Chapter Text
Vergil sits in the center of the floor, holding tight to the trembling woman in his arms. Blood stains her clothes, flowing out from between her thighs to form a dark pool around them.
Labor. Vergil is unfamiliar with the subject, but he understands enough to know that it is not going well.
At first, she had been calm. She had gently informed him of what was happening and instructed him on how to help. Though, as the minutes turned to hours and no progress had been made, she’d soon shooed him away, becoming more and more panicked. Vergil had remained close by, standing guard as she went from stressed pacing across the floors to pained writhing upon them. At that point, he’d tried to step back in to assist, but the situation had long past a point of no return.
”W-What have you done to me,” she’d cried through sob-like screams.
It had been the last intelligible words she’d spoken before losing herself completely in the throes of agony.
Vergil continues to hold her tight, feeling her weak spasms against his chest, and wishes he could pass his own strength to her.
As he sits, time ticks on around him.
Vergil only realizes that she’s gone still when a ray of sunlight shines in through the curtains to blind him. He blinks away his trance and looks down at the stiff body in his arms.
“Fatimae,” he attempts to gain her attention, but she doesn’t move.
“Fatimae,” he tries again.
When there’s still no response, he moves his hand to check her pulse.
She’s gone.
—— ——
Vergil does his best to clean the mess even though he doesn’t plan to stay.
He has a feeling that he’s only scratched the surface of what this island has to give, but he has already obtained all the information he initially sought. Fatimae was… an unintended connection… With her now deceased, he has no purpose here. It is time to move on. Though before he does, he will at least do her the service of cleaning her bloodied form so that she may have dignity in death. She deserves that much.
As Vergil inexpertly attempts to clean the dark, coagulated clumps from the woman’s legs with a cloth, his eyes catch on a large, solid mass. He expects it to be the mangled remains of a fetus, but when he looks closer, he sees that it’s an odd, ovoid shape. It’s enough to pique his interest through the numbness he feels. He reaches to lift it, requiring both hands given the size and weight. For a moment, he turns the object in his hands, analyzing its strange structure.
Is it an… egg? That’s not possible...
Vergil pushes himself to his feet and carries the ovoid object to the kitchen sink. He turns on the faucet and holds it under the stream. As the water washes away the layers of blood, a dark blue shell with lighter blue ridges is revealed.
Vergil still can’t understand what he’s looking at. He briefly considers the possibility that he’s hallucinating, but when he turns the object in his hands, nothing changes.
It’s definitely an egg… and inside it…
Before Vergil can finish the thought, he sets it on the counter.
No. There’s nothing there… Nothing that matters…
Vergil pivots to leave the kitchen and return to the woman’s body. He continues to do his best to clean the blood. When he’s finished, he carries her to her bedroom where he lays her down, pulling the sheets over her body. It makes it look as though she’d went in her sleep… dying far more peacefully than she actually had…
With Fatimae set in her final resting place, Vergil gathers his things and prepares to leave. He doesn’t have much, but he’s never needed much. All his belongings fit easily into his satchel and leave enough room for him to stuff any loose papers he finds as he makes his final rounds. Satisfied, Vergil snaps the bag shut, ties Yamato to his side, and throws his worn cloak over his shoulders.
It’s time.
Vergil heads toward the back door, ignoring the achingly familiar pit that forms in his stomach. This place has never been home but he can’t help the feeling that he is loosing one… again…
Vergil squeezes his eyes shut, banishing the thoughts before they can invade his mind, and reaches for the door’s handle. He’s a second away from opening it when a different pit forms in his stomach. It makes him pause, still holding onto the handle. Instinctively—though he doesn’t know what instinct he’s operating on—Vergil stares back into the home. He’s missing something… but what?
It’s that egg, his mind supplies him.
Vergil releases the handle and walks back toward the kitchen. He slows his steps as he reaches the counter, cautiously approaching the egg as though it were concealed peril. The egg is still resting on the countertop where he’d left it, its blue ridges having faded to match the rest of its dark shell. Is it… cold? The thought comes uncontrollably. Vergil shakes his head with a groan. It’s just in his head… or maybe it’s in his head…
By now, that pit has worsened to an unbearable ache that has locked his whole body in a vice grip. Vergil tenses against the discomfort, jaw clenched. Slowly, his hand begins to raise above the egg, closing into a threatening fist. He needs to break its hold on him by any means—
No.
The tendons in his arm pull taught as he wars with himself.
This thing is keeping him here… somehow… It needs to be destroyed…
It needs to be protected. It’s his egg. His child. That means it’s his duty to—
Absurd. Even if it were viable, it wouldn’t last a day. Any efforts to prolong its life would be a waste, and he can’t afford to waste any more time... Killing it here, as opposed to leaving it to rot, would be a mercy…
But he can’t bring himself to kill it…
Vergil’s arm begins to ache from the tension. Neither side of him is budging. His mind wants to destroy the egg or at least abandon it, but something else is keeping him from doing so. It twists his gut and conjures up images he’d rather forget… of when he’d been too weak to protect his family… of when he’d promised to never be that weak again…
He feels that same weakness now… Like he’s staring on helplessly as a distant blaze burns… speared by a blade… though this time it is himself who holds him pinned…
Vergil groans, clearing his thoughts. This indecision is pointless. He needs to choose. Now.
Without thinking, Vergil opens his fist and grabs the egg off the counter. He quickly tucks it beneath his cloak then turns to leave, having made his choice.
Deep down, he knows he’ll come to regret this, but some part of him still fills with relief.