[The remnants of the phone booth in the middle of the qliphoth, a massive tree sprouting out of hell, are probably the last thing most people would head to, after the entire revelation you’ve just gotten. One moment, you’re arguing with someone you consider to be part of your adoptive family about how he keeps trying to send you home from all of this. The next, he ends up revealing, in his frustration, that he’s actually your uncle, and even worse? The guy who started all this, the guy who showed up at your garage one day and just ripped off your fucking arm and then caused mass genocide is your father.
You’ve been an orphan all your goddamn life. All you ever wanted was a family. Now? Now these two idiots are stuck in a mindset that they have to kill each other to end this cycle that apparently has been happening for years.
What should I do? You remember asking her, Kyrie, over the phone, lost in so much of your confusion and anger you could barely form a cohesive strand of thought. You don’t know much else beyond that Dante and Vergil, his brother, have been at this for years, only knowing that they have to stop the other at whatever cost. The weight of that sits in your chest and it eats you alive, causes your mind to panic, your heart to cry out so loudly you think it might burst.
"You’ve always known right from wrong."
Now, standing here, there’s only one way up- and it’s the only path you have to your family. The only way you can stop them both, before it’s too late. You exhale, debating the words that come to your mind, but this really is just a repeat of what happened five years ago, huh. Now? Now you can actually do something about it, if you can only get the power to get there in time.
"You know, losing Credo was the hardest thing for me, because I was powerless to stop it. And to this day I’ve hated myself for it. But this time? This time, I swear-" Your feet shift, you feel something tug at your heart, your soul: your own inner darkness. You’ve feared that darkness inside you for years, it made you an outcast for most of the island, it made your temper flare and your patience grow thin within seconds. It made you a blur in fighting, you hit faster and harder than humans, and if you let your anger take hold, you easily broke bone, gave people concussions. Five years ago, you accepted it for what it was- the power to protect the people you love, the people you care for. It was enough, even if it confirmed that you weren’t human; not completely. That strength was enough to keep people safe, to keep fighting, to keep things back home in one piece against any demon that came and tried to unsettle things.
Standing here now, you need that power, but more than that you need to embrace the legacy you’re a part of. Dante is a son of Sparda, as is your father. Which makes you? His grandson. Grandson to the strongest demon that severed ties with his kind, and fought against the entirety of hell to seal the gates to the human realm. It’s still as unreal to you as it is to anyone else, you’re sure, but there’s no time for that. You push off from where you’re standing, and in a split second you fully throw yourself into that darkness, that terrifying and violent part that is still you, underneath it all.
"I’M NOT GONNA LET YOU DIE!!"
The power in your blood, in your heritage, finally responds. The world suddenly sharpens in an instant, but you don’t notice. Your devil breaker, the arm you lost to your father, reaches out, breaks apart, falls to pieces as your arm actually regrows back in place. You don’t notice. Bright ephemeral wings practically flare from your back even as you push, as you yell, as you run with everything you have in your entire soul to make it in time. You don’t notice. All that matters is that you have to get to the top. You have to get up there. You have to get up there and stop those two assholes from doing something they’ll regret for the rest of their fucking lives.
Everything else happens in a blink.
You shoot forward like a bullet, faster than anything you’ve ever done, faster still as your determination carries you towards your destination. The world is a blur to human eyes, but yours can see every detail with such clarity you know you’re not human anymore. This is your power, and you’re going to use it however you can. You’re there in an instant, at the top, but you’re not done yet, you have to fix this. You can see them as you rise, then go higher still. Your uncle, your father, locked in a stalemate. Feel the demonic auras of them both as they charge towards each other in a final stand, in the ultimate strike that will determine who lives and who dies. The weight that sits in your chest grows heavier, but the power that sings in your veins counters it, tells you what you have to do. You don’t even think about how, you don’t stop to make a choice, you simply act.
In a second, everything stops. The ground on the qliphoth shakes, the three of you all together in the same place. To the left, a demon in red, greatsword extended and aiming to pierce through. To the right, a demon in blue, katana set to clearly puncture whatever it finds. And you? In the middle, both hands extended to stop the two of them, wings wide and holding them by their swords. You made it.
To say you’re relieved is an understatement. It’s a moot point right now, though, because this by itself isn’t enough. The two of them pull out of their demonic forms, looks of confusion apparent across their faces, and partial disbelief that this has actually been stopped. "Nero?" The one in red, Dante, speaks, while his brother, in blue, Vergil- gives his own questioning response. "Interesting." You shove them both off unceremoniously, rising, pulling out of your demonic form and settle back as you are. Every vein of yours courses with incredible power.
"This ends today." Your voice is solid, determined, and everything is so much sharper, now that you can actually use the power you were meant to have. The wings sit on your back, your heritage thrums in your chest. You can do this. You can do whatever you want, from here. And right now, you’re about to kick both of their asses for being fucking idiots.
Both twins pick themselves off the ground, already tired from fighting each other from before. But there’s no change from what you’ve seen, no acceptance that they should just drop their rivalry and move on from it to be brothers. If you could roll your eyes at this point, you would. Not important at the moment. What is important is that these two jackasses are still stuck in the same mindset, despite what you’ve said. Dante is the one to approach first, his entire body language saying he’s disappointed, that he still thinks this is a job he has to do. He’s already walking towards you in agitation, steps clearly angry and frustrated you’re actually here now. "Listen, kid, I told you this was my-"
Dante doesn’t get to finish, because the closest claw on your shoulder just comes to life and vibe checks him right across the face, sending him sprawling. You don’t even look at him. "No, you listen, deadweight." That last word holds so much pain and anger you could throw it around the world and you’d still feel everything attached to it. "I’m not gonna let you kill each other."
You hear Vergil laugh, and it draws your attention, focusing now on him. "You came all the way here just for that?" This man? He’s your father. You never knew you even had a father until today. But god if his attitude doesn’t piss you the fuck off because he’s clearly not listening.
You glare at him and speak again. "Vergil, V, whatever you call yourself. Dante’s not gonna die today, and neither are you. You got a problem with that?"
"Not gonna die, my ass! That bitchslap nearly killed me." You hear Dante pull himself up enough to lie on his elbows, hand on his jaw as it realigns and repairs itself from being broken and dislocated all at once by your hit. Vergil looks to you, then to his brother, teeth clenching just a little before making up his mind on something. He points his sheathed katana at Dante, Yamato, the blade you put back together five years ago by awakening your demonic powers. It never had made sense to you before, why she responded- now it’s clearer than day.
"If I fight him and win, Dante, that means I win by default against you."
His brother waves a hand as if to shoo Vergil off, still not quite out of being dazed. "Yeah, sure, fine, whatever. I’m… I’m gonna go take a nap." Dante lays back down, conked out for the moment, and you don’t take your eyes off Vergil. Your demon, in all of this, is more awake than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. And right now? Both of you are gonna beat the absolute shit out of your father, and make him see reason.]
Edited 2021-03-06 21:58 (UTC)
APRIL 30TH, 5:45 PM. (CW: GORE, BLOOD, AMPUTATION)
[It's the inside of the garage that's probably like a second home to you at this rate.
There you are, face-first once again in the innards of the van's engine, trying to make sure the fucking spark plugs ignite properly without setting the entire thing on fire, and once again you're at the mercy of her being as stubborn as ever. You love this van, she's a trooper and she's literally been built to ram into shit and haul ass. Nico wouldn't accept any less, honestly. Still, she likes to dig in her heels and some days she really just doesn't want to start.
Nico slides out from under the van's belly, the auburn sitting up and giving you a look that basically means she's ready to take a break and give you shit in the same breath. You roll your eyes, exchanging banter back and forth until she goes in to help Kyrie inside. You're left standing around- and that's when you notice the figure just outside the semi-pulled down garage door.
"Hey pal, didn't see you there." You can hear some sort of sound from beyond the door, almost like ragged breathing. Whoever this is, they must've had it rough. Homeless people and beggars aren't so much a strange sight in Fortuna, even five years after the whole mess of the Order. There's still debris and the like to clean, even if the demon problem is gone by now. You turn back to the toolbox, on the floor, putting stuff away to use once you get back outside. Oh, but, that gives you an idea. "You hungry? Pretty sure I can grab you something, Kyrie always makes enough for leftovers." You hear the figure's feet shuffle, a man's, by the weight of how it carries forward, and you turn to notice how he's definitely gotten closer now, a cloak over his entire body and concealing most of his face. This doesn't surprise you, really, if the guy's hungry, of course he'd come closer. What does surprise you is how suddenly, your right arm flares as a warning, the demonic arm sending a strong signal to you of another demonic presence nearby. Even just a quick glance at it and back to this stranger makes you uneasy.
"So that's what you are, huh. A demon?" Every sense in your body suddenly lights up like wildfire, and you stand on edge now, eyes sharp for whatever this might be. You know how demons are, you've fought them for years. It's only as you hear Kyrie call from inside and tell you to come in for dinner do you take your eyes off this man, and boy, if that isn't the worst mistake you could've made.
You remember shouting back at her, telling her to make sure everyone stays inside. After that, though, well. It's a blur. Next thing you know, you're getting thrown into the shelving in the back of the garage, landing unceremoniously on your stomach on the floor. Pain ricochets through you so quickly you can't even register what from, not until you feel something pool under your cheek. You manage to turn your head enough to see the stranger with his back to you, and it's only after you see that he has your fucking demonic arm in his hand do you realize that this demon has gone and ripped it clearly off. You can't even scream, the pain is so great and you're struggling to even stay awake at this rate. All you can do is grit your teeth and try to breathe, trying to ignore the fact that there is now a stump where your elbow once was.
(Your demon, the one that had awoken ages ago, howls in your ears- before being suddenly silenced, as if any connection you had with your powers has been muted, lost completely. You can't think about it right now, you have to make sure you don't fucking die from bleeding out.)
"I'm taking this back," you hear the man say. With a single touch, he calls Yamato, the katana that resides in that demonic arm of yours, to his hands. Then, he unsheathes her, slicing the air as if it's made of paper, opening something that looks like a portal, before stepping inside and disappearing altogether.
The garage is once again quiet, with you the major casualty in this encounter. Somewhere, vaguely, you can hear Nico and Kyrie running towards you, calling out your name. Darkness takes you before they even get to your side. You don't feel anything anymore.]
Laughter is the first thing you hear from your hiding spot, the young boy grabbing you by the hand and dragging you out. "You've gotta get better at hiding, Nero!! You're too easy."
Honestly, you wonder some days how these kids manage to run you ragged when they've still got a ton of energy. Who exactly is the one with demonic blood here? Little rascals. You love these kids.
"What, seriously? That was a good hiding spot." That definitely is a lie, you find places that aren't too hard and just enough for the kids to find you on purpose every time. There's a grin you throw the kids, all of them laughing and giggling where they are, ready for another round of hide and seek. "Or maybe you've all got x-ray vision and you're just cheating, huh?"
You noogie the boy who accused you right then and there, Julio, who laughs even as he struggles to get out of your hold. Several of the kids chase after each other at that exclamation, though one or two definitely pile onto your legs in retaliation, to let Julio go. The end result is you losing your balance, and then the rest of the kids dogpile you to make sure you stay put and they win, even though you let them win basically every time.
"Oh c'mon, this isn't fair!!" Despite the tone of whining you've got going on, you're laughing. The kids laugh too. Orphans don't have much here in Fortuna, you'd know that personally. So, you'll give them whatever you can when you're home, and out of work.
It's the least you can do for them, after all. They're just kids, and they deserve the world.]
There is a sharp tightness that squeezes against your chest, swears that it'll crush you here and now, make you bleed. The agony of the thought of having a family, finally, only to watch them slip through your fingers like sand kills you more than you want to admit. You know this was the only way. You know they had to go down there, and sever the roots. And doing that was a one-way trip, because there isn't exactly an exit out of hell. But it's not fair. It's not fucking fair.
All you're left with is a promise and your father's book of poetry, and the ache that sits in your heart is so painful you swear you're going to die. Really, death would be kinder, at this point. A broken heart grieves so loudly, and you know this so well. You know you're not going to be over this until they get back, until they come home. You refuse to imagine the outcome being anything less, because those two fucking assholes are too stubborn to die.
Dante and Vergil are gone by now, dropped off the edge of the top of the qliphoth and flown down below, into the depths of hell. From where you are at the top, you can see so much that looking towards earth actually gives you vertigo for just a moment, causing you to step back. Now that everything is said and done, just how the hell are you going to get back down to Nico, Trish, and Lady? You flew up here, sure, but that was out of determination and partial desperation. You could slide down partway, but who knows how long you'll have before the whole tree falls apart?
The only option you have is this one. Is it that simple to just... want to fly back down? Your wings manifest on your back again without even a thought, hang on your shoulders with purpose and dignity. Guess you have no choice.
You walk to the edge, this time without looking down. One hand places your father's book of poetry inside your jacket pocket for safekeeping, before you swallow back any sort fear that sits in your throat and threatens to force you to stay. You can't risk that. So you close your eyes, exhale, and fall forward.
You feel gravity take control, plummeting down like a stone. Panic seizes you for a long moment, says you won't make it, that you're as good as dead from this. You've never tried this, and now you're that one idiot who is about to become paste into the pavement. You're so fucking dead.
But that doesn't happen. Just like that, without even thinking, you feel your wings flare outwards, spread wide to keep you from descending too fast. You're... you're...
You're fucking flying.
You really are flying, it's- you don't have words for it. The sheer amount of freedom that courses through your veins as you open your eyes again and just... choose where to go, without even trying, and your wings just echo your sentiment endlessly. You rise first, higher into the air even as the cold and sharp atmosphere threatens to choke every push you make into the endless blue that spans the horizon. When you actually feel the grip of what little oxygen remains close around your throat, you dive, picking up speed and barrel rolling even as you move back and forth between flight and trick flying. If Dante was here, he'd be calling you a showoff. You think you're shouting in excitement at some point, it's hard to remember when everything about this now is pure adrenaline that pumps right through your system.
You bank a hard left as you move downwards, force your wings to shift you as quickly as you can think it, do a goddamn loop in the air just because you fucking can. Your wings aren't some foreign existence outside of your body- it's a natural feeling, like you've always had them, like you've known, from the start, how all of this works. And really? It's fucking exhilarating.
You'll have to land soon, one way or another. Nico and the gang are waiting for you, after all. But you're gonna take your time getting to them, if only by just a little. This is too fun.]
[The last thing you remember is how sharp the pain was before it pierced right through your stomach. That creep, Agnus, had said he'd wanted to study your arm, didn't he? How it was different, clearly demonic and capable of things a normal human shouldn't be able to do. When you spat back at him and told him you'd never help him, he simply took matters into his own hands, quite literally- grabbing one of the Order's homemade demons (which were also swords? go fucking figure, why not, at this rate) and slammed it right into your stomach. The world had faded quickly after that.
In the darkness, you see nothing. Nothing but black, and you somehow still existing in this empty space. With nothing to go on, you walk forward, pissed off and wondering where the fuck you even are. What is this, some shitty kind of afterlife theatre meant to show you all the highlights or something? There's no denying it, anyway- you know you're dead. No one survives an impaling right through the stomach, not even you. You expect some kind of fanfare, but there's nothing, only silence, for what seems like hours upon hours as you just keep moving forward.
That's when you hear it.
"What do you seek?" You whirl, and there someone is- a man, but they're vague. You can make out some features (eyes that are firm, but kind. a posture that was proud, but welcoming all the same), but everything else is blurred. You don't answer him, not at first. Instead, you just charge forward at a brisk pace, wanting to demand answers, because you're pretty sure you've never met this guy before ever, and what kinda shitty bullshit is this if there's random strangers who show up in this stuff? He stops you again with the same question.
"What do you seek?"
Me? What do you seek, pal, you angrily throw back on him. What the fuck is all this?
He smiles, one brow raised, and you scowl further. "Power."
Yeah, well, me too. It's true, though. You sought after it to keep the people you cared for safe. You have to protect what little you have, because it's all you've got, and they're your family.
That's when it gets weird. Not that it wasn't already, but. The man smiles almost as if proud, and you don't even know what the hell to think- before you hear Kyrie screaming your name in the dark beyond him.
"Nero!!"
You bolt past the figure, screaming back into the dark, trying to find her. Kyrie! KYRIE!!
...Something from deep within shatters and howls, and for the first time, you accept that visceral part of you that wants to simply tear and destroy in order to save what matters the most to you.]
[Sitting on a bench has really become way too familiar to you at this point, and honestly, you don't even remember why you keep coming here. Maybe it's the fact that there's other kids nearby, who are playing and having fun. Maybe it's because Credo and Kyrie are in that group, or just outside there, and their parents are watching over the three of you quietly.
Eight years old, there you are, swinging your legs on the bench and trying to think of ways to actually get involved in the group just out of reach. You're an outcast here, you always have been- a black sheep, so to speak, because no one knows your parents. It wouldn't be so bad if Fortuna weren't as closed off as it was, but since everyone knows everyone else? Yeah, you're the weird one here, and everyone, save for your adoptive family, treats you like garbage. A "troublemaker," they say, the "bastard child of a prostitute." It doesn't help that you've got a bad temper, and tend to fight those kids who pick on you, now.
It's as you're thinking that you hear something said by one of the kids, and then something else hits you on the arm. A stone. You turn your head to notice the group of older boys hanging nearby, all of them laughing before another one throws another rock at you, this time nearly hitting you in the face.
"What's the matter, bastard child," you hear them say. "Were you daydreaming about your parents again? They probably left you behind for a good reason."
Anger blooms in your chest and you're moving before you even realize it, something feral in your veins and vibrant in your eyes, a looming threat upon the horizon. These boys have no fear of you, you're younger than they are, what can an eight year old do to teenagers?
A lot, it turns out.
The first boy you send down into the cobblestone before he has even a chance to realize you've raised a fist to his nose, breaking it almost instantly in your rage. The second boy notices quick enough to get out of range of your incoming swing, but not fast enough before you knock him to the ground with a kick instead. Two other boys actually pull you back at this rate, and you struggle, snarling like a wild animal before people in the group hit you and kick you in retaliation. It hurts, and you're bleeding, but even worse is how under all this beating and this ganging up is the very prominent feeling of something rearing its head from under your skin. Something dark and dangerous, something you've always noticed but have never known what it was, not even now.
You jab your elbow into one of the boy's stomachs and he lets go, and with the other boy you whirl and pull him forward quick enough to slam your head into his chest. You think you may have cracked a rib, because you can hear it as the boy reels back, and he goes down like a sack of bricks. Credo comes bolting over, as does Kyrie, and he's already pulling you out of the mess, warning his sister to not come any closer and telling you that you need to stop. Holding you back becomes his main priority as the rest of the group that's still standing jeers at you, calling you a freak, you wanting nothing more than to shut them all up right here and right now.
You always were one to react openly to what people labeled you as. It's no wonder you eventually tried to pull away from others as much as you did.]
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MISSION 20.
You’ve been an orphan all your goddamn life. All you ever wanted was a family. Now? Now these two idiots are stuck in a mindset that they have to kill each other to end this cycle that apparently has been happening for years.
What should I do? You remember asking her, Kyrie, over the phone, lost in so much of your confusion and anger you could barely form a cohesive strand of thought. You don’t know much else beyond that Dante and Vergil, his brother, have been at this for years, only knowing that they have to stop the other at whatever cost. The weight of that sits in your chest and it eats you alive, causes your mind to panic, your heart to cry out so loudly you think it might burst.
"You’ve always known right from wrong."
Now, standing here, there’s only one way up- and it’s the only path you have to your family. The only way you can stop them both, before it’s too late. You exhale, debating the words that come to your mind, but this really is just a repeat of what happened five years ago, huh. Now? Now you can actually do something about it, if you can only get the power to get there in time.
"You know, losing Credo was the hardest thing for me, because I was powerless to stop it. And to this day I’ve hated myself for it. But this time? This time, I swear-" Your feet shift, you feel something tug at your heart, your soul: your own inner darkness. You’ve feared that darkness inside you for years, it made you an outcast for most of the island, it made your temper flare and your patience grow thin within seconds. It made you a blur in fighting, you hit faster and harder than humans, and if you let your anger take hold, you easily broke bone, gave people concussions. Five years ago, you accepted it for what it was- the power to protect the people you love, the people you care for. It was enough, even if it confirmed that you weren’t human; not completely. That strength was enough to keep people safe, to keep fighting, to keep things back home in one piece against any demon that came and tried to unsettle things.
Standing here now, you need that power, but more than that you need to embrace the legacy you’re a part of. Dante is a son of Sparda, as is your father. Which makes you? His grandson. Grandson to the strongest demon that severed ties with his kind, and fought against the entirety of hell to seal the gates to the human realm. It’s still as unreal to you as it is to anyone else, you’re sure, but there’s no time for that. You push off from where you’re standing, and in a split second you fully throw yourself into that darkness, that terrifying and violent part that is still you, underneath it all.
"I’M NOT GONNA LET YOU DIE!!"
The power in your blood, in your heritage, finally responds. The world suddenly sharpens in an instant, but you don’t notice. Your devil breaker, the arm you lost to your father, reaches out, breaks apart, falls to pieces as your arm actually regrows back in place. You don’t notice. Bright ephemeral wings practically flare from your back even as you push, as you yell, as you run with everything you have in your entire soul to make it in time. You don’t notice. All that matters is that you have to get to the top. You have to get up there. You have to get up there and stop those two assholes from doing something they’ll regret for the rest of their fucking lives.
Everything else happens in a blink.
You shoot forward like a bullet, faster than anything you’ve ever done, faster still as your determination carries you towards your destination. The world is a blur to human eyes, but yours can see every detail with such clarity you know you’re not human anymore. This is your power, and you’re going to use it however you can. You’re there in an instant, at the top, but you’re not done yet, you have to fix this. You can see them as you rise, then go higher still. Your uncle, your father, locked in a stalemate. Feel the demonic auras of them both as they charge towards each other in a final stand, in the ultimate strike that will determine who lives and who dies. The weight that sits in your chest grows heavier, but the power that sings in your veins counters it, tells you what you have to do. You don’t even think about how, you don’t stop to make a choice, you simply act.
In a second, everything stops. The ground on the qliphoth shakes, the three of you all together in the same place. To the left, a demon in red, greatsword extended and aiming to pierce through. To the right, a demon in blue, katana set to clearly puncture whatever it finds. And you? In the middle, both hands extended to stop the two of them, wings wide and holding them by their swords. You made it.
To say you’re relieved is an understatement. It’s a moot point right now, though, because this by itself isn’t enough. The two of them pull out of their demonic forms, looks of confusion apparent across their faces, and partial disbelief that this has actually been stopped. "Nero?" The one in red, Dante, speaks, while his brother, in blue, Vergil- gives his own questioning response. "Interesting." You shove them both off unceremoniously, rising, pulling out of your demonic form and settle back as you are. Every vein of yours courses with incredible power.
"This ends today." Your voice is solid, determined, and everything is so much sharper, now that you can actually use the power you were meant to have. The wings sit on your back, your heritage thrums in your chest. You can do this. You can do whatever you want, from here. And right now, you’re about to kick both of their asses for being fucking idiots.
Both twins pick themselves off the ground, already tired from fighting each other from before. But there’s no change from what you’ve seen, no acceptance that they should just drop their rivalry and move on from it to be brothers. If you could roll your eyes at this point, you would. Not important at the moment. What is important is that these two jackasses are still stuck in the same mindset, despite what you’ve said. Dante is the one to approach first, his entire body language saying he’s disappointed, that he still thinks this is a job he has to do. He’s already walking towards you in agitation, steps clearly angry and frustrated you’re actually here now. "Listen, kid, I told you this was my-"
Dante doesn’t get to finish, because the closest claw on your shoulder just comes to life and vibe checks him right across the face, sending him sprawling. You don’t even look at him. "No, you listen, deadweight." That last word holds so much pain and anger you could throw it around the world and you’d still feel everything attached to it. "I’m not gonna let you kill each other."
You hear Vergil laugh, and it draws your attention, focusing now on him. "You came all the way here just for that?" This man? He’s your father. You never knew you even had a father until today. But god if his attitude doesn’t piss you the fuck off because he’s clearly not listening.
You glare at him and speak again. "Vergil, V, whatever you call yourself. Dante’s not gonna die today, and neither are you. You got a problem with that?"
"Not gonna die, my ass! That bitchslap nearly killed me." You hear Dante pull himself up enough to lie on his elbows, hand on his jaw as it realigns and repairs itself from being broken and dislocated all at once by your hit. Vergil looks to you, then to his brother, teeth clenching just a little before making up his mind on something. He points his sheathed katana at Dante, Yamato, the blade you put back together five years ago by awakening your demonic powers. It never had made sense to you before, why she responded- now it’s clearer than day.
"If I fight him and win, Dante, that means I win by default against you."
His brother waves a hand as if to shoo Vergil off, still not quite out of being dazed. "Yeah, sure, fine, whatever. I’m… I’m gonna go take a nap." Dante lays back down, conked out for the moment, and you don’t take your eyes off Vergil. Your demon, in all of this, is more awake than you’ve ever felt in your entire life. And right now? Both of you are gonna beat the absolute shit out of your father, and make him see reason.]
APRIL 30TH, 5:45 PM. (CW: GORE, BLOOD, AMPUTATION)
There you are, face-first once again in the innards of the van's engine, trying to make sure the fucking spark plugs ignite properly without setting the entire thing on fire, and once again you're at the mercy of her being as stubborn as ever. You love this van, she's a trooper and she's literally been built to ram into shit and haul ass. Nico wouldn't accept any less, honestly. Still, she likes to dig in her heels and some days she really just doesn't want to start.
Nico slides out from under the van's belly, the auburn sitting up and giving you a look that basically means she's ready to take a break and give you shit in the same breath. You roll your eyes, exchanging banter back and forth until she goes in to help Kyrie inside. You're left standing around- and that's when you notice the figure just outside the semi-pulled down garage door.
"Hey pal, didn't see you there." You can hear some sort of sound from beyond the door, almost like ragged breathing. Whoever this is, they must've had it rough. Homeless people and beggars aren't so much a strange sight in Fortuna, even five years after the whole mess of the Order. There's still debris and the like to clean, even if the demon problem is gone by now. You turn back to the toolbox, on the floor, putting stuff away to use once you get back outside. Oh, but, that gives you an idea. "You hungry? Pretty sure I can grab you something, Kyrie always makes enough for leftovers." You hear the figure's feet shuffle, a man's, by the weight of how it carries forward, and you turn to notice how he's definitely gotten closer now, a cloak over his entire body and concealing most of his face. This doesn't surprise you, really, if the guy's hungry, of course he'd come closer. What does surprise you is how suddenly, your right arm flares as a warning, the demonic arm sending a strong signal to you of another demonic presence nearby. Even just a quick glance at it and back to this stranger makes you uneasy.
"So that's what you are, huh. A demon?" Every sense in your body suddenly lights up like wildfire, and you stand on edge now, eyes sharp for whatever this might be. You know how demons are, you've fought them for years. It's only as you hear Kyrie call from inside and tell you to come in for dinner do you take your eyes off this man, and boy, if that isn't the worst mistake you could've made.
You remember shouting back at her, telling her to make sure everyone stays inside. After that, though, well. It's a blur. Next thing you know, you're getting thrown into the shelving in the back of the garage, landing unceremoniously on your stomach on the floor. Pain ricochets through you so quickly you can't even register what from, not until you feel something pool under your cheek. You manage to turn your head enough to see the stranger with his back to you, and it's only after you see that he has your fucking demonic arm in his hand do you realize that this demon has gone and ripped it clearly off. You can't even scream, the pain is so great and you're struggling to even stay awake at this rate. All you can do is grit your teeth and try to breathe, trying to ignore the fact that there is now a stump where your elbow once was.
(Your demon, the one that had awoken ages ago, howls in your ears- before being suddenly silenced, as if any connection you had with your powers has been muted, lost completely. You can't think about it right now, you have to make sure you don't fucking die from bleeding out.)
"I'm taking this back," you hear the man say. With a single touch, he calls Yamato, the katana that resides in that demonic arm of yours, to his hands. Then, he unsheathes her, slicing the air as if it's made of paper, opening something that looks like a portal, before stepping inside and disappearing altogether.
The garage is once again quiet, with you the major casualty in this encounter. Somewhere, vaguely, you can hear Nico and Kyrie running towards you, calling out your name. Darkness takes you before they even get to your side. You don't feel anything anymore.]
TWO YEARS AGO.
Laughter is the first thing you hear from your hiding spot, the young boy grabbing you by the hand and dragging you out. "You've gotta get better at hiding, Nero!! You're too easy."
Honestly, you wonder some days how these kids manage to run you ragged when they've still got a ton of energy. Who exactly is the one with demonic blood here? Little rascals. You love these kids.
"What, seriously? That was a good hiding spot." That definitely is a lie, you find places that aren't too hard and just enough for the kids to find you on purpose every time. There's a grin you throw the kids, all of them laughing and giggling where they are, ready for another round of hide and seek. "Or maybe you've all got x-ray vision and you're just cheating, huh?"
You noogie the boy who accused you right then and there, Julio, who laughs even as he struggles to get out of your hold. Several of the kids chase after each other at that exclamation, though one or two definitely pile onto your legs in retaliation, to let Julio go. The end result is you losing your balance, and then the rest of the kids dogpile you to make sure you stay put and they win, even though you let them win basically every time.
"Oh c'mon, this isn't fair!!" Despite the tone of whining you've got going on, you're laughing. The kids laugh too. Orphans don't have much here in Fortuna, you'd know that personally. So, you'll give them whatever you can when you're home, and out of work.
It's the least you can do for them, after all. They're just kids, and they deserve the world.]
POST-MISSION 20.
There is a sharp tightness that squeezes against your chest, swears that it'll crush you here and now, make you bleed. The agony of the thought of having a family, finally, only to watch them slip through your fingers like sand kills you more than you want to admit. You know this was the only way. You know they had to go down there, and sever the roots. And doing that was a one-way trip, because there isn't exactly an exit out of hell. But it's not fair. It's not fucking fair.
All you're left with is a promise and your father's book of poetry, and the ache that sits in your heart is so painful you swear you're going to die. Really, death would be kinder, at this point. A broken heart grieves so loudly, and you know this so well. You know you're not going to be over this until they get back, until they come home. You refuse to imagine the outcome being anything less, because those two fucking assholes are too stubborn to die.
Dante and Vergil are gone by now, dropped off the edge of the top of the qliphoth and flown down below, into the depths of hell. From where you are at the top, you can see so much that looking towards earth actually gives you vertigo for just a moment, causing you to step back. Now that everything is said and done, just how the hell are you going to get back down to Nico, Trish, and Lady? You flew up here, sure, but that was out of determination and partial desperation. You could slide down partway, but who knows how long you'll have before the whole tree falls apart?
The only option you have is this one. Is it that simple to just... want to fly back down? Your wings manifest on your back again without even a thought, hang on your shoulders with purpose and dignity. Guess you have no choice.
You walk to the edge, this time without looking down. One hand places your father's book of poetry inside your jacket pocket for safekeeping, before you swallow back any sort fear that sits in your throat and threatens to force you to stay. You can't risk that. So you close your eyes, exhale, and fall forward.
You feel gravity take control, plummeting down like a stone. Panic seizes you for a long moment, says you won't make it, that you're as good as dead from this. You've never tried this, and now you're that one idiot who is about to become paste into the pavement. You're so fucking dead.
But that doesn't happen. Just like that, without even thinking, you feel your wings flare outwards, spread wide to keep you from descending too fast. You're... you're...
You're fucking flying.
You really are flying, it's- you don't have words for it. The sheer amount of freedom that courses through your veins as you open your eyes again and just... choose where to go, without even trying, and your wings just echo your sentiment endlessly. You rise first, higher into the air even as the cold and sharp atmosphere threatens to choke every push you make into the endless blue that spans the horizon. When you actually feel the grip of what little oxygen remains close around your throat, you dive, picking up speed and barrel rolling even as you move back and forth between flight and trick flying. If Dante was here, he'd be calling you a showoff. You think you're shouting in excitement at some point, it's hard to remember when everything about this now is pure adrenaline that pumps right through your system.
You bank a hard left as you move downwards, force your wings to shift you as quickly as you can think it, do a goddamn loop in the air just because you fucking can. Your wings aren't some foreign existence outside of your body- it's a natural feeling, like you've always had them, like you've known, from the start, how all of this works. And really? It's fucking exhilarating.
You'll have to land soon, one way or another. Nico and the gang are waiting for you, after all. But you're gonna take your time getting to them, if only by just a little. This is too fun.]
FIVE/SIX YEARS AGO, MISSION 6.
In the darkness, you see nothing. Nothing but black, and you somehow still existing in this empty space. With nothing to go on, you walk forward, pissed off and wondering where the fuck you even are. What is this, some shitty kind of afterlife theatre meant to show you all the highlights or something? There's no denying it, anyway- you know you're dead. No one survives an impaling right through the stomach, not even you. You expect some kind of fanfare, but there's nothing, only silence, for what seems like hours upon hours as you just keep moving forward.
That's when you hear it.
"What do you seek?" You whirl, and there someone is- a man, but they're vague. You can make out some features (eyes that are firm, but kind. a posture that was proud, but welcoming all the same), but everything else is blurred. You don't answer him, not at first. Instead, you just charge forward at a brisk pace, wanting to demand answers, because you're pretty sure you've never met this guy before ever, and what kinda shitty bullshit is this if there's random strangers who show up in this stuff? He stops you again with the same question.
"What do you seek?"
Me? What do you seek, pal, you angrily throw back on him. What the fuck is all this?
He smiles, one brow raised, and you scowl further. "Power."
Yeah, well, me too. It's true, though. You sought after it to keep the people you cared for safe. You have to protect what little you have, because it's all you've got, and they're your family.
That's when it gets weird. Not that it wasn't already, but. The man smiles almost as if proud, and you don't even know what the hell to think- before you hear Kyrie screaming your name in the dark beyond him.
"Nero!!"
You bolt past the figure, screaming back into the dark, trying to find her. Kyrie! KYRIE!!
...Something from deep within shatters and howls, and for the first time, you accept that visceral part of you that wants to simply tear and destroy in order to save what matters the most to you.]
SIXTEEN YEARS AGO.
Eight years old, there you are, swinging your legs on the bench and trying to think of ways to actually get involved in the group just out of reach. You're an outcast here, you always have been- a black sheep, so to speak, because no one knows your parents. It wouldn't be so bad if Fortuna weren't as closed off as it was, but since everyone knows everyone else? Yeah, you're the weird one here, and everyone, save for your adoptive family, treats you like garbage. A "troublemaker," they say, the "bastard child of a prostitute." It doesn't help that you've got a bad temper, and tend to fight those kids who pick on you, now.
It's as you're thinking that you hear something said by one of the kids, and then something else hits you on the arm. A stone. You turn your head to notice the group of older boys hanging nearby, all of them laughing before another one throws another rock at you, this time nearly hitting you in the face.
"What's the matter, bastard child," you hear them say. "Were you daydreaming about your parents again? They probably left you behind for a good reason."
Anger blooms in your chest and you're moving before you even realize it, something feral in your veins and vibrant in your eyes, a looming threat upon the horizon. These boys have no fear of you, you're younger than they are, what can an eight year old do to teenagers?
A lot, it turns out.
The first boy you send down into the cobblestone before he has even a chance to realize you've raised a fist to his nose, breaking it almost instantly in your rage. The second boy notices quick enough to get out of range of your incoming swing, but not fast enough before you knock him to the ground with a kick instead. Two other boys actually pull you back at this rate, and you struggle, snarling like a wild animal before people in the group hit you and kick you in retaliation. It hurts, and you're bleeding, but even worse is how under all this beating and this ganging up is the very prominent feeling of something rearing its head from under your skin. Something dark and dangerous, something you've always noticed but have never known what it was, not even now.
You jab your elbow into one of the boy's stomachs and he lets go, and with the other boy you whirl and pull him forward quick enough to slam your head into his chest. You think you may have cracked a rib, because you can hear it as the boy reels back, and he goes down like a sack of bricks. Credo comes bolting over, as does Kyrie, and he's already pulling you out of the mess, warning his sister to not come any closer and telling you that you need to stop. Holding you back becomes his main priority as the rest of the group that's still standing jeers at you, calling you a freak, you wanting nothing more than to shut them all up right here and right now.
You always were one to react openly to what people labeled you as. It's no wonder you eventually tried to pull away from others as much as you did.]