic once more.

The battle was over within the day. With the assault from the outside along with the assault from within, the corrupted drow had been defeated after the rather short but decisive battle. Sadly, even though the attackers did their best to use non-lethal force, many drow had been killed. But, the Heralds of the Abyss in the city's citadel had been killed, and the citizens of Daruma would have the chance to recover and move forward with their lives, and mourn those they've lost.

The thoughts running through Sarai's mind though were of her zweihander. She didn't have to search long it turned out, as she was soon met by a half-storm giant warrior by the name of Cronus Stormwind. He had recovered the weapon from the drow who had turned out to be the commander of Daruma's fighting force as well as a Herald of the Abyss. He had learned it was hers because of the twin warriors that walked with him in order to point her out, the same ones that Sarai had fought alongside five years ago.

"This is yours?" The massive warrior stated as he looked between Sarai and the blade in his hand.

"It is."

"Here you go. The Herald that had it was strong. It's a heavy blade."

Cronus handed the sword hilt-first toward Sarai, taking one last moment to admire the style and heft. Sarai took the hilt of the zweihander and lifted it into the air. It was just a bit heavier than she remembered, but that was due to her not being used to the weight after five years of slavery. She took a few test swings away from the others, testing just how out of practice she was with it. Cronus stared in disbelief at how she seemed to easily handle its weight with a single arm. He seemed immensely impressed by the raw strength she displayed as he knew how much the aegisteel zweihander weighed. He could tell she was even stronger than her already impressive physique showed.

Sarai put the sword on her back and as it should, it stuck in place without issue. She was then approached by the twins, who handed her bastard sword and shortsword back to her. They had explained that they returned back to the tunnels one day and recovered them in order to return them to her one day. First she took her shortsword and inspected the blade before she sheathed it, and then she did the same with her bastard sword. Now that she had her weapons once more, she felt much better. She thanked the three warriors for returning her weapons, and she began to walk away as she tried to decide what she wished to do for the time being.

She knew she needed to rest and recover fully from the brutal treatment of the corrupted drow in the last five years, and she had to figure out something to do for her left arm. For that, she knew what could be done with armor, magic, and a person's soul, but the problem would be in finding a blacksmith and an enchanter skilled in soul enchantments. It would be much different than the bound enchantment for her zweihander.

As luck would have it, she would find the solution to the first issue fairly quickly. In the days after the battle of Daruma, she returned to Khandaral where she spoke with the armor smiths and she was able to find one who could forge blood-infused armor. Not only that, the smith knew someone who could point her in the right direction to a person who can work with her soul to bind the armor to her shoulder as a prosthetic. It didn't solve the second issue, but it was a start. She gave as much blood as necessary for the armor and waited for the week it took to forge, and returned to the smith who was more than proud to show his work off to her. Her right arm had been measured for the specifications for the armor. The metal was fully black with smooth edges along the arm, forearm, hand, and fingers with the plates of the hand armor having small curves to them. Along the inner elbow, palm, and inner fingers of the armor was black leather with gaps in the sides.

After the smith wrapped the armor up and she paid him for his work with her pay for helping against the formerly corrupted drow, Sarai prepared to leave Khandaral, back to the cold city of Warshire. The dwarves and drow of the cities of Khandaral and Daruma respectfully celebrated their newfound peace, and the freedom of both the slaves and the drow. Sarai felt she had no place there, being as she was only a mercenary, so she left without a word to anyone. As she exited the city and into the cold mountain air, it was daytime. Her eyes took some time to adjust to the light, and when they did she was met with the sight of a great airship in the sky, a great war galleon bearing the name " The Blizzard's Howl " painted on the portside of the captain's cabin, under the large windows of the top floor of the room.

"Are you leaving already?"

Sarai quickly turned to face the source of the voice, her hand quickly going to the hilt of her bastard sword.

"Easy, friend. I don't mean any harm."

She was face to face with the leader of the mercenary guild that had helped take Daruma from Barathrum's control, the dark elf named Aurora, leader of Dawnfire . Sarai wasn't quick to take her hand from her sword, but she eventually relaxed and looked the woman up and down. Aurora wasn't a fighter at all, as her dainty and slender frame showed, but Sarai knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of doing.

"I am moving on. There's no place for me here." Came Sarai's reply to the elf.

"That's ridiculous. To my understanding, you came to Khandaral to aid the dwarves, just as Dawnfire have. You deserve to stay as well."

"You are more than welcome to stay in my place. I'm leaving to find a soul enchanter."

"Oh, you don't need to search far," Dawnfire's leader said with a grin, "I know a great deal of soul enchantment. I have studied the essence of souls for a very long time, and being a Lifebringer, I have the knowledge of many things having to do with souls already."

Sarai narrowed her eyes, her fingers idly settling on the pommel of her shortsword now. "That is very convenient. Forgive me if I am not so easy to trust it."

"I suppose you will have to take the chance, if you know who Dawnfire are."

Sarai could admit she knew of Dawnfire and all their exploits throughout much of the known world. She knew she could trust Aurora, despite not wishing to at first. It was hard though due to all that had happened in her past. After all, she immediately trusted Agmoss, and she immediately trusted Luna. She could tell Aurora caught her hand movement, but had made no defensive movements herself in retaliation to that. After several tense seconds, Sarai sighed, her shoulders dropping, and she let her fingers fall from the pommel of her shortsword.

"What can you do?"

[amurg-cu-stele]

She has a dark, vintage soul where butterflies dance and wild orchids grow.

@amurg-cu-stele

[joytri]

I wish to live a life that causes my soul to dance inside my body.

Dele Olanubi

[her-wiings]

[soullessseraphim]

Is this even Arcana related anymore ? -

[a-path-by-the-moon]

[thinwhitedoc]

SHERLOCK | Martin Freeman as John Watson

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Soul

beautiful words with "soul" for your next poem/story

Besoul - to endow with a soul

Cassoulet - a casserole of white beans baked with herbs and meat (such as pork, lamb, and goose or duck)

Ensoul - to endow or imbue with a soul

Oversoul - the absolute reality and basis of all existences conceived as a spiritual being in which the ideal nature imperfectly manifested in human beings is perfectly realized

Soulish - relating to, involving, or suggesting the soul

Soulmass - archaic: a mass for the dead

Soulth - variant spelling of sowlth (i.e., ghost)

Unsoul - to deprive of soul or spirit

If any of these words inspire your writing, do tag me or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists

[hivemuthur]

Berserk and Souls

some images I've gathered comparing long-known Berserk inspirations behind Hidetaka Miyazaki's souls-games

eclipse vs. dark sun

Griffith vs. Dark Sun Gwyndolin

beherit vs. Miquella's egg

saint albion vs. anor londo

guts' swords vs. DS greatsword

bazuso vs. Siegmeyer of Catarina

gut's prosthesis + conceprt art for 97' anime

Malenia by Redgonist

sekiro prosthetic arm

Berserk Armour

Blaidd, The Half Wolf by TheSnakeBitchArt

[karvakera]

[the-world-of-palara]

The Black Rose of Tyr Pt. II

Sarai was given purpose when she joined the Shatterblades . She helped deliver messages, weapons, and armor back and forth around the large band of mercenaries as she said she could do, and between those deliveries she trained with the warriors of them as well, expanding on what she was taught before that fateful night. She was turning out to be a quick learner with the new ways of teaching from those she trained with, including the formerly youngest recruit who she learned was a fellow human named Brock. He was brash but well mannered, and was happy to have someone new to train with.

The two got along very well, and Sarai learned of the deep camaraderie within the Shatterblades . They seemed like a very large family, and they had all welcomed her with open arms and helped her along with what she needed. A few of the more motherly women in the guild had taken a quick liking to her and had taken very good care of her, and had made habits of styling her hair in different ways and seeing what she may like. She was partial to just a simple braid with bits of her hair covering the sides of her head and face. It was a style that she kept for her years in the Shatterblades and beyond.

Years had passed since the Massacre of Zavat. Sarai's training had intensified the longer she was subjected to it and when she was fifteen, she had undergone a rather dramatic growth spurt. She had grown to six feet tall and still grew every so often, and her dedication to her training had given her powerful muscles across her body. She was among the strongest in the guild after a while, and her work ethic had transferred over to Brock and made him want to match up to her. 

The two had grown a bond as if they were siblings, and Brock didn't want to let her get too far ahead of him. They had both become members of the select few strong enough to train with Zarrakas himself, and each became even stronger and tougher as a result. Sarai had then chosen a bastard sword as her weapon of choice and one was crafted for her by the blacksmiths of the guild. It was forged with an adamantine blade, and gold aegisteel and oak hilt. The training carried on for them both even through jobs the mercenaries took, and the two had learned what it meant to have to kill. 

They took no pleasure in it but they learned that a job was a job, and Sarai had already been desensitized to death. She only needed to learn to deal with it when it was by her own hand. Sometimes they were the good guys, sometimes they were the bad guys. It was the way of mercenaries for the most part. The next few years passed by and Sarai had grown to six feet and four inches tall, and at nineteen she was highly ranked and respected within the guild. Often seen as the leader's right hand with Brock being the left hand, Sarai had proven herself within the eyes of Zarrakas and the rest of the guild. Job after job they completed, and Sarai and Brock both performed efficiently.

One day, it had all changed. Over the course of two months, the Shatterblades had encountered and battled with cultists of Skrios. They were subjected to harsh battles during those months, and Sarai had discovered that these were the same cultists that destroyed Zavat. She recognized numerous men and women easily. The mercenaries had held the cultists off each time but they had suffered losses as well. Their numbers had been whittled down, but they were still a large group and did their best to fight off the cultists each time. The cultists' tactics of fighting like madmen and laughing maniacally in the faces of the Shatterblades did much in unnerving them throughout their battles.

The members of the Shatterblades had lost friends and comrades, they had taken injuries, and morale was low. But they pressed on toward the capital city of Mesa to regroup and reassess. The group was traveling across the deserts a week after the last battle with the cultists when one of the scouts heard the crying of a child, stranded in the desert. Hearing the words from the scout had gained Sarai's full attention. She pushed her way to the front of the group with Zarrakas and watched closely as the scout continued on ahead. Over the next dune, they spotted a small figure in the distance and the scout, who was a human named Nibaan, looked back at Zarrakas for orders. Zarrakas gave a short nod, and Nibaan turned and rode his horse forward toward the figure. The closer he approached, he could see that it was in fact a child, a young boy by the looks of them. The half elf dismounted his horse and continued toward the child on foot, but he began to feel something… off about the situation.

He continued to tentatively walk towards the child. With a few more steps, he was at the boy and he kneeled down in front of him. "Hey, what are you doing out here? Are you… Kid?"

Nibaan began to see that this child wasn't crying out of pain or from the sun or anything. He wasn't crying because he was alone. He was absolutely terrified and trembling because of some unknown reason. Nibaan slowly reached his hand to the boys shoulder and gently shook him, and the boy's head darted up and he looked dead into Nibaan's eyes. The look chilled Nibaan to the bone. 

But then, black runes began to glow on and around the child.

Zarrakas spoke up from a distance away. "Nibaan, what is going-!"

"It's a trap!"

That was all Nibaan could yell out before an explosion of black flames erupted in his face. He barely had the time and breath to utter the words for a ward of protection, which shattered immediately as the force of the explosion hit him. It was the only thing that kept his body from being blown apart and vaporized, but he did not come out of it without damage as his left leg was broken and mangled.

"Prepare for battle!" Zarrakas yelled in a loud voice to his guild, "I need a cleric to tend to Nibaan!"

They were shortly ambushed by a large group of bandits, a larger group than what the Shatterblades were. And judging from the chaos flame trap, they knew it was the cultists of Skrios once more. They attacked hard and fast, but the mercenaries held them off under the blazing sun. Despite their smaller numbers, they were far more skilled than the crazed, manic attacks from the cultists. The clerics worked to heal those who were injured, and mages, sorcerers, and archers pelted the cultists from behind the warriors with spells and arrows. But, the events of the last weeks had caused their morale and energy to drop, which played a major factor in the events that unfolded.

Zarrakas surveyed the battle with narrowed eyes as he slowly drew his massive flamberge from his back. "Nibaan, what was that?"

Nibaan kept his breathing steady as the cleric who came to him numbed his pain and slowly healed his leg. "A-n illusion, m-must've been…"

"Hmmm… Dulmor! Homru! Come here and protect Valsys as she heals Nibaan!"

Zarrakas' shout brought the dwarf and human duo over and they stood by the cleric and the injured man. He then looked to his right and left hands and addressed them. "Sarai, aid the right flank. Brock, aid the left. I'll take the center. Keep them from surrounding us."

"Understood." Brock replied as Sarai nodded her head.

The three broke off from the other four and joined in the fight against the cultists. Sarai's bastard sword cut down a good few of the manic cultists as she battled them. She even pulled multiple of her allies back away from the fight so she could take their place and let them rest before they joined the fight once more. She fought hard, but like all the others in the Shatterblades , her energy was crippled from the constant attacks they had suffered and it quickly became clear that even with spells from the clerics to boost their energy, they weren't going to win if the cultists continued to attack them as they have.

Sarai and Brock did their best to keep the cultists from fully surrounding them for as long as they could, but the numbers were too much. Slowly the cultists overwhelmed and surrounded them. The numbers of the Shatterblades began to fall despite their best efforts. There was no option for retreat available. The only option was to hold out for some kind of miracle or intervention.

The fight had dragged on past the blazing heat of day into the freezing cold of night. The fatigue only grew, and a new wave of hysterical, insane laughter cut through the sounds of clashing steel, and the Shatterblades all couldn't help but look back at the source, and that was when their blood truly ran cold. What they saw was the sickening sight of their leader - the powerful, towering, and headstrong Zarrakas - impaled by numerous spears and swords. His life-force draining from the grievous wounds and down the shafts and blades of the weapons. The life slowly drained from him along with his blood, but with the one last gasp of energy he lifted his great blade and swung it in a wide circle, cutting down all who surrounded him.

And they all saw Zarrakas fall.

One by one, the Shatterblades were cut down after that moment. No matter how hard they fought, no matter how much Sarai and Brock tried to rally them, the cultists overran them. It became a massacre as the blood spilled in the battle stained the sand and seeped deep into the grains. Sarai bore witness to nearly a repeat of what happened on that day five years ago. She was finally cut down with a harsh gash across her stomach, and as she fell the tip of a sword barely nicked her neck. She hit the sand, and she was quickly forgotten about by the cultists as they stepped over her and targeted the next Shatterblade .

The energy and will to fight on were sapped from Sarai as soon as she hit the sand and she dropped her bastard sword. All she could do was watch the cultists continue to massacre her comrades and friends. She watched them fall to the ground, falling on top of the bodies of those already slain. She watched as Brock fought off multiple cultists, but he had taken on too many and his weapons were knocked from his grasp before a blade was stabbed through his throat. He fell to his knees, his life fading away, and then he fell to the sand.

Sarai's eyelids grew heavier and heavier and soon they closed. The sounds of laughter, screaming, metal clashing against metal, and the sickening sounds of blades slicing and piercing flesh all filled Sarai's ears as she slowly faded into unconsciousness.

X x X x X x X x X x X x X

Sarai awoke hours later, the wound in her stomach clogged up by sand and the bleeding staunched. She shakily pushed herself up to her knees, and she saw complete horror. The bodies of her slain comrades were scattered around the sand. Vultures were picking at their flesh and their bodies were already rotting in the sun. Looking around, she could see that the cultists hadn't even bothered to take anything as far as she could see, and she could see that many of the corpses had been defiled after death. It was then that she noticed that she had been as well, as evidenced by the tears in her pants, and the fluid leaking down her thigh.

The tears that filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks burned with grief, rage, and disgust at everything. It was exactly like the Massacre of Zavat. She remembered the screams of her friends and family being killed and raped while she hid. She could do nothing to stop it then, and she could do nothing to stop it now. She felt sick. She felt weak. She felt like nothing. She felt worthless. Sarai began to cry and the tears flowed almost like waterfalls down her cheeks. Everything just hurt, and nothing hurt more than her soul. It felt like the part that had been healed had been torn from her being entirely through the tears she shed.

Her cries were loud, but the vultures didn't care as they feasted on her comrades. After several long moments that felt like an eternity, she turned to the birds in rage and disgust. She clawed around for a weapon and wrapped her bloodied and bruised fingers around the hilt of one but when she went to stand, she just fell over the tops of the corpses under her. Her vision was blurry and she was so weak, but she slowly crawled across the bodies toward the vultures. Gritting her teeth, she eventually let out a scream of frustration and pain as she threw the weapon toward the vultures, finally causing them to flee and circle around the area once more.

She began to crawl across the mutilated and defiled bodies once more, this time toward the site of the explosion that nearly ended Nibaan right then and there. It took her a good while between pausing to rest and pausing to vomit from the sights and smells of the massacre, but she finally arrived at the site of charred sand and blood. It was there that she could see the remnants of clothing scraps, blood, and gore at the center of the crater the explosion had caused. The realization dawned on her. It was no illusion that lured them in. 

Sarai felt even more rage growing inside her and she screamed into the vast nothingness of the desert. It took her several minutes before she tried to stand again, and she could just barely do it. She stumbled around the area, tripping over numerous corpses, trying to find any survivors other than herself. She came across the bodies of Dulmor, Homru, Valsys, and Nibaan. She shook her head sadly and continued walking on, trying to find any sign of life. Eventually the thoughts of what those cultists did began to plague her mind in full force, and disgust and sickness overwhelmed her. They had raped not only her as she was unconscious, but they had raped the corpses of so many of the others as well, both men and women alike. She didn't even know if they waited until their victims were dead or not. 

Her lips twitched into a deep snarl, and she began to scrounge around the packs littering the ground, and she found a healing potion. She then grabbed the nearest dagger, dropped to her knees, and held the tip of the blade to her gut. She knew what had been done to her, and she was not going to let her body be the host to the spawn of those monstrous cultists. For a moment, she thought to lift the tip and stab the blade into her own heart, and end her suffering once and for all, but something deep within her spirit cried out for her to stop, and moments passed before the thoughts subsided. Without further hesitation, she stabbed the blade through her stomach, down through her womb and uterus, and she twisted it. The pain was unimaginable, and the scream she let out mirrored it tenfold. 

Through gritted teeth, she twisted once more and destroyed any chance of becoming impregnated from the cultists that had raped her. She then ripped the blade out and gulped down every drop of the sweet potion. The wounds began to stop bleeding and heal, but the severe damage she had done would not be healed so easily. It would require more than just a potion to heal herself fully, but the wounds were closed and she wouldn't bleed out, and she would not become pregnant.

Sarai steadied her breathing and got it under control, and she was alerted to the sounds of groaning coming from the direction of the crater. There she saw something she didn't think she'd see, but it was a welcome sight. She slowly raised herself back to her feet again as Nibaan got to his knees. He looked around at the carnage in disbelief, and he couldn't help but begin to cry, the grief absolutely overwhelming him. Sarai would have joined him, but everything was drained away from her and the heat of the sun was draining her even more. She had no more tears to cry, and no more grief to let out.

So she allowed him to let everything out that he could, and she stepped closer to him and attempted to keep him in her shadow to keep the sun off of him as much as she could. Eventually his cries lessened, and he looked up toward her with such a pained, hopeless look in his eyes.

"S-Sarai?"

He looked down and saw the blood staining her lower stomach, groin and thighs, and he saw the bloodied blade in her hand. "They defiled many of our comrades' corpses," The broken, monotone sound in Sarai's voice was clear as the sky, "They defiled me as I was unconscious. I… kept myself from being the host to a cultist's parasite."

She threw the blade to the sands, and she limped over to the crater near them. "They took a child and used him to lure us into a trap."

A look of disgust washed over Nibaan's face. "They used a child!?"

"Even being who they are... I did not expect them to do something as vile as this."

"What… What do we do?"

"We will gather what we can and put them into a few bags of holding, and… we have to burn them, give them some sort of funeral after we throw the bodies of the cultists to the vultures."

"Right… The clerics should have scrolls that will help us give them the proper rites. Hopefully the cultists didn't destroy them."

X x X x X x X x X x X x X

It took hours to gather everything they could salvage and store into multiple bags of holding that the Shatterblades carried with them. They took as many bags as they could carry and set them aside, and they had worked to slowly separate the bodies of their comrades and the cultists. It was made easier thanks to healing potions they had found, but they were still hurt and tired, in many more ways than one. They covered them all in the blankets they used with their sleeping bags, and with the scrolls they recovered they gave the fallen members of the Shatterblades a proper funeral, even though no words were shared. Words weren't needed.

Sarai's eyes lingered on the bodies of Zarrakas and Brock. They were like father and brother to her for the years she had known them. Her hand gripped tight around the leather straps that she held onto, which were wrapped around the ricasso of the massive blade that the tiefling once carried. At her right side on her thigh is one of the shortswords Brock had used, a simple straight blade of adamantine. It was just strapped to her thigh crudely with its sheath. It was the only thing she could do. Nibaan had taken Brock's other shortsword. Just as Sarai saw him as an older brother, Nibaan saw him as a little brother. The old scout was who taught the fighter to dual wield blades, and had spent a fair amount of time doing it as well. 

As the bodies of their comrades burned in holy fire, the bodies of the cultists were left to rot in the sun as a meal for the vultures and any other beast that would want them. It was what they deserved. The two stood in silence for half an hour longer before they gathered up their bags, and they left. East to the coast, not to Mesa, but instead to the port city of Khor Izkirah.

[amurg-cu-stele]

…the perfume of your soul.

Amy Lowell, from The Complete Poetical Works of Amy Lowell; “A Lady”

[polarisbibliotheque]

Can You Hear The Rumble? - Vergil x Reader

Music Inspired Fics (Devil May Music) - Cirice, by Ghost

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: Everyone knew the kind of demon a hunter should be wary about is the one who plays with their victim's minds. You and Vergil were very proud on the outside - but how would it be when having to save each other on the inside for the first time?

TRIGGER WARNING: A lot of blood, cuts, bruises, scars and suffering on both Vergil and the reader's sides. The reader also struggles with perfection and self-loathing - in a "I'm never going to be a good person" kind of way, because I needed to get more intimate on the reader's part as well - and there are scenes with the reader covered in cuts and bleeding, though not self-imposed, it could be read like that. Those scenes are the reader's and Vergil's internal images of themselves. Reader and Vergil meet each other on their imperfections and the darkest parts of their souls, so BE WARNED. This might not be everyone's cup of tea and there are lots of potential triggers.

Author's Note: @tokkis-shelf asked me if Vergil's part of the Halloween special was inspired by Cirice, and here we are now. It is what kickstarted the song-fic requests! As with a lot of people, I think, Cirice is pretty personal to me.

In the video, it was so comforting to me seeing the black sheep being represented hahahaha and I guess that's why people love it so much. The part where they hold hands? I died, I'd never let go, I cry my soul out upon watching. (I did a very similar drawing to that scene when I was in school around 15 years ago, so it drop-kicked me out of my body xD)

Now, when writing this, I kept in mind that this song has a double meaning and can be quite comforting and quite manipulative at the same time - hence why I use the "can't you see that you're lost without me?" in two different situations, 'cause I think Cirice can be interpreted in so many ways and each person takes what they need from this song. I hope you guys like it!!

Plus, the song the reader and Dante sing at the end is The Power of Love, by Huey Lewis and The News

Cirice, by Ghost

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

It happened every time Vergil walked in the darkness.

That voice in the back of his head, silently taunting him, the hiss of a quiet viper in the hopes of taking him back to the darkest parts of his soul. Quiet, lurking, whispering… Mundus always there, somewhere in the folds of his consciousness, guiding him back into the void – luring Vergil back into his shackles.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

As if Vergil couldn’t belong anywhere else, as if his place was in Hell. After all he had been through, after all the sins he perpetrated, he believed wholeheartedly there was no hope for him at all – only a fool’s hope; only a glimmer of a wish he wasn’t as tainted as he was… A desire to not be such a monster as he was.

Pacing quietly through the empty cathedral, Vergil had already learned not to give in to those thoughts – to keep them at bay, as only a whisper in the darkness, of trickster voices that would always remind him of how inhuman he was.

It was times like this Vergil longed for the faint glimmer of the moon, or the warm ghostly light of a candle. It was easy to get lost in the dark, but a single ray of light could help through the direst of situations. That night, though, it seemed like the moon had fallen asleep behind the curtains of the clouds – Selene hiding her tears for her earthly lover in his eternal sleep.

None of you knew what that night entailed – you weren’t even certain what you were dealing with. That was the reason why Lady strutted in the Devil May Cry, not too fond of taking a job she didn’t know if it was up to her abilities.

“Well, looks like I have a new one for you to pay your debt, big guy!” Her singsong voice interrupted the ambience of the jukebox; Lady entering the shop with Kalina Ann and all.

“Eh, I’m never gonna be free of my debt, Lady, let’s be honest.” Dante sighed, putting his feet down and throwing his magazine across the table, shooting her a serious glare. “But things have been borin’ lately, so one of your odd jobs’ not gonna hurt. Whaddya have for me?”

“You talk as if I never help you enough to maintain this place.” She lifted one eyebrow, approaching the big desk at the middle of the shop.

“Gotta give the woman credit, Dante. Last month’s bills were on her.” You shrugged as you had finally come out of your shower, happy to see Lady around, still drying your hair with the towel as you went down the stairs.

“See? Someone who has a bit of common sense.” Her smile was nothing short of devilish as she gestured towards you.

“You know where you are, Lady. ‘Common sense’ isn’t much of a thing in this household.” You greeted her by quickly blowing her a kiss while passing by, making your way towards the couch where Vergil was quietly reading.

“Ey, you’re hurtin’ my feelings like that.” Dante put one of his hands over his heart, laughing alongside you as you kept on your way. “But fine. I’ll give ya that, Lady. So, what’s up? What job do you wanna throw at me this time?”

“I am not throwing it at you.” And there it was: you could always see when Dante stroke a nerve when Lady got defensive and with that fiery stare on her multicolored eyes. “If you wanna do it, great, if you don’t, I can deal with it myself just fine. I’m here to be a good friend since you can barely afford all that pizza you keep stuffing yourself with!”

As you sat by Vergil’s side, you both exchanged a telling glare. Just like you, Vergil was used to observing people. Granted, he didn’t know Lady as much as Dante or even you, but he did know her since he was very young. That fiery, easy-to-anger personality had been there since they first met at the Temen-ni-gru – and Vergil argued it was one of Lady’s traits that would never change.

Something he was quite pleased with, if he had to be honest with himself. It was a good trait for a human demon hunter like her. Dante always praised human’s hearts and particularly their love and empathy – Vergil praised their burning anger that made them unconquerable in the direst of circumstances.

“Jeez, alright, alright, don’t shoot me!” Dante raised his hands as if he was at gunpoint, making you wheeze quietly. Vergil side-eyed you for a while – half judging, half holding his own laugh. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”

“Humpf.” Lady rolled her eyes and took a slice of pizza from the box resting on the desk, pointing at Dante with it right after. “You know I wouldn’t bring you something if it wasn’t important.”

“Actually, you would.” With those words, Dante rested his arms crossed on the table – all the while, you and Vergil watched it all as if it was a show. Who needed a TV when you had those two? “But you’re bein’ too dodgy ‘bout it, babe. What’s goin’ on?”

“I got a call from a priest in a city nearby.” Lady’s answer was uncharacteristically quiet, followed by a bite from the pizza while she seemed pensive and in any hurry to chew it. “I’ve done some jobs there, know the guy, he’s nice. All the times he called me, it was always a quick, good-paying job. He said some weird things have been happening at the cathedral for the last couple of weeks.”

“Not to sound mean, but there’s always somethin’ strange happenin’ at churches.” Dante’s eyes carried a bit of skepticism: ‘weird things’ didn’t always entail a job for the Devil May Cry – and it usually ended with all of you hunting a rogue raccoon or something.

“I know. But this guy, he doesn’t get scared easy, ok? He’s one of those types of priests who’ll try to shoot down a couple of demons with a shotgun and, if that doesn’t work, he gives me a call.” Those words, though, made you and the Spardas raise your eyebrows. Indeed, it was a rare type of priest, but a good one to keep as acquaintance. “He said the cathedral is increasingly quiet, even from noises outside, with occasional distant noises that are not done by any of those who live there. After it all started, the other priests reported having weird nightmares, of being chased by something in the dark, inside the cathedral – this thing whispering things they can’t understand. Alright if it happened to one or two, but soon all of them started waking up in the middle of the night with similar nightmares – and, catch this, the higher ups of the clergy didn’t tell the common priests about it, but they all reported the very same dream.” Those words caught everyone’s attention. Vergil finally closed his book and leaned forward, paying attention to Lady’s retelling of the priest’s misfortunes. “The priest has been trying to figure out what’s going on, but some old books appear to go missing from the library, only to re-appear as if nothing has happened. Some books are missing pages, something that never happened before. He also said the inside of the cathedral has been getting darker and darker as the weeks go by. As if something is approaching – his words, not mine.”

Vergil immediately furrowed his brows and seemed to turn into an ice sculpture right by your side. You risked a glance, finding him with his usual dark aura – pensive, somber and quiet; hunter’s eyes showing themselves in a matter of seconds.

“Rare are the creatures in Hell in search for knowledge…” He muttered loud enough for his brother and Lady to turn their attention to him. “But those who do, are usually among the worst. Haunting noises, torn books, nightmares, dead silence and total darkness…”

“What? You think those Hell Piranhas came out of their pit?” Dante’s question had a bit of fun in the words, but his eyes were serious and he didn’t allow his lips to smile.

“Could be. Could also be a demon trying to mimic them to hide something else.”

“Hell Piranhas?” You and Lady didn’t need a cue to ask at the very same time. Neither of you had ever heard of that – and both of you had heard of a lot.

“This is not their name, but it is how Dante calls them since we were kids.” Vergil almost sighed in response.

“How we both called ‘em. Mister smart-pants over here isn’t that much better than lil’ ol’ me.” Dante winked at both of you, making you giggle quietly in return. “They’re kinda like illusion demons, but they like stayin’ in the darkness and gatherin’ knowledge. Usually work for someone bigger, though.”

“And even if they don’t, they swallow up all their knowledge and that is dangerous in itself. Afterwards, they feed from the victims they have been toying for so long.” Vergil continued Dante’s thought, ignoring his brother’s previous words. The more you didn’t think about what Dante had said about him, the better – for Vergil couldn’t deny it. “They hunt in packs, and the more victims, the more powerful they become. Some call them the Pit Deceivers, others call them the Lie Weavers…”

“You call them Hell Piranhas.” You concluded bluntly, making Vergil stare at the horizon with emptiness in his eyes – he could say all he wanted, flex all his demonic knowledge, you heard the Piranhas and now you’d never forget it.

“I never heard of them.” Lady had her eyebrows furrowed, searching her memory for some story like that.

“They either don’t leave the pit that much or not many humans survive to tell the story. That’s why.” Dante pointed at a great, old book Vergil had left on one of the tables a long time ago and now it was its official resting place. “You can find it only in the likes of the Codex Daemonica.”

“So either we have them around, or it’s something else. Something bigger. Right?” As you asked, Vergil only agreed with his head as the attentions turned to you. “Or something mimicking the Piranhas.” And Vergil had to sigh at your addition. He would never have peace again. “The mimic or the master, what kind of demon would the Piranhas answer to? If they are that obscure, I take it their existence is more of a niche knowledge in Hell rather than a common information.”

“On that, you are correct…” Vergil murmured in response, falling back into his pensive demeanor. You knew he would be lost for a while.

“See? Good thing I brought this for you, then.” Lady waved dismissively at Dante, but you could sense a little edge in her playful voice. Dealing with big things was fine, same as dealing with cruel demons and the ones that played the big-scary-one persona. Unknown demons were another kind of monster – one only Dante and Vergil used to deal with. “Plus, they always pay well.”

“Eh, I won’t be seein’ much of that money, if I know ya well.” Dante scoffed, having a small smile hidden in the corner of his lips; his tone and demeanor, though, were quite somber and you knew the red devil was taking it seriously.

“If you don’t mind, Dante, I would like to take over this one.” Vergil finally declared while getting up from the couch. “I know some of the hellish creatures who might make use of the Weavers or mimic them.”

“Fine for me, I’m needin’ some time to rest.” Dante sighed, but looked right back at you while Vergil rested his book on the big Devil May Cry desk. “But I’m gonna feel a lot better with someone around to keep an eye on ‘im, pretty thing.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on letting you guys deal with this all by yourselves anyway.” You got up from the couch, immediately receiving a glare from Vergil. “I’m going, blue devil, whether you want it or not. I want to get acquainted with these Piranhas.”

Vergil only closed his eyes, letting out the longest and most regretful sigh you ever heard in your life.

And there you were – although Vergil lost track of you quite a while ago. He knew the stirrings rippling through his heart when you were in danger; and being the fierce human you were, Vergil wasn’t worried about having you search for the demons in the cathedral.

There was, though, a slight uneasiness. That voice echoing in the darkest parts of his soul, it always came as an omen – causing nothing but destruction, inside or outside of himself. Vergil never could really say which one would be, but both were devastating.

“Veeeeergil…”

His steps came to a dry halt in the middle of the cathedral. The night outside the colorful stained-glass windows was pitch black, robbing the colors of their warmth and light – the fire on the candles, long dead in that cold night. The whisper that crept to his ears, like stark chalk on a chalkboard, dragged itself through the marble floor and took a hold of his soul in its clutches.

It was a different kind of sound – different from the ones inside himself, calling him to the darkness. It was from the outside… The Lie Weavers. Slowly coming up, finding him as their next victim. He was close to one of the places they were certainly lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for someone they could consume.

Vergil never feared the darkness. Tightening his grip around Yamato, his steps resumed his way, approaching the places in the cathedral the faint light of the night could barely touch. Those demons should have known their end was near, and he was the harbinger of their demise – he expected all kinds of trickery, of resistance, of fight from them.

He did not expect to hear a familiar voice, filled with uncertainty.

“Vergil…?”

Halting his steps once more, this time his silvery eyes lost their predatorial gaze as his heart jumped in his chest – even if for a slight second.

“Mother?”

His answer was but a whisper before he was swallowed by darkness.

*

When engaging with illusion demons, one should be aware of not falling into their element: when engulfed by it, those demons were more powerful than expected, able to subdue even the strongest of foes. Breaking from their control required mental and emotional discipline rather than brute force.

It was a slight second – a foolish slip from his human soul, disarmed by the trickery of Eva’s voice – and Vergil was surrounded by a sea of darkness and turmoil. His heart stirred with anger towards himself for being such a child, a vulnerable stupid child, tricked by a puppet of something his heart missed so much.

Eva was long dead. There was no demon able to bring her back. And he would never see her again. All that logic was tossed aside in a spark of a second by his stupid human heart, trembling upon hearing her speak his name again. Granted, Vergil only heard his mother in his dreams, barely remembering how her voice sounded in reality, and this time he heard outside himself – but he should have seen it coming. Illusion demons, trickster demons, cruel demons… They all relied on the barely closed scars inside his damned human soul.

Vergil could always count on them to re-open those wounds, making him bleed as much as he did on the floor of that cursed cemetery so many years ago – and he was a fool to fall for it after he had been through so much.

“Vergil… Can you hear me…?”

“I can, you damned deceiver. You can stop these theatrics – mimicking my dead mother will not affect me.” His voice cut through the dark like the sharpest of ice, his predatorial gaze back into his silver eyes.

“I… Don’t understand you, son. I cannot find you.” Her voice had a tinge of sorrow and desperation – but it was exactly like Eva’s voice. Vergil remembered it with a tinge of gold, probably a result of the haze of nostalgia, but today it was grounded and melancholic – perhaps, that was how Eva had always sounded… He just didn’t remember it. “I can’t find you. You aren’t home.”

“I haven’t been home for a long while.” Vergil didn’t even try to hide the growl that raised from his chest as he argued with that creature. He was used to having a puppet of his mother parading in front of him to hurt his human soul even more, but that was already getting on his nerves. Taunting him about the fact his mother ran to find him that fateful night wasn’t part of the usual games those filthy demons played – and to say they were honing his wrath was an understatement. “And I will never be back.”

“I… I cannot see you, Vergil. Where are you…? Why…?” He could hear the weeping in her voice, faint sobbing while the desperation made her words tremble. Vergil raised his head in the darkness, holding his own heart not to quiver: she wasn’t real and it was all a gimmick to affect him. He would not be affected. He was stronger than that. “Why couldn’t I save you? Those demons they… They hurt you, didn’t they? Oh, my child! My son! They hurt you and I could do nothing! I couldn’t be your mother!”

“Enough with this, filthy, hellish creature!” His voice finally exploded from his chest, roaring in the dark and echoing through the void, finding only silence. “You have no right to desecrate my mother’s memory like this! Shut your putrid mouth and stop with your rancid lies!”

The glint of the Yamato being unsheathed made the darkness recoil for a split second, only to envelop the Dark Slayer once more. His grip was tight, his eyes fiercely looking for his first opponent to direct a very well-placed judgement cut that could end all those creatures with just one swing of his hand. Vergil had enough and all the patience he carried in his being wouldn’t be enough to stop him from overkilling those demons – he just had to know where to direct his wrath.

“Don’t say those words, Vergil… You are not… Not like this.” Her voice still trembled, and his hand was still certain around Yamato. Vergil knew quite well at that state he was a weapon of mass destruction, he just had to find his opponent. His soul was screaming for him to do that, to put a stop to all that mockery. “You are good… You are my son.”

Vergil would have sliced that demon into a thousand million pieces without flinching, even if it took the form of his mother – but his eyes widened as a soft, warm hand touched his face. In all those years being taunted by demons, being tricked and mocked, seeing so many puppets of Eva, Sparda and Dante, none of them had touched him… And none of them genuinely felt like them.

It had been so many lost years he hadn’t felt his mother’s touch – last time, she could cup his entire face, thumb lovingly caressing his innocent eyebrows, but now her thumb could only reach his cheekbones. Nevertheless, it felt like her: not like a golden, nostalgic lost memory of how she felt, but exactly like Eva’s hands, even with the slight roughness of her continuous gardening.

“It took me so long to find you… I am so sorry.”

“You are not my mother.”

“Don’t say that.” Her answer was a sorrowful whisper, her thumb now carefully caressing his sharp cheekbone. Vergil closed his eyes, unable to move, convincing himself all of that wasn’t real and not allowing his heart to sway – forcing his arms to remain frozen by his side, fighting the urge to embrace her. Reminding himself: his mother was dead, killed while trying to save him, a long time ago, and nothing could bring her back. “Your heart hasn’t hardened as much as not to recognize me. You…” Her voice once more became soft, as if trying to do the same with his soul. “You are not a monster… You are my son, my Vergil.”

With those words, Eva’s hand was finally met with a tear – melting the ice from those silvery eyes.

*

There was an impending storm rumbling inside your chest.

Whenever that turmoil took ahold of your heart, you knew Vergil was in trouble. You had just finished checking your side of the cathedral, finding some things out of the ordinary but no demons, when the waves became aggressive in your chest. Your steps were already taking you to meet him, but you found yourself walking even hastier – the sound, though, eaten by the shadows that seemed to only grow around you.

Neither of you had calm seas of feelings: they usually raged like a maelstrom of emotions you could barely get through without some destruction – be it internal or external. But there was a certain note of melancholy and desperation in your heart at that moment that made you know Vergil was hurting – and that hurting, you knew quite well.

It was almost ironic how you apparently despised each other at the beginning, but after a while you came to understand; that aversion was there because you, in a certain way, were a mirror of each other. You could see in him the traits in your soul you disliked the most, and Vergil did see in you the same thing – those traits, however, were the same ones that brought you together, and made both you and Vergil feel seen and understood for the first time in your lives.

He didn’t judge your sins, as you didn’t judge his. To your eyes, he was never a monster, and to his, you could never be as crooked as you thought you were. You found each other in imperfection and, in that, you managed to talk and feel on the same level – after that, every feeling of admiration, care and love was easy to blossom.

You understood that storm, that thunder rumbling inside your chest at that very moment. You could feel it exactly the way he felt – and you knew Vergil needed help… Even if he would never say so himself.

You couldn’t hear or see him, though. You found yourself exactly at his area of patrol in the cathedral, but there was no clue as where your blue devil had gone – and for him to completely disappear, imposing presence and all, was quite an achievement in itself. The air was stiff, heavy as if the windows had never been opened, eating up any sound from the inside and the outside. The darkness was heavier than the one you had previously patrolled, shadows allowing only a few glimpses of the opulent decoration and the path in front of you – although, you couldn’t see more than a few meters beyond your feet.

If you couldn’t trust your sight or your hearing to find him, you could trust your heart: the storm would guide you. Closing your eyes, you allowed your feelings to take over, following with your footsteps in the direction you could hear his soul calling.

Those shadow creatures wouldn’t be able to hide him from you: no matter what happened or where you found yourselves, you would always be able to feel Vergil’s presence and find him in the darkest of hours.

And as the thunder in your chest cracked violently, your feet came to a halt and you opened your eyes.

Right in front of you, there was only darkness. Not like in the shadows that took the cathedral little by little, but pitch-black darkness, that no light could cast aside. To enter it would mean to be completely bare: vulnerable, lost, without guidance, naked – but the screaming in your soul made it very clear Vergil was in there.

Contrary to your lover, you were afraid of the dark. You always preferred to have a little light by your side, for you never knew what could be lurking alongside you, ready to pounce and drag you to certain suffering and death. You protected yourself by being forever vigilant, as you always did – a trait that exhausted you, yes, but luckily, in the last few years, you had Vergil around to keep a light by you when your body started giving out.

For that reason, you would never fear entering the darkness for him.

And with a deep breath, your bold steps took you inside the dark.

*

Your feet were cold, bare, stumbling over a sticky floor. Even if your eyes could see only darkness, you felt the freezing air of that night slicing your skin: you were shirtless and something was hurting… Oozing. The cold wind mixed with a faint warmness that leaked from the open wounds on your skin.

Blood. You were bleeding.

Your arms immediately wrapped around you – those scars, they were showing. They never showed before.

Running your hands quickly over your body, you could feel the warm blood slipping through your fingers; some wounds barely holding themselves closed while others still poured as in the day they were created.

That was the version of yourself you used to fiercely hide. None of those wounds were physical, none of them could be seen… But whenever you looked in the mirror, you saw them there, under your skin, under your soul, quietly resting until you couldn’t hide them anymore.

“You are lost…”

It was always the same voice, of something dark, something inside you that could break your soul if you didn’t shove it back into the darkness like you always did. That was why you were afraid; that was why Vergil always kept a faint glow by your side whenever you couldn’t hold yourself together. The dark was dangerous to you – to both of you.

“You are lost without me…”

“I can survive quite well without you…!” You growled to the darkness, keeping that part of yourself at bay. The part that gave in to the pain, that bathed in the blood and didn’t want to get up… And the part that would bathe and rise in rage, making you survive at great cost to those around you.

You were past that. And you didn’t need that to survive. You didn’t have to survive, you could live.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost…?”

“Vergil!” Your scream was a roar in the dark, looking for the one you plunged into the darkness to find. You wouldn’t give in to the trickery of those Piranhas – and you would get Vergil out of there.

They would learn they shouldn’t fear only the son of Sparda: they should also fear you.

“You think you can find him…?” After the mischievous ethereal voice questioned, you heard a giggle rippling around your feet as you stumbled on the sticky floor to find your lover. “You think you are that good? You think you aren’t a monster?”

You furrowed your brows, doing your best to ignore the voices. You knew it was that part inside of you that always taunted how broken you were, how imperfect your soul was. For the longest time you believed there was nothing good in you, nothing to save you from a life of loneliness, until you crossed paths with Vergil.

He was broken too – and he would never judge the things you did to survive your lethal wounds.

“Vergil! Can you hear me?! I’m here to find you!”

“How chivalrous, how heroic! What are you trying to accomplish?” The giggles pooled around your feet, threatening to drag you inside that pool of viscous darkness. “Trying to prove yourself? You’re never going to be perfect. You’re a black sheep, an outcast, remember? The likes of you aren’t heroes.”

“Oh, I’m no hero…” You growled back, fighting against the things trying to pull you back; fighting against the pain of the freezing cold and warmness of blood. “I’m a fucking fighter. You’re messing with the wrong kind of monster, fucking Hell Piranhas.”

“Piranhas…?” A faint whisper in the dark broke whatever control those things were trying to have over your body, starting at your feet. It was Vergil’s whisper – followed by a louder speaking tone. “Y/n! I can feel you, where are you?!”

“Trying to find you!” You screamed back, immediately dragging your feet towards Vergil. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel where he was – and there was nothing those demons could do against that.

The darkness seemed to shift for a couple of seconds. You couldn’t understand what was happening, but you saw a faint, ghostly pale glow in the dark – almost imperceptible, but your heart knew, you could finally see Vergil.

And, in return, he could see you. Moving his feet, Vergil dragged heavy shackles through the floor, screeching in a horrid, soul scratching sound as he willed his body to move towards you. You could hear him grunting with the effort, another set of chains being dragged as Vergil moved his arms – slowly, but surely, wearing all of his strength to get to you.

You felt the viscous ripples of the floor creeping up your legs, almost on your knees, doing their best to pull you away – back into the darkness, back to the taunting voices, to the doubt, the hurt, the self-loathing.

“Vergil! Let me hear your voice! You’re still there, right?!”

“Yes. I am always here.” His answer came with grunts of effort, barely above the noise of the chains screeching around him.

The darkness shifted again, and his form became even more visible, as yours did to him – followed by a scream that rumbled in his chest, Vergil managed to get even closer. That made something spark inside yourself, that thundering storm breaking in your soul cracking in a scream that broke the insidious tentacles holding you back and making you lunge forward.

Once again, the glow you diffused only to each other seemed to get stronger as the darkness wavered.

“Y/n…” He growled once more, the shackles screaming on the floor as he reached out to you.

“Vergil…!” You reached out in return, barely making out the form of his fingers in the dark.

As you were almost touching each other’s hands, the heavy, muffling darkness faltered once more. You could finally see one another, as you were in that godforsaken place.

Vergil was shirtless, his body covered in wounds – new and old – bleeding profusely. His silvery eyes were red, sunken in deep shadow, surrounded by a deep purple mist on his dry skin. You could see his bones under his pale skin covered in so many lacerations you wouldn’t even know where to start healing him. His knuckles were battered, showing the flesh underneath, as well as his wrists covered by heavy iron shackles – wounds from fighting against them for so long. His hands were still long and elegant, but bony and covered in bruises.

You had never seen Vergil so hurt, so broken, so… Vulnerable.

In return, his eyes took in shock the vision of you: as shirtless as him, as battered and wounded as he was. Even if not locked in the shackles he wore for so long in Hell, you walked barefoot leaving a trail of blood behind you. Those scars, those wounds, those bruises… He knew they were there, but he had never seen those. You looked weak and tired, bloodshot eyes under dry skin, as if you hadn’t slept in ages… And those things you fought so much to conceal, now crystal clear in front of him.

Those were the scars you carried inside yourselves. The wounds you had to fight against every day – that you had to try to heal, even if sometimes it seemed impossible. The things you would never show, but, somehow, you managed to sense it in each other… Now you could see it, clear as a bright night.

And, even if you wouldn’t admit to yourselves, those were the very same breaking thunders that would keep you moving – fiercely fighting, fiercely surviving.

As you took in each other’s internal selves, Vergil’s silvery eyes finally found yours.

A loud thundering noise shook the floor underneath your feet twice, as your hearts rumbled alongside the devastating sound. You lunged forward, holding Vergil’s hand as if your life depended on it. Never breaking your eye contact, Vergil held your hand with the strength you would expect of the legendary Dark Slayer. You made each other stronger, and there was nothing that could come between you now.

His shackles immediately screeched back, pulling Vergil violently away from you. At the same time, you were grabbed by the viscous darkness – your knees, your legs, your abdomen, your arms. It pulled you back with vicious strength, doing its best to drag you away from him – back into the darkness.

“Don’t let me go!” You screamed back, tightening your grip around his bony hand.

“I will never let go!” He growled, doing the same, trying to drag his body forward – failing to notice you willed yourself towards him as he pulled you into his arms. Those silvery eyes never moved away from yours.

“You are lost…! Lost…!”

The voices chanted and screeched around you, doing their best to drag you apart. For a moment, your hand slipped and you let out a desperate scream, hurting your lungs as you were almost pulled back into the void. Vergil’s cry resembled a roar as he willed his body to move and tightened his grip in a way he didn’t hold even Yamato.

He hadn’t held his brother’s hand once. This time he wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time, he would hold you even if that damned the both of you to the darkest pits of Hell.

“Can’t you see…? Can’t you see that…?”

“I am lost…!” You barked back to the voices, still staring into Vergil’s eyes, trying to catch your breath while your lungs stung as if you were inhaling a thousand knives.

As Vergil looked into your eyes, though, he knew exactly what you were going to say – and he could safely say it was the very same thing he struggled to find the words to.

“Without you.” His answer came in a dark tone, ragged from the effort he too made to be able to hold your hand.

The thunder rumbled twice again – the voices shrieked and you suddenly found yourselves being launched into each other’s arms as the forces that bind you broke into a million pieces.

Vergil’s arms wrapped around you, one of his hands holding your head close to his chest, as you wrapped yours around his waist, keeping him as close as you could. His head rested on top of yours, and you kept your eyes closed – washing away the blood above his heart with the tears that streamed down your face.

“Don’t ever hide from me.” Vergil’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky, somber but reassuring. You had never been so vulnerable in front of him – and even upon seeing you like that, his reaction was to take you in his arms, to welcome you. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“And I’m not afraid of your darkness.” You tightened your arms around his cold, bony body as you felt tears running through your hair. “I can see beyond your glimmer, and I’m not afraid of what’s in the dark.” Your voice shook as you took a deep breath and Vergil’s arms held you even closer – his body shaking with the tears falling from his eyes. “It’s you. And I’m never afraid of you.”

“Neither am I of you.”

His answer was but a whisper – a whisper enough to break the darkness into a memory to be kept away in the deepest pits of Hell.

I can feel the thunder that’s breaking in your heart I can see through the scars inside you

*

*

*

*

“You killed the Piranhas from Hell with the power of love?”

Vergil wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Or die. Or both.

Probably both.

The whole crew was there as you and Vergil never came back from the job as quickly as expected – and when you did, it looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

The priest was more than happy with the result of your work – even though you never discovered why the Weavers decided to come out of hiding nor what they wanted. The congregation was just happy they were gone and the whole reason behind it would be a long-term thing for the Devil May Cry to work on – or to keep an eye on; maybe something bigger was approaching.

You and Vergil didn’t feel like going back to the shop, though. When you were hurt physically, things were very much ok to deal with, but when the wounds were emotional… You needed time for yourselves.

Unlike his brother, Vergil was a little more responsible with his money – and you, a lot more than the two. You managed to find somewhere to spend a few nights… Which involved the both of you talking out everything you felt and saw. It was harrowing at first, something neither of you were versed in and honestly were terrified of, but it eventually brought you even closer together.

So, to say you had defeated the Lie Weavers with the power of love was something that killed Vergil inside.

And you could almost see his internal self, glaring at you with a ‘really, after all of this you say this kind of foolishness’ look in his sad, silvery eyes, as Lady stared at both of you and made the question everyone was thinking.

“Yep. Power of love, it’s a curious thing.” You shrugged, making Vergil physically groan by your side while Dante slapped his table with a huge grin on his face.

“Make a one man weep, make another man sing! Hell yeah, Back To The Future, babe!” He winked back at you as you smiled in response.

“Of all the people you could end up dating, Vergil…” Trish sat on Dante’s desk, crossing her long legs while sporting a devilish smile on her rosy lips. It was interesting how her voice could never really sound like Eva’s. “It had to be someone who references the same songs as your brother.”

“Alas, fate plays many games…” Vergil rolled his eyes, but as they rested on you, there was a vulnerability you saw only once in that pitch black darkness. “But it is kind enough to give us what we need.”

No one ever really understood what he meant, but Dante was the only one who managed to see something inside his brother’s silvery eyes that could only reflect in yours – and that made him genuinely smile.

Indeed, you would never be the romance of a fairy tale book or a romantic comedy – but you could see what lied beyond each other’s scars; taking a glimpse at the worst of each other without fear and finding whatever light was left inside. You could understand – and that was much more than most lovers in the world would ever have.

[her-wiings]

[maranigai]

My fav band released new album, so it's time for song-inspired angsty drawings with certain fiery deities.

[free-grandmaa]

"Sway darling, tiptoe with me through the doorway.. Feel the world, it's yours."