Chapter Text
Mary doesn't know how much time passes. It feels like an eternity of anguish, steadily giving way to a numbness that settles so deep in her soul it doesn't feel like it would ever subside. Her family is gone– truly gone this time. She had made sure of it.
Her surroundings filter back in slowly: the sound of her dry breathing, the feeling of the Rabbit’s shirt pressing against her cheek, the way his fingers idly stroke through her hair. If she had the capacity for emotion right now, she would probably be lamenting how unfair it feels that he has to be the one to comfort her again. It's so pathetic and she doesn't deserve it. He should take that sword and drive it through her chest to put her out of her misery.
There's a rumble from off in the distance, a tremble of instability that ripples through everything. It should send trepidation through her, knowing the ground could cave in at any moment and plunge them both into the void, but she feels slow, like her thoughts aren't quite working right. She can hardly find the strength to make herself care as she watches some of the architecture in the distance fall away and disintegrate, the muddy yellow stain across the sky burning brighter. Somewhere behind them, the portal they had entered through shudders violently. There's no telling how long it would remain open.
“We can't stay here.” The Rabbit raises his head, frowning as he glances around the crumbling realm. “Mortals aren't supposed to be here… Hm. I don't think anything is supposed to be here, actually.”
Mary blinks, sitting up, trying to pull herself back to the present. She realizes they're alone, vaguely remembering that the twins had run off earlier.
“What about Dante and Vergil…?” She asks, her voice scratchy and hoarse.
“It might already be too late for them, regardless of whether or not they work out their differences. They've gone so deep into this realm…” His brow furrows as he gazes off into where they had disappeared, lines of tension creasing his face. “The rift caused by Argosax is too large and too unstable.”
His voice is low as he continues to contemplate out loud, and Mary knows what he's saying is true. She's seen it for herself.
She briefly glances back to the portal to the human world. Beyond it, she sees the fire raining down, the fractures spreading across the sky. It's just like what she had seen in her vision of the past, just like what the Force Edge had shown all of them.
“It's all collapsing, and there's nothing to hold it back anymore. The seals have been broken. Once it recovers and finds a new host…” The Rabbit trails off, and then the tension drains from his face. A moment later, he smiles, and it's somehow more concerning than anything else. “Ah, of course. Somehow, I knew it would come to this.”
He pushes himself to his feet, reaching out and picking up the Force Edge where it had been resting. It sends alarm shooting through Mary, causing a knot to form in her gut.
“What are you doing?”
He raises the sword, examining the blade, seemingly to avoid looking at her. The Force Edge shimmers, flickering with the same unstable pulse as the violent energy around them. “I can use the Force Edge to seal Argosax, but I need to go to the source. If I supplant Sparda's soul long enough, it should stabilize the barrier.”
“Supplant–” She repeats in shock, the full implications sinking in. She pushes herself to her feet as well, trying to avoid looking at the body of John lying a few meters away and the small sea of red surrounding it. “No. That'll kill you…! You saw what that thing did to my father!”
Nevermind even trying to approach Argosax, that sword had been killing him every time he used it. Even now, he doesn't look like he's recovered from their battle, his body wrought with exhaustion, try as he might to hold himself with his usual confidence.
“It's this, or the world burns– both worlds. Everything we've done would have been for nothing.” His voice is as matter of fact as ever, a casual air about his words like he's merely remarking on the weather. What he's proposing seems to catch up with him then and he gives a sudden laugh, rolling his eyes towards the sky as if cursing whatever sick higher power had orchestrated such hideous circumstances. “The irony isn't lost on me, I know.”
All humour drains from his expression, revealing how bitter and tired he truly is about the whole ordeal, if only for a moment. “But I suppose I'm used to cleaning up Sparda's mess anyway.”
Mary shakes her head. No. No, this can't be it. She tries to think, her mind racing.
“Sparda sacrificed a human woman– a priestess, to seal Argosax away. My blood was what let that thing out, so I have to be her descendant.”
She recalls that vision of the past, the way Sparda had plunged the sword into her chest. That priestess had felt no fear as she died, and Mary feels the same way now. This must be her real purpose.
“Maybe I can finally make a difference. Maybe this is what I was meant to do all along.” She had wanted to save the world once, a childish dream twisted and warped by a militaristic agenda. Well, now the opportunity to actually do so presented itself.
She smiles at him, pressure constricting around her heart. Maybe her sacrifice wouldn't fix every problem in the world, but it would give him another chance. Those Makaians need him more than they need her. He deserves to be happy, to share stories with them and laugh with them and read to those orphans. He deserves to have a family– to have everything she had taken away from him. “You can leave. You shouldn't have to suffer just because of my fuck up.” Again.
The Rabbit’s expression softens out with surprise, his eyes widening, the amber glow of the looming ball of fire reflected in them. They narrow the next moment, as his mouth sets into a thin line. “Well, that's very noble of you, but there's a slight problem: you can't use the Force Edge. You can't even carry it. And carelessly throwing your blood into that fire is just as likely to undo the remainder of that seal.”
Mary grits her teeth, knowing he has a point. She doesn't have a plan, but still– she needs to try. “My father said he only partially undid the seal on Argosax with some of my blood! A little more will restore it, right?”
She reaches out, wrapping her hand around the blade of the Force Edge and squeezing. Even before the metal bites through her glove, she feels it burning her, its energy field trying to push her back. She grunts, sliding her hand a few inches down the sword, leaving a thick red smear along it, her blood running down the edge. With a gasp, she pulls her hand back, hoping something happens with her offering.
Nothing happens. No weird yellow glow, just scarlet beads of red dripping off of the edge of the blade. If anything, the air shudders even more violently with instability. Her hand throbs, blood uselessly soaking through her glove and running down her arm. She stares blankly at the wound, the pain a complete afterthought.
The Rabbit gazes down at the sword, also disappointed it hadn’t been the magical solution to all their problems, but not all that surprised either. He merely sighs after a beat. “Maybe if I had the time to reverse engineer whatever ritual it was that Sparda concocted for this tower, but we don't quite have that luxury.”
Another tremor shakes through the air, cracks spreading along the ground beneath them. It may only be minutes until everything falls apart. The Rabbit casts another wary glance around before his gaze returns to her, his hair whipping around his face.
“Dante and Vergil are nowhere to be found. They may already be lost, but on the off chance they're still alive, we need to ensure they survive to kill Mundus.” He smiles again, thin and resigned. “And so it has to be me.”
It's sinking in slowly, so slow it doesn't feel real. She can't breathe, staring at him incredulously, like he’d slapped her.
“Why? Why does it have to be you?” The anger comes easier than the despair this time. After killing her father, after Dante and Vergil had run off and probably gotten themselves killed, she's going to lose the Rabbit too. She can't do it. She can't accept it. It's a cruel joke. “Why do I have to be the one that has to live with that all over again…?! That's not fair!”
Her voice breaks. Her eyes burn. It doesn’t feel possible after she had already cried so much. She reaches out, seizing him by the front like she means to throttle him, smearing blood all over his clothing and leaning into him as another wail of agony threatens to break out of her.
“It isn't,” the Rabbit agrees, the hand that isn't holding the Force Edge coming up to steady her. His touch burns. It feels like betrayal. “But when has life ever been fair to either of us?” He laughs, painfully ironic and hollow. “Did you really think this was going to work, Mary? We always lose everything, and I'm not going to pretend that this is a selfless decision on my part.”
Mary wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, that he's full of shit, but she knows he's right. She hates that he's always been right– candidly and cruelly, wielding the truth like a weapon. When his hand cups the back of her head and pulls her in, she kisses him like she's trying to brand him into her.
He presses something against her middle, and when they break apart, she looks down and realizes she's holding his portal device in her hands. She can barely see it through her tears, an ugly noise forcing its way up her throat.
“I’m not going to be the one to go on alone. I can't do it again.” He says, his voice so gentle it feels like yet another knife sliding between her ribs. “Forgive me for forcing this burden on you.”
“No–” She chokes, grasping for him. “NO! You fucking IDIOT–”
He's pulling away, and when she tries to follow him, the Force Edge flares brightly, a wall of violet energy thrown between them. It's too real suddenly, that she had just held him for what could have been the last time. One of her hands clutches the portal device, the other pressing against the mini barrier, smearing blood down it.
The Rabbit peers at her through the translucent wall, still looking so infuriatingly smug. It's like the more she breaks down, the more unbothered he looks. She's in half the mind to blow the wall apart with her bullets and kill him her damn self.
“Sorry, but it looks like my time ran out after all.” He raises his arms in a helpless shrug, before spinning on his heel and offering her a wave over his shoulder. “Ta!”
As he begins to walk away, she's so stunned she can't speak for a moment, and then she beats her fist on the wall, ignoring how her hand stings.
“So that's it? That's fucking it? ‘Ta’ and then you just walk off to die?!” Mary yells, causing him to halt. Her rage collapses into itself, tears streaming down her face.
“You said you'd stay with me…!” She leans forward on the wall, trembling. “I can't lose you too. Please, don't do this.” She doesn't care if she's begging. She doesn't care if the fate of the world is at stake. God, she just wants it all to stop. Why won't it stop? “I'm never going to forgive you…!”
“That's alright. I'm sure there are parts of me that won't ever forgive you either.” He turns to her once more, sober this time. “But you know what, Lieutenant? Life goes on. The world needs more of your humanity. You’ll live because you have to, because it's the right thing to do.” He pauses, taking a breath. “I'll only ask one more thing of you. I think it's the least you can do, after everything.”
“Fuck you.” She sniffs, wiping at her face. “What is it?”
She had thought the image of him in the warehouse would be the thing that haunted her forever– the fear on his face, the innocence in his eyes.
But the way he looks at her now– that would truly stay with her for the rest of her life.
“Take care of them for me.” He smiles at her, so genuinely this time, open and warm. It's indulgent, like he allows himself to long for what they could have had. She glimpses him so vividly then– as he was, as he should have been. All of it, given to her like something precious. “And… thank you, for making me want to live again– even if it was for just a little longer.”
Reality breaks. The sky splits apart with a tremendous noise as the realm gives out, a fissure spreading through the ground. The architecture of the Temen-Ni-Gru crumbles, the white abyss opening up between them.
“ALISTAIR!”
She reaches for him as he's wrenched impossibly far from her in an instant. He turns away, running along the broken pieces of debris, towards the burning pit lying at the center of the realm, and she can do nothing but watch him disappear.
Mary knows she can't stay, or his sacrifice will have been for nothing. Even so, it takes everything in her to not break apart with the realm and dissolve into oblivion.
Swearing, crying, tears streaming down her face, she turns her back on him for the last time and sprints for the portal.
…
“ALISTAIR!”
Her scream carries across the realm and lodges somewhere behind his heart. He doesn't look back and, in spite of himself, he finds himself smiling again.
It's not quite how he wanted to hear it, but he supposes it will do.
He knows that it's cruel of him to make her relive this particular trauma, but that's the hand they had been dealt. It's easier to think of it as revenge, that he planned this all along– to make her care, and then to take it all away from her. The final lesson he would impart. The last step in making her just like him.
There never could have been anything else. He has to believe that. He's been counting down the seconds until his time ran out and the rug was pulled out from him yet again. At least this way, his fate is somewhat within his control.
Always so much time to suffer, yet never enough to live.
Well, no one said the end of the world would be easy, after all.
The Rabbit dashes along a fallen chunk of column, suspended in freefall within the vortex of collapsing space. He jumps from platform to platform of debris, and when he runs out of land, the Force Edge flares with energy and creates a floor for him to move along instead.
The sword is alight with power, thrumming with such intensity it's almost difficult to maintain his grip on it. It shields him from the raging winds of the barrier trying to rend him apart, guiding him to the heart of where Argosax lay.
As he draws closer to the writhing mass of putrid flames, he almost gets the sense he's retracing Sparda's footsteps.
Finally he reaches it, that condensed core of demonic energy barely contained by a millennia old seal leaking out at the seams. What a mess. The winds howl, whipping his hair around him, the sword blazing at his side.
The Rabbit holds the Force Edge before him, once again gazing at his own reflection in the flat of the blade.
At the end of it all, he allows himself to ponder it again: what would they have wanted?
They were the most gentle souls he had ever known. It's hard to picture any of them willing to burn the world down out of vengeance. Then again, he had never wanted to hurt anyone either, and circumstances had forced him into doing things he never thought he would ever do. The fact of the matter is that he will never know. The weight of it all rests with him.
He doesn't want it to rest on him anymore. No one person should ever have to carry such a grievous burden. What gave him the right to decide? What gave him the right to deny the opportunity to live for so many others?
He thinks of the Makaians in Vie de Marli. They're still here. Still alive.
Is he really sacrificing everything for a world that never cared about him? Or is he sacrificing everything just so his family may live on in people just like them, giving them the chance they never got?
Before, he never understood why Vergil fought so hard to survive in such a cruel, unforgiving world. Maybe now he finally knows the answer.
The chance that one may eventually find peace and safety and meaning in the suffering, and if not for themselves than for others just like them– that would always be worth fighting for.
He's seen himself reflected in Mary's eyes. He wants to believe in her version of humanity, that she has the ability to change things through her compassion and sheer force of will.
Maybe, in another life, he could have loved her, and she could have loved him back.
Sparda's soul calls to him, the barrier surrounding Argosax’s flames shuddering like it's about to give out.
As he raises the Force Edge, he recalls those words Vergil had told him on the brink of death. Wherever Vergil is now, the Rabbit hopes he finds peace.
“Struggle and live.”
He brings the sword down, one decisive motion, one last betrayal of himself. One last shot at making everything right.
The Force Edge is set alight. It drains everything he has, the strain coming down upon him like an anvil, slowly stitching together the break in the seal. Argosax fights him until he has nothing left to give anymore.
It's out of his hands now.
When the fire consumes him, he welcomes it like an old friend.
…
Ten days have passed since the phenomenon surrounding the tower had abruptly stopped and the skies cleared. All across the country, the mysterious wave of despair and hopelessness began to subside. Anyone who looked at the clouds for too long would not be overcome by the sensation of gazing into an abyss and feeling the urge to fling themselves into it. The death toll would ultimately reach the hundreds of thousands, somewhat muddied by the number of strange ritual killings and suicides that had also broken out when the tower had first appeared.
The missile strike had been called off. For the first 48 hours, DARKCOM merely observes at a distance, the proverbial finger hovering over the button should any strange activity begin anew.
The tower still stands on its own, and the next several days are spent securing the area surrounding it, cleaning up any remaining demonic activity. There isn't much of anything at all, however, the city almost a complete ghost town, the monolithic structure looming over it in staunch silence.
Scans hadn't picked up any movement from within. The first wave of recon on the lower floors hadn't found anything inside except more bizarre architecture, inactive traps, and a bunch of demonic remains that the forensics crew are sure to have a field day with. Whatever evil power had once emitted from the structure, it seemed to have vanished along with the weather.
Arkham had come through after all. In spite of her disobedience, she remained loyal where it counted.
They do a sweep of the tower and find very little of interest. Completely deserted, no sign of Arkham or anyone else anywhere. Many of the upper floors are in bad shape, and don't seem to hold much of value. The lower floors are a different matter, however. In terms of the barrier, the area surrounding the tower is quite thin, ripe with portals into Hell. The structure itself seems to provide some measure of cover, and there are chambers leading deep into the earth, serving as some sort of bridge between the human world and the underworld.
So, in other words, this tower holds promise.
Vice president Baines is on site as soon as it's feasible, eager to assess the tower for himself.
And half a day prior to his arrival, Mary stumbles back through that portal.
She finds herself in one of the upper floor chambers, breathing heavily, trembling with emotion. When she hears the sound of a chopper in the distance, it's like everything in her body snaps into focus and she feels nothing again. The air no longer shudders like reality itself might give under the pressure. The skies are clear, and there is no baleful amber glow dominating everything.
She stumbles to a gap in the wall, risking a glance outside. It's early dawn, the skies still dark, rain still falling. Far below, there are lights moving around, the distant chatter of soldiers and vehicles. She makes three sudden realizations then.
One, that time must flow differently within Sparda's barrier. She couldn't have been inside that portal for more than an hour, but days or even weeks have passed outside of it.
Two, that DARKCOM have had the opportunity to set up shop, and if DARKCOM are here, then Baines would be here.
And three, that she still has something very important she needs to take care of.
…
Baines appears at the top of the steps, flanked by soldiers. They all step into the grand circular chamber, about two dozen of them filing along the walls. Mary almost feels bad, because most of them look like rookies– fresh enough to buy his bullshit.
The vice president strides out to the middle of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He surveys the space, eyeing up the mural on one wall depicting some sort of war between demons, before he turns to face the soldiers.
“Gentlemen, you stand on the site of one of the worst demonic attacks in history, and the worst attack on American soil. This is the level of savagery we're dealing with. It makes the September 11 attacks look like mere child’s play, doesn't it?”
There's a ripple of unease through the soldiers, the nervous giddiness of people out of their depth, who had likely never even seen a demon before. Baines reaches up to push his glasses up his nose, continuing on.
“But I look at it and I see potential. These invaders don't realize it, but they've given us the exact foothold we need. This site will serve as a base for the next phase of Operation Inferno.”
Mary silently drops down from where she had wedged herself into a nook in the arched ceiling, leisurely strolling out between a gap in the soldiers.
“Is that really how you think this is going to go?” The laugh she lets out is completely without humor, as she raises her pistol and aims it at Baines. “You just swoop in and reap the rewards of this tragedy like you did last time?”
Every soldier in the room turns their gun onto her. Mary raises her other hand, revealing a detonator with the trigger already depressed. “Shoot me. I've planted enough C4 to blow us all off of this fucking tower. I take my finger off of this and we can all say goodbye.”
Tension permeates the room like smoke, and she hears some of the men stumble over themselves a bit. If one of them slipped up and pulled the trigger out of sheer nerves, she wouldn't be surprised. She pauses, taking quick stock of the group Baines had chosen for whatever weird brainwashing session this was meant to be.
“What the fuck is this, a boyscout field trip? Some of them look like they're about to piss themselves, and you think they're holy soldier material?”
Baines’ mouth presses into a thin line. Outwardly, he appears as calm as ever, but he radiates tension and displeasure.
“Former-Lieutenant. You are alive.”
Mary narrows her eyes, addressing the soldiers once more.
“Leave. Unlike your boss, I don't really want to have more needless collateral on my conscience.” When none of them move, she sharply raises her voice, making a few of them jump. “I said get the fuck out!”
With no choice but to comply, Baines nods to his men. “Go. I'll handle this.”
They file out with reluctance, leaving the two of them alone. Mary waits until she can no longer hear them in the stairwell below before stepping forward, her finger remaining poised on the trigger.
“I told you to stay away, but you just couldn't help yourself.” She knew he would show up if she just waited. She knows how he works by now. “I haven't decided how I'm going to kill you yet. All of it seems too good for a greedy shitstain like you.”
“And then what, Mary? Even if you kill me, you won't be leaving this tower alive.” Baines’ voice remains steady, but she can see his hands clenched at his sides, the sweaty crease in his forehead. “Come back to your senses. I'm willing to cut a deal with you.”
“No. Deals.” She grinds out between her teeth. “You don't even know what this place is or what transpired here at all.” Her expression wavers for a moment as the ice shell around her heart threatens to crack. “You don't know what was sacrificed just so you could stand here and run your mouth again.”
It makes her fucking sick, the injustice of it all. Baines releases a breath, and she sees something like understanding flit across his features. She would have mistaken it for empathy if she didn’t know better at this point.
“We can talk about this. You're clearly not well after so long spent in this beacon of demonic activity. I can help you–”
Mary barks a laugh that comes out a bit higher pitched than intended. Yes, she looks like a fucking mess, but she's not about to be gaslit into thinking she's the crazy one here. Not today.
“I'm in no rush to become another casualty of yours, thank you very much. My team died thinking you gave half a shit about their lives. I'm not making that same mistake.” She jabs her pistol at him, spitting venom, her eyes narrowing in raw hatred. “Securing our world for humanity? Fighting off demonic invaders? It's the same fucking garbage you and every other bigot just like you pedal. It didn't start with Makai, and it doesn't end with Makai. You'd just find something else to exploit so you can sit at the top and feel like a big man. You don't care about anyone but yourself. My biggest regret is that I was stupid enough to buy into your bullshit for so long. At least have the decency to be honest with me before you die.”
The expression on Baines’ face grows more troubled the longer she continues to speak. Shit, maybe she was actually making him nervous– that was a novel thought.
“Youre not going to shoot me, Mary. I know you and what you're capable of and this isn't y–”
Mary pulls the trigger, the bullet striking him in the chest. She fires off three more in quick succession, but she restrains herself from emptying the clip. Two of them hit him center mass, and the third strikes his wrist where he had begun to draw his concealed Ruger. The small handgun falls to the floor uselessly– too slow on the draw.
Baines sucks in a gurgling breath, spots of red blooming on his navy suit. His arms come up as he staggers forwards, clutching at his front, and then he collapses to the floor. His sunglasses fall off his face, his eyes wide, like he is suddenly all too aware of his own mortality. She hadn't really ever seen him scared, even when staring death in the face; he's always been too self assured in his own faith, in God's plan or whatever the fuck. She hopes it's a rude awakening. She hopes he spends his last moments suffering.
Blood dribbles from his lips to the floor, and he makes one last reach for his gun. She kicks it away from his outstretched arm, and then she just watches. A puddle of red spreads out from beneath him as he mindlessly claws himself forward, striking her with a profound sense of deja vu.
But unlike when she had killed her father, she feels nothing. Not anger, not sadness, not satisfaction.
“It's really not as sad the second time,” she says, lacking even the energy to be disappointed.
He holds her gaze, because there is nothing else for him to do. She knows he's not the kind of man to beg for his life. His voice holds no real inflection, except maybe dull surprise. She doesn't bother looking for any remorse there– she wouldn't make that same mistake twice.
“Mary–”
She gives a sharp exhale. It had been bothering her for some time. Her father had given her that name, and all the deeds tied with Mary Ann Arkham have carved a deep pit inside of her. The only person she could bear hearing it from is now gone. She never wants to hear that name again.
Maybe Dante had been onto something.
“Mary is dead. It's Lady now,” she mutters.
Baines continues to bleed out, his movements growing slower and slower, the light fading from his eyes. She should have drawn it out more. For all the pain he's caused, only the worst torture imaginable would ever right that balance. For a moment, she wishes she was a sadist like the Rabbit– she wishes she enjoyed suffering, but it's never really been her style. She's always been a swift and brutal executioner first and foremost, so this will have to suffice.
Baines is unable to hold his head up any longer. His temple hits the floor with one final gasp, and then he goes limp. Dead.
It's more than what he deserved, but it is done.
She gazes at the growing red puddle beneath him with complete apathy. The edge of it touches her boot, and she steps around him, not even sparing him another glance.
“You're not the savior of humanity. You're just another old white guy with a god complex.”
…
The rain has begun to clear by the time Lady finds her way to one of the open arches to the outside world. The sun has just barely crested the horizon, partially obscured by the clouds, painting the sky in gorgeous yellow streaks that are the complete opposite of Argosax's blood-tinged fire. The light that breaks through the clouds is inviting and warm, but none of that warmth reaches her.
She gazes out over the city and all she feels is emptiness. Her hand clutches the detonator, locked around it so tightly it's like her fingers have petrified.
How could he ask that of her? Going on where he couldn't? How could he be so selfish, like she hasn't been doing that her entire life?
In the wake of everything, there's no one left, nothing but silence.
If Dante or Vergil had made it out of that portal, they would have shown themselves by now.
She had just killed the vice president. If she descends the tower now, it would be like signing her own death warrant.
She knows there's still work to do. She knows the fight isn't over yet.
But she's so tired. She feels like a ghost inhabiting her own body. Despite the light flooding over her as she steps forward, out onto the ledge, the world has never looked so dark, so gray.
It's so much. It's too much.
She lets the detonator go, the device dropping to the floor with a quiet clack.
A rumble shakes the tower as her charges blow, several blasts in quick succession that rock the upper floors of the tower. She feels the wind at her back, and allows that to be the thing that pushes her over.
“I'm sorry,” Lady whispers to no one, and she lets herself fall.
…
The air rushes past her, her gaze remaining fixed on the sky above, pondering the clouds as they grow further and further away.
Any moment now, the impact will take her.
She closes her eyes. At least she won't be alone anymore.
There's a sound like a knife cutting through water, a heat burning at her back. A shadow passes over her, and she opens her eyes to see a pair of wings folding around her, enveloping her in their crimson embrace.
Arms encircle her, gravity shifting as the demon slowly pulls them out of their descent. Those wings snap out, and she feels the weight of gravity as they're both carried back up into the sky instead.
The world is soon far below them as they come to a stop, hovering above the tower. There's an arm under her knees and another under her back, Dante's claws keeping a firm hold on her. Lady blinks up at him, and it feels like some of the colour bleeds back into her existence.
His lips peel back in a grin that feels as fragile as the pressure surrounding her heart.
“Now this is my kinda rain.”
She can't say anything for a long while. The noise that escapes her is somewhere between a gasp and a sob. She thought he was gone. She thought she was completely alone again.
“That's another point for me, by the way,” he goes on, though there isn't much mirth behind his voice. He turns his gaze away from her, out towards the horizon, his eyes glowing dim and somber.
“What happened to Vergil? Is he…?” She starts, but the look on Dante's face– the way his expression collapses into itself, tells her all she needs to know. “Oh, Dante.”
They had both lost someone today– no, it was more cruel than that. They had also lost someone again. Dante's tears are silent, rolling down his face and dripping onto the scales cresting his chest. They gleam along with the glow of his eyes, almost like molten rock pouring down his cheeks.
“I never felt anything except rage and hatred when I transformed, but now…” He swallows, grimaces, and closes his eyes. “I feel it all. Everything. I wish I didn't.”
“Already told you, Hellblood, that's all you,” she murmurs, leaning her head against his shoulder, sharing the grief with him so it doesn't swallow them both. “Even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one.”
…
Vergil's descent is swift, fading in and out of consciousness as the air rushes past him and he bleeds droplets of crimson into the rushing wind. At some point, that familiar numbness washes over him, cold demonic power that doesn't feel like his own. The armor materializes, weighing down his limbs and dragging him down faster.
His body seems to move of its own accord, twisting midair and righting himself. He lands hard somewhere in the depths of Makai, catching himself on his knees, pollution stinging his lungs.
He straightens up slowly, his body beginning to repair itself. All emotion slips away as he takes stock of his surroundings. Mundus's palace looms in the distance on its floating outcropping of rock, jagged spires clawing up into the sunless sky.
There is nothing left but to return home, where he belongs. He hopes Dante won't pursue him.
There is perhaps some part of Vergil that wants to fight it as he feels his body move deeper into the underworld, a familiar presence hooking around his heart, beckoning him towards it. He has no strength left. He had given everything he had, and it had amounted to nothing.
It's all too easy to sink into the blank haze of despair. His mind drifts away, feeling like a ghost barely attached to his own body. He only comes back to awareness when the black throne stands before him, that leash around his consciousness pulling taut.
“I lost sight of you, my Nelo.” Mundus speaks from within his mind, but his voice still seems to reverberate around the chamber. He sits on his throne, flickering green torchlight casting his grandiose form in a grim ambience. “You were in the human world, when I needed you here.” There isn't any accusatory anger as he regards Nelo, only a vague amusement. “The Chaos has resurfaced, ravaging large swaths of my kingdom… Was it your doing?”
Vergil feels himself bow, caught somewhere between fear and reverence as he sinks to one knee. The knight speaks with his mouth. “I sought out the remainder of Sparda's soul, master.”
Mundus tilts his head. If his stone visage could move, he would probably be curling his lip at the mention of Sparda. “What could you possibly need it for?”
Nelo frowns. He doesn't really know, now that he thinks about it. “I wanted to… become whole.”
“To become whole.” Mundus contemplates the words, tutting at them like a parent admonishing a child. “Foolish boy, have I not granted everything you've asked for? Strength beyond measure? The augmentation of your regrettable sapien heritage?” His eyes seem to spear through him, right down to the frightened child hiding beneath the armor. “Tell me the truth, Nelo. Or, better yet, show me.”
When he extends his hand to him, Vergil feels his body react. The palm of the demon king is large enough to cradle his entire body, and he steps onto it when Mundus lays it before him. Mundus lifts him up before his chest, making him feel smaller than ever before, closing his eyes and reaching out with his mind.
Vergil's memories unspool like thread. Even if it makes him feel nauseous, even if he knows it will be used against him, he offers it all– everything that has happened since he left Makai. He wants Mundus to take the pain away as he has so many times before.
He feels the demon king scrape along his mind, dragging through moments he knows are particularly sore, exorcizing them from Vergil. The Rabbit, flushed and gasping for breath beneath him. That meddling, foul-mouthed woman and her aptitude for digging at insecurities he didn't even know he had. Dante's look of utter horror, hand still extended for him.
“How pitiable the heart can be. A regrettable, useless organ prone to nothing but loss and weakness.”
Vergil feels a wet warmth sliding down his face. His tears are silent, the expression of the knight as unmoving as the demon king's countenance. Mundus shows him no mercy. He rarely does.
“Everything is as I've foretold. You've been abandoned by everyone.”
The knight falls to his knees once more, his strength suddenly leaving him. Mundus tightens his hold, in all ways. His fingers close around him, his presence sliding deeper into Vergil's mind, eroding away more of him. Vergil's soul screams in agony as much as it cries with relief.
“I see now that granting you some measure of freedom was not a mercy, but cruelty in the long run. Nonetheless, let it be a lesson burned into your very being.”
“No.”
He doesn't know where the sudden burst of defiance surges from, why now of all times. Perhaps some part of Vergil realizes this will be the end of him, before something else permanently replaces what he was. One last spasm of life before the jaws of oblivion close over him.
“I'm not– I'm not going to be your puppet any longer.”
Mundus crushes his willpower in a way that's almost tender, an intoxicating rush of power that blankets his mind and has him going limp in his grasp. It's so dense and overwhelming he has no idea where he ends and Mundus begins.
“Oh, Nelo, you claw for control without knowing what it is you truly want. Let there be no mistake; you belong here.”
Perhaps he does. He's never been worthy of anything else. He could not protect Dante. He could not protect his mother. He could not protect himself.
He doesn't want this burden any longer.
“The only thing more abhorrent than usurping me… is to have tried and failed.”