#venseance

The weight of Rebellion lay heavily across Dante’s strong shoulder as he took the front stairs of Devil May Cry two at a time. The sign was still on, so Lady and Trish must have been very apt at paying the bills, a thing Dante never was, but he found himself glad for it. The last thing he wanted after months in The Underworld with his grumpy brother was to come home to a cold, dark office. 

“Thanks, girls, now I can watch TV.” Dante spoke aloud as if the ladies in his life could hear him. He’d have to remember to thank them for keeping the home fires burning when he saw them again. 

With his free hand that wasn’t holding the hilt of the sword, Dante touched the doorknob. Something’s wrong. His intuition spoke up in the back of his mind, something dark lurks here. But he didn’t have the gut feeling of fear; more like the unsettling feeling of foreboding despair. Maybe Vergil had beaten him here? But why? 

Dante shrugged, despite his gut telling him to watch out, he hardly cared. He was too tired and exhausted to muster a damn. All he wanted was to catch up on the latest episodes of his favorite shows and stuff his face with pizza, ASAP.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dante smiled in spite of the anxiousness. There wasn’t a sound, just a dark front office. 

Then he hit the light switch. 

There was a hiss, a squawk and something that sounded like a gasp. “Goddamnit, V!” The devil hunter exclaimed; “You almost made me shit my---” But his words were cut off by the sight of the other man huddling against the wall behind the door, his canine companion curled around his feet. “Oh...” V looked scared, whether he was or not, and the large light of the office wasn’t helping. Dante flicked the switch again and turned on a small nearby lamp instead while resting his sword against the wall. “Hey, it’s alright. Everyone just take it easy, we’re all pals here right?”

Ambled steps across the coned lamplit sidewalk accompanied those of booted grace. A silent, elegant killer and his enthralled ghoulish companion, making their way through the suburbs, until a jingle of keys broke the silence.

Opening the wide wooden door, the ghoul disappeared into darkness only a fraction of a second later to be upon the other side of a checkered floored room. Spacious, yet adorned auspiciously with masks. The walls, neatly housed tiles with each a handmade creation, cases with several ornate pieces of the same.

Upon one of the display cases near the back, tattooed arms created a bridge upon where Uta’s head sat cradled atop his hands.

“I believe this would be a wonderful time for introductions of some sort, as you are now my guest.” a smile upon pierced lips as carmine eyes shrouded in darkness cast upon the taller man.

“My name is Uta, and I welcome you to HySy ArtMask Studio. Each piece you see I have handcrafted. I have been making masks for many years, and I hope to continue to do so for many more.” a calm, yet warm tone as his head soon turned just slightly.

Send 💦 to encounter my Muse crying || Not Accepting.

   It had been a few days since he left the shop, not particularly keen on keeping track of time during that expedition. From Capulet, he went all the way back to Red Grave, not leaving any clue of his whereabouts behind---Dante should not expect him to be around 24/7 either; over the years, he had convinced himself that being busy, or trying to be so, was a great distraction from the evergrowing feeling of loneliness that always wallowed in his soul.

  He convinced himself that he was going to look for their family’s legal assets, paperwork confirming their legal existence in the city as residents, as well as lay claim on their father’s bank account. From what he had read in several journals of his, he seemed to have quite the income from selling off several pieces of classical art, pledges from people that expressed their gratitude towards him this way. It would probably be a way to save Dante from the debt, either way...

  Traveling there was the easy part---staying there was what troubled him the most. Upon seeing the house atop the hill, rampaged by his own demonic side, he only felt grief for the destruction caused---the marble floors were stained by fire, the furniture was broken and shoved to the sides of what used to be chambers. Prancing around halls, entering rooms and finding memories, under the beds, behind the stairs, inside the closets. For a whole day, maybe more, he seemed to have lost current time from his senses, eyes glazed in echoes of images, rediscovering a house so familiar, so warm. He could swear he could hear Dante laughing warmly into the room next door, the sound of two pairs of feet dashing past the corridors. Mother’s voice and the scent of strawberry marmalade---all the things that made this his home. 

  He didn’t know for how long he had been standing before the fireplace, gazing up to the portrait of their family, ruined by the smoke of the fire. Every thought pointed to its direction in the end, this very item being the harsh reminder of what hid behind the wanderings of his mind; the reality of this never coming back, of it being only a memory. And it hurt. It hurt more than he would ever like to admit. If only he could change it all, go back in---No; even more so...

     Could he just wake up, five years old, cuddled in the bed with his little     brother and tears in his eyes; tell his parents he had a nightmare and     they’d say it was only that. A nightmare.

  Vergil had been crying with sobs, in the end---in this ghost of a home, lost into times past, into blood and screams and fire. And it burned still; it burned his skin off as his control run lower and lower and all that was left was a devil on his knees, clawing his chest open, shedding tears of melted gold and it burned...

           IT BURNS!!! The more his talons dug into his chest,       he roared in the voice of a-- can you hear it?                           --- the sound of a baby crying ---

           and then it hushed; two arms wrapping around him --- another           pair of clawed, red hands grabbing onto wrists...

amorkovah replied to your post “I gotta know! What if Vergil saved V from Mundus? They probably still...”

WOW I LOVE THIS... LET. LET MY VERGIL BE THE VERGIL TO UR SAVED EX-NELO V,,,,, or don't,,,, uwus eagerly

UWU ;; - gently deposits Ex-Nelo V into your Vergil’s arms -

     SHE  KNEW  HIM   ,   ONCE   .   So  she  thought   .   Perhaps  she  never  truly  did   .  

     They  were  successful  in  finding  Dante   ,   acquiring  his  aid   -----   they  were  getting  close   ,   and  Vergil’s  aura  began  to  feel   ....   foreign   .   It  was  hungry   ,   almost  suffocating   .   She  had  not  prepared  for  what  was  planned   .

her, cautiously politely @vergil at all times of the day:

┕ “And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted -- Nevermore”┓

┕🇫​🇴​🇷​🇬​🇪​🇹​ 🇹​🇭​🇪​ 🇵​🇴​🇪​🇲​🇸​ 🇴​🇫​ 🇸​🇦​🇮​🇳​🇹​🇸​ 🇦​🇳​🇩​ 🇬​🇭​🇴​🇸​🇹​🇸​ ᶤ'ᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶰᵉ ᴵ ᶠᵉᵃʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒˢᵗ┓ face to face. something that he surely longed for before, but faltered at the sight of when it was within his reach. Merging himself back into the man he once was. The man he carries the guilt and regret of. The man that denied him for far too long. 

┕🇫​🇴​🇷​🇬​🇪​🇹​ 🇹​🇭​🇪​ 🇵​🇴​🇪​🇲​🇸​ 🇴​🇫​ 🇸​🇦​🇮​🇳​🇹​🇸​ 🇦​🇳​🇩​ 🇬​🇭​🇴​🇸​🇹​🇸​ ᶤ'ᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶰᵉ ᴵ ᶠᵉᵃʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒˢᵗ┓This time, it is clear what he must do. Dispel such a dangerous curse upon humanity. His very existence is dangerous, for self control is not something he can find within his dark soul and POWER and MIGHT call to him. Even now, as weak as he is, the call is still strong. That call that let him rejoin his old self. The call of strength. The fear of weakness. Two sides of the same coin, just as he is with the demon.