#pre-dmc 4

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

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