Caine, my beloved

His kidnapper got to his feet, he didn’t acknowledge Nero’s embarrassing behavior whatsoever. Nero couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. On one hand he was glad it wasn’t acknowledged on the other now it hang like a potential weapon to be used at his leisure. 

There was a long drawn out silence as Nero felt his kidnapper’s gaze on him.

“What is your name, child?”

Nero looked up in surprise and for a moment he was even more startled to realize his kidnapper had ditched the cloak somewhere. Apparently underneath it he wore an elaborate, sturdy looking, long black coat with swirling blue detailing. It made his silhouette feel taller, imposing in a way it hadn’t been before. 

Nero hated the fact that he knew the coat’s surface was just as soft and smooth as it looked, because he’d had his arms around him and his face against it. Nero pressed his lips together, feeling another rise of embarrassment.

“What’s yours?” He finally returned in response to his kidnapper’s slowly climbing left eyebrow.

Both eyebrows drew into a frown. Nero almost huffed, that was it. Of course he wouldn’t say. He put his hands on the ground to help him push his tired body off the ground and into standing with a groan - if this is how old people felt every day, Nero didn’t want to be old. He could feel muscles in places he didn’t knew he had them! 

“Vergil.”

The word had Nero snapping the rest of the way upwards in a move he instantly regretted. He grimaced and his hands automatically sought out his lower back to try and soothe some of the ache.

“Vergil,” he said hesitantly after a moment.

“Yes,” his kidnapper returned, voice soft and strangely wistful.

Nero stared for a moment, but for all that the man was more expressive now, it was still like looking for answers in a wall. He swallowed and wet his lips. He’d been all set on enduring “child” and “boy” and whatever else in sheer stubbornness, because there had been no way he’d be told his kidnapper’s name and yet he was. Vergil. 

“Umm, it’s Nero.”

“Nero,” his kidnapper repeated, lips tugging upwards.

Nero bristled, clenching his hands. 

“You got a problem with my name?!”

It was clear in the slight raising of his eyebrows, and the still amused set to his lips that he found Nero about as threatening as a kitten.

“Do you know what your name means, Nero?”

Nero lost his anger in confusion over the question. What his name meant?

Suddenly a hand settled on his head, running through his hair briefly. “It means black.” He glanced up at Nero’s white hair tellingly, before giving it another brief pat. Then he turned away, crouching down to pick up the leftover firewood, leaving Nero to struggle with all the strange things that welled up in his chest and the tingling in his scalp.

“You should try to find your clothes. The days are getting colder.”

“You think I haven’t noticed!” Nero returned grabbing the rising indignation instead of all the confusing stuff. He spun around - slowly, because ouch - and started walking unsteadily across the demon made clearing, their battle ground of the day before consisted off. He felt like a newborn foal for how awkwardly he walked.

He wrapped his arms around himself as he scanned the ground. The morning air was crisp, and it was just Nero’s luck if the weather started freezing. Stupid snake. Stupid poison.

And his scalp was still tingling! Where’d he get off making fun of Nero’s name - no, he realized, he hadn’t actually made fun of him, not really. There had been no mocking, just an inexplicable warmth in his gaze and urgh! Nero scratched at his tingling hair and then his right arm. He didn’t know what it meant!

For a moment he stood still, just breathing heavily.

Focus Nero.

The situation hadn’t really changed. He was still on an unwilling roadtrip with the man-demon-person whatever who’d kidnapped him. 

Ever since Nero had managed to stop him from killing those people in the big city, he’d felt a degree of responsibility to make sure something like the massacre on Fortuna didn’t happen again. He’d long since realized that his kidnapper didn’t attack unprovoked. That the massacre could have been avoided entirely if nobody had gotten in his way. 

It had been a pointless waste of life.

Now… somehow fixing the Yamato had unscrambled her master’s brains. Woken him up and he was- an amalgamation of gentle phantom touches rushed through Nero’s consciousness. He raised his shoulders defensively - He was not terrible, though he also scowled at Nero a lot, and everything was just weird and awkward. 

Nero was not getting away. He was not sure he wanted to get away. He wanted to go home, but he was in this now and he also wanted to figure out what in Sparda’s name was up with this entire shitshow of a situation - and why Sparda kept coming up.

He started walking and looking for his clothes again. 

So, some demon’s could talk. Some demons clearly could talk way too much, Nero’s eyes narrowed thinking of Berus who’d loved hearing his own voice. Intelligent demons existed, they weren’t all just simple bloodthirsty beasts. Sparda existed, or had existed, he couldn’t deny that anymore. 

Of the few things outside of gory death Nero had expected of this when he’d gotten kidnapped, religious revelation had not been on his bingo card. 

So the Order was right - about Sparda’s existence at least. Did he really raise a barrier between the worlds to save humanity? An altruistic demon? Hah! Nero would believe it when he saw it. It was more likely he was just keeping the buffet to himself.

And it’s not like it even really kept demons from the human world. The whole purpose of the Order of the Sword was to defend Fortuna from demons, that wouldn’t be necessary if Sparda hadn’t done a half-assed job on that barrier of his.

He sighed. He still hadn’t found his clothes. Worry was starting to gnaw at him. 

Every moment that went without finding his clothing was a tally added to the horrified Berus’-final-vengeance-was-to-die-on-top-of-it-column. 

He shot a concerned glance at Berus’ stinking carcass, scratched his right forearm absently and continued his search, hoping desperately he wouldn’t have to try to dig it out from under him.

Finally, he found it. It had been trampled into the dirt at some point. His grimaced lifting it up, and untangled the individual items, careful not to touch anywhere near the bloodied right sleeves and the gaping holes. The lack of weight from his jacket confirmed his fears, he’d dropped Blue Rose somewhere in the fight. If his clothes were here, this should be were he panicked after getting hit with the snake poison. Nero shuddered at the memory, and restrained the urge to grab his healed upper arm to assure himself it was still whole, and not a gaping bleeding cavity, and instead looked around for the gun. 

It was nowhere to be found.

“If you found your clothes we should leave,” his kidnapper called from across the clearing. He had the Yamato in one hand and a stack of firewood under the other. He wasn’t even looking at Nero instead intent on the path ahead.

Nero looked around one more time in desperation. He’d worked really hard on that gun, she was one of a kind! There was no way he’d be allowed to waste more time to look though. He slumped in disappointment and turned to make his way unsteadily towards his kidnapper. 

Nero stumbled just as he was about to reach him, and of course that he saw, and he reached out his left arm creating a barrier to stop him from falling forward, and met his gaze with a frown.

“Why have you not put it on?” Vergil glanced at his armful of dirty clothes.

“They need to be washed,” Nero glared back, “there could be residue of that poison on it.” He was not risking that. 

Their frowns were locked for 7 seconds, then his kidnapper conceded. 

“Very well.”

He moved his hand with Yamato around to Nero’s back, resting it there lightly, urging him forward. Nero might have snapped, if not for the way Yamato hummed in content, radiating a gentle warmth. He felt less tired all of a sudden and his next step was more sure.

Their walk to the river, Nero had walked along yesterday, happened like that, with the hand and Yamato resting on his back all the way. Paradoxically it made Nero both want to lean into the touch and push him away, maybe bite him in retaliation - which just added to him feeling like a misbehaving child being led back to the matron for punishment, though that had never been gentle. He hadn’t responded to people touching him with biting since he was eight, before Kyrie and Credo’s parents decided to foster him. 

Yamato crooned sorrowfully at him and he turned his attention away. He scratched at the back of his right wrist, picked at some dry skin, leaving his skin inflamed and red underneath the small spot. Grimacing, he scratched a bit higher up on the arm, wondering in annoyance if he’d been in contact with some stinging plant at some point. 

Finally, they arrived at the river. The hand with Yamato retreated and Nero had to take a moment to steady himself, just to make sure he didn’t fall over. Magic bullshit, he was sure of it. 

He stumbled down to the embankment. After a mental apology to the fish downstream he dumped the clothes in and moved them around a bit, hoping for the most part that the slowly moving water would do the work.

Movement out the corner of his eyes had him turning to see his kidnapper crouching down slightly upstream of Nero’s attempt at laundry. Nero watched in fascination as he cupped his hands in the water, raised them to his mouth, then drank a few swallows, before using the rest of the water to wash his face shortly. It was fascinating and odd in how mundane and normal it was for someone who until yesterday, had no real interest in anything but his broken sword. He ended the motion by running his right hand through his hair sweeping it back and out of his eyes.

Wait a moment - Nero’s eyes narrowed - had his hair always been that short? Did he cut it when Nero wasn’t looking? Or was this more magic bullshit?

He turned his head looking at Nero and Nero quickly looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring.

His kidnapper had had the right idea though and Nero took a moment to both drink something and wash his face - upstream from his soaking clothes of course.

Deciding his clothes were as clean as they would get he pulled them out of the water. Just imagining pulling on three soaking layers had him shudder in apprehension.

“I don’t suppose you have a magic trick to dry clothes.”

“I don’t,” he said simply, observing Nero’s weak attempts to wring the water out. Nero chanced a glance, he was frowning again. Nero’s hands clenched around the twisted fabric of his jacket. He hated that look. It was always the same, no matter what Nero did, adults always ended up looking at him like that. 

“Come on.” Nero’s kidnapper said rising smoothly from his crouch in a manner that made Nero really jealous right now as he rose everything but smoothly.

He followed, grudgingly accepting the hand he was offered up the steep part of the embankment.  

Luckily, Nero’s scowling kidnapper didn’t have a long trek in mind this time. He stopped by the trunk of a large tree, and after looking around he was seemingly satisfied, he crouched down laying down the firewood some in a neat pile, the rest he started building a fire with alighting it with a quick touch that left Nero jealous.

He indicated for Nero to sit by the fire, which Nero only did because it was honestly a relief to sit down. 

Vergil started to walk around the tree in a circle, occasionally moving his hands. Three circles clockwise, one counter clockwise, two clockwise, two counter clockwise and then one clockwise and three counter clockwise. If Nero squinted it was almost like he could see shining blue threads, but it made his head hurt and nausea rise up his throat so he stopped trying to look at him.

Finally, he stopped walking. Nero looked up and Vergil leveled him with a severe stare.

“You exhausted yourself again.”

“Don’t think I can do something ‘again’ if I haven’t recovered in between,” Nero shot back. Vergil’s scowl deepened, and Nero barred his teeth.

Vergil sighed and that was worse somehow. 

“You will stay here.” He ordered and turned around, taking a couple of steps, before stopping, seeming to reconsider. He turned back around, started unbuttoning his coat.

“Don’t misunderstand.” He said as he unbuttoned the last button. “You will be safe under this tree.” He waved upwards towards the crown and shrugged his coat off leaving him in a tight fitting vest as he bent down and put the still warm coat around Nero’s shoulders. Nero stared shellshocked into mirrored blue eyes as he crouched there for a moment hands resting on Nero’s shoulders. “I will return. If anything shows up, don’t say a word, be silent. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Nero croaked.

“Good.” There was the slightest twitch of his lips and then a last squeeze on Nero’s shoulders and then he left, Yamato appearing in his left hand from somewhere.

Nero watched him until he could no longer see him. He hunched into the coat, wrapping it tighter around himself.

He was so very confused.

-

Well, I am having fun, I hope you're having fun. Nero who has never experienced parental care on his own self: this is weird and suspicious. The scowling must mean he disapproves and dislikes me. Meanwhile Vergil practically stewing from worry: >:(

Gradually he awoke more, and he realized the reason he’d woken in the pinprick sensation of goose bumps all across his bare skin - which there was a lot of.

He sat up with a shudder, folding his arms around himself and rubbing his arms. It was cold! His abdominal muscles protested the sudden treatment, with a delayed ache. Okay so there was the pain, but his body didn’t feel bruised or hurt, just overextended, like he’d run a marathon and his muscles just did not want to give anymore. 

He intended to look around, but only managed to look left due to the looming shadow on the ground; it was the demon’s carcass. 

Nero stumbled to his feet, protesting legs not moving fast enough and he nearly ended back flat on the ground - but on only nearly. He walked closer. He had to see for himself, had to make sure. 

“Boy.” 

The voice startled him and he spun around - he winced, he really should stop making those fast movements - there was his kidnapper sitting by a fire, a little away from where he’d been lying, but that wasn’t the odd thing in the picture, it was the way he was sitting twisted halfway around leaning casually on an arm so he could look right at Nero. Like a real actual human being.

“Berus is dead, you can rest easy,” he continued. Nero glanced back at the carcass, then cautiously stepped forward. Satisfied his kidnapper turned back around to do whatever he was doing by the fire. 

Anxiety he hadn’t felt since he was first kidnapped rose up to clog his throat. He had no idea where they stood now. He was painfully aware that running was not an option right now in this state, but even when his kidnapper hadn’t been much more than an automaton, Nero hadn’t been able to escape him. He circled the fire giving his kidnapper a wide berth, until he could see him. The man sat crosslegged, the blade, Yamato, now restored balanced across his thighs. 

The sight of Yamato sent a memory of the rush of power through his body and he clenched and unclenched his tingling hands reflexively. 

He focused back on his kidnapper - how many times had he sat like that, but with the broken Yamato his sole fix point, now he was looking at Nero. And not like those short moments where Nero had made empty eyes move in his direction, no he was pierced by blue eyes that fixed right on him, sharp, intelligent and present. Nero hunched his shoulders. A frown made it on to his brow and Nero felt the clog in his throat grow thicker.

What was the matter with him? 

He quickly sat down by the fire, grimacing in regret at the fast motion, eyes going to watch the flames instead of his kidnapper, though he still felt eyes on him. The heat from the flames was a blessing, though with his back bare it was not enough to feel comfortable and he wrapped his arms around himself.

Of course just a few moments after he sat down he got a lungful of noxious smoke when the wind changed. He coughed, making a face. 

“What is that stench?” 

Nero had not really registered the smell, used to the general bad smell of the area which now included a demon carcass, but getting it blasted in his face like that was entirely different. 

“Meat. You should eat some.” Nero’s kidnapper said simply, indicating a chunk of blackened something close to the fire.

Nero grimaced. He was hungry, but- “I’m not that hungry.”

“That is a lie,” the tone was flat, with something dangerous underlying it, which made Nero bar his teeth reflexively. Nero had no idea what was going on but he was suddenly treated with exasperation. “Do not be so childish. You exerted yourself and you need to keep your strength up.”

“You eat it yourself, if it’s that good!” Nero returned reflexively, but then actually registered the words. His whole body was exerted and now that the thought of food had been put in his head his belly screamed for it. “What even is it?”

His kidnapper looked thoughtful for a moment. “It could be considered pork.”

Nero’s eyes snapped from his kidnapper to the meat to the carcass of Berus in horrified sequence.

“Demon meat? It’s demon meat! Are you crazy?”

“Cease the theatrics, it will not harm you.”

“Uh-huh,” Nero said skeptically rolling his eyes. There was no way he was eating demon meat. 

“The fire will have dried it out, removing most of the bad taste.”

“Eat it yourself,” Nero grumbled, what he wouldn’t give right now for real food. One of Kyrie’s empty the fridge stews. 

“Very well.”

Nero looked up in surprise, and couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination as his kidnapper grabbed the chunk and unceremoniously bit off a large mouthful. His face remained entirely expressionless as he chewed and eventually swallowed. 

He raised an eyebrow at Nero like a challenge. Nero bristled and looked away. Drawing his achy legs up for the extra barrier. His stomach growled loudly with embarrassing timing. He wrapped his arms harder around himself.

Right now Nero missed when his kidnapper didn’t speak. He had a million questions, but now he didn’t know how to ask them. He was hungry and cold. Before he wouldn’t have hesitated to sit by his kidnapper soaking in the warmth he gave off, but now it was like a completely new person, a stranger. He couldn’t just sidle up to a stranger and sit all up in their space. It just wasn’t done!

He’d gotten used to his silent kidnapper who barely acknowledged him, but whom Nero knew somehow had his back. Now, Nero didn’t know how to act. He had no clue where the boundaries were and the first thing the guy did was try to make him eat demon meat. He grimaced into his knees.

The worst part was that Nero was so hungry he was considering it. It smelled terrible yes, but the guy had not reacted in any way at all when eating it. Maybe it wasn’t so bad?

He was wracking his brain trying to figure out if he’d ever heard stories about people eating demon meat, once again wishing he’d listened more closely in the lectures. He couldn’t remember anything. Still, it felt like something that would put a curse on you.  

“Are you sure it isn’t bad?” He mumbled quietly, kinda hoping it was too inaudible to hear. No such luck.

“It’s just meat, it isn’t poisonous.”

Just meat, Nero sighed, and repeated the phrase again and again, as he reached out and was handed the large chunk. Just meat. His stomach turned as he considered it and he breathed through his mouth so as not to smell it, but even so there was something rank about it, like a noxious miasma. 

He closed his eyes and raised it to his mouth and took a bite, through the sinewy and charred exterior. He had to tear and rip at it to even make it come loose. He chewed and instantly regretted it - a taste like rot and sewer welled up in his mouth, his stomach roiled and he hurried away from the fire until his couldn’t handle anymore, he fell to his hands and knees and his stomach emptied itself, expelling just sour stomach acid that burned in his throat and mouth as it washed out the demon meat. 

Nero coughed and folded around his abused gut muscles. That was not an experience he wished to repeat. The smell of his vomit was threatening to set him off again, he rolled away. He didn’t have the energy to stand right now. He’d just lie here a moment, get his strength back. He could stand the cold a moment even if it was miserable, he had no choice after all, his body refused to move.

Soft footsteps made their way across the forest floor and Nero had a flash back to another time he’d been cold and pained and miserable - he wondered hysterically if he was about to be dragged across the forest floor again.

“Child,” his kidnapper sighed above him, he bent down and grabbed his wrist - Nero had a moment to think this was it, he truly was getting dragged again, but then he was suddenly pulled vertical, his arm getting slung across his kidnapper’s neck as another hand landed at his waist to support him. And then they were walking. His kidnapper was so tall, he had to walk hunched to support Nero, it couldn’t be comfortable. 

Nero clenched his jaw and looked away. He was fifteen years old, he wasn’t a child. This moment though he really felt like a child. 

Yamato was laid on the ground next to the fire. His kidnapper had left the blade to pick him up. Suddenly his eyes burned, fuck if Nero knew what was going on with his emotions today, but it felt - it felt significant somehow, like Nero mattered. He sniffled and covered his face with his free hand, he’d nearly died today, yesterday? It didn’t matter. He’d nearly died, he was exhausted physically, emotionally.

He was supported into sitting down, and his kidnapper sat right next to him and Nero didn’t care anymore, he leaned into his warm side and let the tears trickle slowly down his cheeks. His kidnapper shifted, but then something that had never happened before happened and an arm settled around his shoulders, holding him gently in place. He stared wide-eyed into the fire. 

The enveloping warmth was rapidly making him drowsy, as if it really only had been the cold keeping him awake. He blinked.

“How did you eat that without making a face?” He asked, both because he was curious, but also mainly in an attempt to stay awake.

There is a long silence, to the point where Nero thought maybe he would not get an answer.

“I’ve had worse.”

Nero was uncomfortably reminded of the way Berus had mocked his kidnapper during the fight, the things he’d said and alluded to.

“That’s really messed up, you know that?”

Another silence. 

“I suppose.” His kidnapper sighed. “It would have helped you if you could keep it down.”

If you say so, Nero thought at his kidnapper. His eyes drooped into a slow blink. The world was so fuzzy.

“But perhaps you are too human.”

If Nero was more awake, he might have questioned that statement, as it was his eyes finally gave up their struggle to stay open.

-

This is for @stashoflostsouls who put the idea of Vergil offering Nero demon meat into my head XD It's possible it may have happened anyways, but my plans weren't that specific and I certainly couldn't get the image out once it was there (not that I tried). Ah, poor Nero, but at least he's sorta getting cuddles.

As always if you enjoyed and have the spoons for it, I'd love to hear your thoughts either in replies or tags. Hope you're eating better than Nero out there <3

The boy strayed in his search for food. It itched terribly to let him out of sight, but they did cover more ground like this to potentially stumble over something edible and the boy did mostly go the right way, so Vergil allowed it, though he always tracked him down when night was falling. Sleeping left him terribly vulnerable.

The faster they made it to their destination the better. Then the boy could be safe. 

He stopped, not quite sure why. Slowly his head turned to the left. Something, was going on… something, was wrong. He could not tell exactly what, but something.

He breathed in deep through his nose but the wind came from the wrong direction and revealed nothing. 

Finally, the thing his too slow mind had worked at clicked into place; the boy was in that direction.

He started walking. 

He remembered something was wrong.

He walked faster. 

It wasn’t long, before even the unfavorable wind couldn’t hide the stench of a demon, but it was clear it wasn’t something common. This was bad. 

He froze, at first not even knowing why, until he discovered his hand reaching out, the tips of his fingers brushing over the leaves on a mostly intact bush revealing dull splotches of red. Dried blood.

The child was bleeding. 

Had bled.

No. He turned his head to the finally favorable wind, the boy was bleeding, right now. A scream in the distance, set Vergil off running.

The path was clear, trampled by something large. He could not afford to run, he did not have the energy to expend, but the boy did not have the time-

Help. 

The plea felt like a jolt in his chest. Yamato screamed like a ringing in his ears.

No! He must not be too late. 

He must not-

Everything zeroed in on the boy in the demon’s hand, on the arm exerting the pressure. Energy coalesced at his call. He drew Yamato and forced himself to become the blade. He cut.

The demon screamed. He landed on his feet, his lungs burned for air, and he took a moment to gather his strength and just breathe, before he straightened and returned Yamato to her sheath, the movement more instinct than will. She sang with blood thirst and vindictiveness, Vergil was merely glad he prevented the boy from being eaten.

He turned around, eyes immediately searching for the boy. He was clearly at his limit, but he was still struggling. His upper body was bared revealing the vulnerable human flesh and he was pushing himself up with his left hand only - stubborn, stubborn child, but it was such a relief to see him moving, Vergil hadn’t been too late - the boy’s right arm was limp, and bloodied. That is where the scent of the boy’s blood came from. It filled the air heavy and sweet, but with a sour note that spoke of something corrosive. Vergil could not see the extent of the damage from here.

The itch was near unbearable and it was all Vergil could do to resist going to the boy. They were not safe, not as long as the demon lived. 

The demon, which had recovered, now faced him. Vergil could not afford distraction. 

Oo o oO

Nero tried his best not to think of his arm or the pain, but the metallic scent was choking and the pain like a siren in his ears calling for attention. He did not want to look at the gory sight again, or even to contemplate if he’d every get use of his arm again. 

First, first he had to survive. 

His kidnapper had arrived, but Nero was a sitting duck right here. He had to move. 

Gritting his teeth, he fought back against the dark encroaching on his vision - how much blood had he lost now? - and pushed himself upwards. Sitting first, then he could figure out standing, somehow.

Above him the wound on the demon’s wrist closed as if it had never been, and it turned towards Nero’s kidnapper.

“Nelo Angelo,” it boomed, beginning a wide circle around it’s new target. Was that the name of Nero’s kidnapper? It sounded like a greeting.

“Mundus’ puppet knight,” the demon continued spitting the words with scornful glee. 

Mundus? As in the Demon King? From the scriptures? Maybe Nero should have paid more attention.

Nero’s kidnapper, didn’t react whatsoever to the words, merely followed the circling demon with that all too familiar passive gaze, turning his body only as needed to keep the demon in sight.

“What has become of you? You’ve escaped your chains, but at what cost?”

The demon drew the long sword strapped to its back and and swung it downward in a slash that could have cleaved a tree. Nero’s kidnapper flashed away at the last second following the path of one of his glowing blue swords aimed for the demons face. He arrived and slashed for the eyes but the demon jumped back laughing.

“A shade, even less than the human-tainted whelp who claimed the power of Sparda.”

Nero was quickly getting tired of the demon’s yapping, it just kept going. 

“I was there you know,” the demon said casually as it thrusted, missed barely and got a slash on the upper arm in return. It was like the demon was warmed up now, while that first strike had been a surprise, now it just took the little wounds in return barely reacting just continuing his poisonous spiel. “I heard the screams when he broke and remade you.”

It was nauseating. 

“Calling for your mother, your brother- I had hoped for that one by the way, but I will gladly relive you of what little power remains in your crumbling husk.”

Nero’s hope, his relief at his kidnapper arriving, was collapsing with every ignored wound. It was true that the demon had yet to even hit him. Nero’s kidnapper took conservation of motion to the extreme, but it was also clear that the demon had the stamina to outlast him hundredfold. He was flagging. His landings no longer so clean, staggering forward before righting.

The demon knew, Nero could tell from the evil glee in the six stupid eyes. Nero struggled to a knee. Then stood, feeling woozy, he stumbled over to the nearest still standing tree using it as support. Logically, he should run. His kidnapper would not last as a distraction very long. 

Nero did not owe his kidnapper anything. He was the reason Nero was in this mess in the first place. But he had also protected him, he was protecting Nero right now! He had touched Nero’s hair, so gently and so confused and he’d let Nero borrow his precious, creepy ass sword to skin animals, which broken or not was below a blade of that caliber and Nero could not run. 

He could not leave.

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth. Punching the tree with his only useable fist in pointless temper. 

They were both going to die here.

“Nothing to say for yourself? Are you even capable?”

That did it. Nero’s eyes snapped open.

“Knock it off!” Nero yelled stepping forward unsteadily. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t take the demon mocking the guy anymore. Especially because it was the truth. Something vital was broken in his kidnapper, Nero had known that since the burned house, but that did not make him worthless. And having confirmation that the guy had been tortured, whether he was demon now or not, it made Nero sick to his stomach.

The demon turned its great big boar head to Nero, laughing. “And now the pup is barking at me.” 

“So what if I am piggy.”

“Do not call me that.” The frowns started in a wave from the top to the bottom set of eyes. It straightened, squaring its broad armored shoulders. “I am Berus, demon lord of the Hunt, you should show some respect.”

“Oh the itty, bitty, piggy, wikes namecalling, but can’t take a wittle itself.”

“Why you-“ Nero’s kidnapper struck, planting his sword right in the center of the demon’s chest. The monster roared grabbed him and threw him to the ground. 

Nero’s gaze snapped from the boar to his kidnapper slowly getting up. 

“I have had it with you little bugs!” The boar yelled, turning to face Nero’s kidnapper preparing to thrust, but at the very last moment he changed his target to Nero, the blade tip rushing towards him. He couldn’t react in time.

Something slammed into him from the side, knocking him to the ground. There was the sound of a wet crunch and a thunk. He screamed as he hit the ground with his right shoulder. Pain whiting out his vision, he struggled to breathe, and get back his bearings.

Meanwhile, the demon laughed, cackled really so it rang in Nero’s ears.

“So, predictable,” it said as its laughter finally died down.

Nero coughed, pushing up, needing to see- no, it couldn’t be. His kidnapper was pinned to the tree with the tip of the giant sword, split and pinned from his chest and vertically down, like a macabre butterfly. 

He turned his head towards Nero, hazy blue eyes blinking as if trying to focus on Nero. His mouth opened in a weak cough and blood spilled over and dribbled off his chin, a fountain of red. His brows met in a pained frown. For a moment it felt like he was actually really meeting Nero’s eyes, then his gaze shifted to beyond Nero towards the horizon - as if telling Nero: run.

Nero shook his head, he couldn’t. 

His brows drew downwards. His jaw clenched around bloodied teeth. He turned his head towards the Demon, his grip firmed around the hilt of his sword. 

For one long moment it seemed he really intended to keep fighting, all but cleaved in half - but then he slumped forward, his grip slackened and the broken sword fell from his grip, glittering like tears in the waning light. 

It landed, digging itself into the ground, with a soft schick. 

No. 

Nero could not believe it. He could not- He couldn’t be- Nero pushed to his feet, eyes locked on the motionless form.

No.

There was a ringing in his ears. It did not feel real. It couldn’t be real.

“Noooo!” He screamed, his voice broke along with something inside him, but it wasn’t like a simple snapped, it was like a dam breaking, holding back what, he didn’t know, but it rushed through him like a rush of warmth.

The broken sword jumped from the ground into his right hand. It screamed for vengeance and blood. It would give him power. Unlike the other few times Nero had held the sword, he was not unnerved by it. This time they were in complete agreement. 

Nero gave himself to the will of the sword, to the rush of power. Two more shards flew out of the scabbard, spinning in the air, landing one after the other with a pure chime. The blade sang as he moved it through the air, clear whole blade reflecting the light across its wave pattern and encased in blazing blue energy. 

Realizing he’d just moved his right arm he turned his head to look at his newly intact skin. There was no sign of the grizzly wound. Not even any blood. It was just gone as if it’d never been.

His grip tightened on the blade. It sang back at him. She. The Yamato.

Nero turned his face towards the comically surprised “demon lord” Berus.

“Round two, Piggy.”

Nero jumped. He had never felt such a rush of power. Or had he? There was that time, with the police, he still couldn’t explain how he’d moved that, but maybe it was this. Every step every slash, he was bursting at the seams. More, more, more!

He hacked, slashed, blood splattered. The snake struck at him and he chopped its head off. Die die die. His very being sang in bloodthirsty tandem with Yamato. He slashed one - two - six eyes in a tornado of slashes lead by memories that weren’t his. The demon screamed pitifully, but that wouldn’t save it. 

Nero had no pity left. Nothing could stop him.

A hand grabbed his right wrist stopping Yamato in place. He swung his other fist but that was also caught. He snarled, roared and struggled, but the hold wouldn’t give. Then he saw blue eyes and he stilled, not comprehending.

“I will take it from here, you will burn yourself out at this rate.” 

Nero blinked. The blue eyes still met his, present and there. A slight frown was pinched on his brow. The voice, the voice had been low and calm, slightly nasal. He’d spoken…He was alive- and he’d spoken!

An eyebrow raised as if asking if he was done struggling, then he let go of Nero’s left wrist and grasped the hilt of the Yamato pulling it out of his hand.

The moment Nero separated from Yamato, it was like his fire was doused. His eyes rolled up and darkness took him.

Oo o oO

Vergil caught and gently lowered the boy to the ground. It was to be expected, he had burned up a lot of energy. He considered the boy, crouched beside him. Then gave into the impulse to brush the long hair away from his face.

There were no denying their kinship. He looked so much like Dante when he’d last seen him, just a little rounder in the cheeks owing to his younger age. He had the hair in the face and brash attitude to boot. Vergil’s chest ached inexplicably.

There had never been any doubt in Vergil’s mind, even limited as he’d been, he’d recognized the boy’s blood, but that little light show there was proof of the boy’s potential.

Misplaced pride bloomed in his chest. The boy was not his to feel proud of. 

He stood back up, and turned to the wailing and blinded Berus. It was not so easy healing from wounds like that, powered as they’d been by awakened demonic power.

“Do you know, Berus, why demons gain power from human blood?” Vergil mused as he strolled closer, eyes more on Yamato, whole and beautiful than the downed demon.

“You…” Berus stopped his wailing to growl. “You’re dead.”

“It’s the emotion. You know it, don’t you? The blood of the terrified tastes so much sweeter…” he paused not really waiting for Berus to respond, so much as for dramatic effect.

“Now us hybrids-“ he continued, flipping Yamato over in his hand- “to some degree we can make our own power. I’ve always considered it somewhat inferior, it cannot replace real permanent growth, more of a fallback, a desperate measure-“ Vergil chuckled shaking his head, lips pulling slightly upwards- “and yet that desperate measure took you down, great Berus, Demon Lord of the Hunt.” 

“Nelo Angelo,” Berus hissed.

Vergil struck, planting Yamato right in the middle of the skull, he twisted the hilt. “That’s not my name,” he sneered.

He jumped back, flicked off the blood, and sheathed Yamato - at just the right moment he released the demonic energy, setting off a cascade of slashes in the demon’s brain. 

And so was the end of Berus. 

-

Tadaaa! I've been wanting to get to this point so long. Brain scrambled Vergil, I will miss you, *sniffles* you were a riot to write, but this is for the best.

Now what did you think? Does poor Nero actually stand a chance of getting some answers now? XD