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Sparda felt the moment his barrier began to collapse, even trapped as he was. He'd felt it before, not too long ago. Or, so he thought. Time had become meaningless in his prison. Wards and seals meant to keep him weak and dazed surrounded the walls of his cell, solid walls surrounded him, no windows or light to be seen. Mundus had been thorough about cutting him off from everything and everyone. His former master unwilling to risk any demon or devil worth their salt to find him here, to risk another rebellion from breaking out. Sparda would've laughed, had he been more aware of himself. He hardly needed help when it came to putting that cheaply made marble son of a bitch back in the ground where he belonged.
He just needed to break free of his prison. Once he did that, he'd be able to put an end to whatever insane plans Mundus had come up with again, and go home to his wife and his sons.
Eva…
He missed her dearly. She was all he thought about. She'd kept him sane throughout his imprisonment. The promise of returning to her loving embrace. He wanted to hold her again. To hold their beautiful sons. They were so small when he'd last held them. He hoped they still were. He clung desperately to the memory of Vergil's tiny fist holding his finger when he was barely a few days old, even as his mind struggled to discern what was real and what wasn't. The memory of Dante, bundled up in a blanket, fast asleep on his chest, warmed his heart.
Eva, radiant and gorgeous, smiling at him on their wedding day.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted—
A flare of power, ancient and familiar, exploded outside his cage, like a supernova collapsing in on itself. Argosax's death tore through the atmosphere. The sheer amount of magic released into the air shredded the seals apart, giving Sparda the chance to breathe for the first time since Mundus had shoved him down here, in the very depths of his castle.
Sparda collapsed to his knees as he inhaled sharply, choking and gasping at the lack of pressure on his chest. When was the last time he'd been able to move freely. To breathe without his chest aching?
Even in his dazed state, he was aware enough to compress his energy into a tiny sphere, buried deep within his chest. It wouldn't do to attract any attention while he tried to figure out what was happening.
Static crawled down his spine as the magic in the air became clearer, easier to identify. The barrier between worlds was falling apart. Mundus wasn't in the castle. That in and of itself was worrying. But worse was the two much smaller sources of flickering power, nearly overshadowed by the emperor himself.
Red and blue flames, nearly extinguished.
A tiny hand wrapped around his finger.
A small weight asleep on his chest.
Sparda dragged himself to his feet in a panic.
Impossible.
It couldn't be…
Not them.
Not them!
Sparda didn't even think as he crashed through the walls of his prison, spreading his wings and tearing away from Mundus' castle, leaving Mallet behind him.
The very fabric of reality had been torn asunder, red sky reflecting skyscrapers and paved roads of the human world above him. The portal between realms was shrinking rapidly, vanishing even was he soared towards the epicenter of the chaos. Mundus' colossal form was easy to spot in the distance, reaching out towards something falling through to the other side.
A jolt of alarm speared through Sparda, pushing him to fly faster. His younger son's presence was fading, and it was fading fast.
He needed to get out, to find him, to—
The portal snapped shut, erasing Dante's presence from Makai completely.
Mundus roared in outrage, massive stone wings flared out as red sparks singed the air around him.
Sparda watched with horror as Vergil's much to frail presence exploded to life, blue sparks clashing against Mundus' massive sword.
There was no longer time to waste. Sparda was still so far from the battlefield, and Vergil, his precious boy, didn't stand a chance in Hell against the Prince of Darkness.
The booming echoes of swords clashing against swords filled Sparda with dread. Mundus hardly moved; every swing of that giant stone blade sent a shockwave tearing through space. Crater after crater appeared, a much smaller figure hitting the ground repeatedly.
By the time Sparda was even close enough to see his eldest son, the fight had been going on much too long.
Blood stained Vergil's body, the only thing keeping him upright was the blade speared into the ground. The blue coat covering his body was shredded and burnt. One of his arms dangled uselessly at his side as he stood hunched over. Another sword laid abandoned a few feet away.
The humming resonance from both swords was enough to raise Sparda's already catastrophically high blood pressure.
Laying on the ground was the Yamato, the blade Sparda had wished to give Vergil when he was older. And clenched in his older son's hand was the Force Edge.
No wonder the barrier had fallen. If the Force Edge and the perfect amulet had been here, there was no telling what destruction had been wrought.
"Nelo Angelo," Mundus' voice boomed. "You dare turn your back on me. After I saved you. I raised you. I made you strong. And yet, here you stand, challenging my authority. You would be nothing without me."
"Be—" Vergil coughed, a rattling wheeze in his chest that furthered Sparda's alarm. "Be silent." Blood dribbled down his chin. "You…you killed…my mother…you lied…about everything. I…I will defeat you."
Vergil's words nearly stopped Sparda in his tracks. The crushing realization that Mundus had slaughtered his wife almost ended him there. That ache in his chest moved beyond physical. It was something deeper now, as if his very heart had been ripped from his chest and crushed to a bloody paste.
His sons were grown.
His wife was dead.
And Mundus had trapped him away to prevent him from saving them all.
Smoke poured from his mouth as he exhaled slowly, trying to contain the rage that burned like the center of the sun. Power seeped out from that carefully contained core of energy, spilling through the cracks.
Sparda rushed forwards, an almost imperceptible blur through the air as he closed the distance between himself and Mundus.
The emperor turned sharply, stone face expressionless and blank as always. But Sparda had known this devil for millennia. Beneath that marble exterior, Mundus' blood was boiling with barely restrained fury.
Sparda slammed his fist into the center of Mundus' third eye, pouring as much energy into that single strike to send him staggering backwards.
"Mundus," He seethed. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Vergil tugging the Force Edge out of the ground, holding it in a wavering, unsteady grip. "How long has it been? How long did you keep me trapped down there? Long enough for you to kill my Eva and steal my sons?"
"SPARDA!" Mundus shouted. "You should have stayed where I kept you." He raised his stone sword, a growl reverberating through the air.
Sparda replied with his own snarl in kind. "You ought to know me better than that, my dear. I was never one to listen." The old nickname tasted like ash and glass on his tongue, bitter memories of betrayal in the back of his mind.
A choked cough had him snapping his head towards the ground. Vergil had fallen to one knee, his breaths coming out far to fast and uneven.
Eyes flickering between Mundus and his son, Sparda made his choice. He dove out of the way of the sword slash and reached his hand out.
Loyal as he remembered, the Yamato appeared in his palm, thrumming with rage at the treatment of her master.
Sparda's feet slammed into the ground beside Vergil; he sliced through the air with two precise slashes, mindful of the next attack aimed at his head. He didn't give his son the chance to react, grabbing him by his torn vest and throwing him—and the Force Edge— through the portal with more force than strictly necessary.
He whirled around just in time to parry Mundus' strikes, redirecting the blade away from him, and more importantly, his child.
"You will suffer," Mundus growled.
"As will you. But not yet. I'll be back to finish the job next time," Sparda hissed back, yanking the sword from Mundus' hand and throwing it towards his chest like a javelin. While the emperor was distracted, Sparda allowed himself to fall backwards through the portal.
It snapped shut the moment he landed on the other side, the final roar of fury from Mundus shaking the very earth.
Sparda sheathed the Yamato, tying her around his waist as he rushed towards the crumpled form of his son. He crashed down to his knees beside him, hands hovering a little uncertainly over Vergil's shoulders.
"Vergil?" He whispered. It hurt, he thought, seeing his boy grown up. What he remembered as a small, squishy face with curious eyes trying to track his movements, had changed into something much older. Angular cheeks and a sharp jaw. Vergil's eyes fluttered open, giving Sparda a much clearer view of them. Bright blue, much like his own, stared back at him in confusion. He almost wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry, if the pressure behind his eyes was anything to go by. Still, he fought back the tears, sliding a hand behind Vergil's back and carefully helping him sit up.
Vergil appeared dazed, eyes impossibly wide and scanning over Sparda's figure. "H…how?" He winced, folding forwards as he wrapped his good arm around his chest. "I thought…"
"I didn't leave you. Not by choice." Sparda carefully ran his hands along Vergil's spine, checking for any breaks. He ignored the slight flinch from his nestling, relief filling him when he didn't find anything broken. There'd likely be a number of bruises along his back, but those would heal much faster. He checked over his right arm—the one currently pressed against his ribs. Blood stained his claws, revealing a few deep cuts in the fragile skin, but once again, it would heal. He had to pry Vergil's arm away from his chest, to which his son protested loudly. He ignored the attempts to shove him away, frowning at the large gash the stretched from his shoulder almost down to his hip, bleeding sluggishly.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"What?" Vergil asked, just as Sparda pressed against his ribs. Vergil hissed and snarled, trying to in vain to pull away. Sparda's frown deepened. Some of them were definitely cracked at the very least. Certainly explained the wheeze he heard with each breath.
Sparda moved behind Vergil, keeping him steady as he changed position to get to his other side.
Vergil tracked his movements intently, like a predator waiting for its chance to strike. "What are you doing?"
The Makaian accent in his voice broke Sparda's heart. How much time had his nestling spent there? Mundus had been far too familiar with him. Had spoken to him as if he'd known Vergil for years. He truly hoped, for Vergil's sake, that hadn't been the case.
"I need to check your other arm," Sparda said.
"It's fine," Vergil snapped, trying to squirm out of Sparda's grip. As if to prove a point, he attempted to push himself up with his clearly broken arm, only to crumble forwards with a stifled gasp.
"Vergil," Sparda said again, gently taking him by the shoulders. "If we don't reset it not, it will heal wrong. Please let me check."
Reluctantly, Vergil allowed Sparda to run his hand down the damaged limb, mouth set in a flat line as he suppressed each wince.
"Take a deep breath, this won't be pleasant."
"I know what resetting a break feels—" Vergil cut himself off with a curse as Sparda quickly reset the bones in his arm. He was left pale and panting.
"I'm sorry," Sparda said again. He carefully pulled Vergil tattered jacket off, mindful of his still broken arm. Mottled bruises littered his arms, and Sparda had to shove down that pit of fiery rage that burned in his gut.
Creating a makeshift splint from his own reserves of magic was easy enough. Vergil didn't have nearly enough energy to support his own healing at the moment, given the exhaustion that was weighing down on him. Blood loss was a death sentence for devils. Without blood, they had no strength or power. He tore pieces of Vergil's coat off, wrapping parts of it around the splint to keep them in place, using the remaining fabric to create a sling.
Vergil watched him silently, eyebrows slowly knitting together in confusion. "Why are you doing this?"
Sparda took the Force Edge from Vergil, slicing a clean line along his arm. He allowed blood to pour over the wound on his chest. While it wouldn't fix things immediately, it would at the very least speed up his healing, give his body the energy it needed to begin the process.
"Because," Sparda said, relief washing over him slowly as color began to return to Vergil's face. "You are my son. And I will not leave you to suffer."
Vergil bowed his head, a slow, controlled exhale leaving his lips. "I should've known Mundus was lying about you."
"Yes, I imagine he had quite a bit to say about me."
His rebellion was…a sore spot in Makai. To say the least. The more accurate statement would be saying every devil and demon alive wanted him dead. He was certain if he ever showed his face in Mundus' court again, every single being in there would make it their goals to tear his organs from body and eat his still beating heart from his chest.
They'd certainly have to work for it, and Sparda guaranteed he'd kill most of them before they could lay a claw on him.
He shifted around so he was in front of Vergil again, keeping a steadying hand on his good shoulder. "Are your legs alright?" He asked, still patting them down. He had to suppress a chuckle at the blush dusting Vergil's cheeks.
"I'm fine. I can—I can stand," Vergil insisted, fumbling a bit to get his feet underneath him. He shoved himself to his feet, slapping Sparda's hand away when he tried to help.
While it stung, Sparda could hardly blame his son. He hadn't been around. He'd been gone for most of his children's lives. They'd only just begun to walk when he left. Neither of them had any memory of him. He couldn't even fathom what they'd been told about him.
Eva wouldn't have told them the truth. He'd asked her to keep it a secret until he was able to share it with them himself.
He'd never gotten that chance.
Vergil swayed unsteadily on his feet but he didn't immediately collapse when he started walking.
Sparda sighed in quiet relief, reaching outwards with his senses now that they were on the other side of the barrier. That blue flame flickered brighter now, no longer on the brink of exhaustion. Casting his senses out further, he searched for the presence of his other son. The red flame that should call to his twin.
And yet, there was nothing.
No exhausted flickering flame, no barely noticeable trace of his other boy.
Just an emptiness in space where there should've been a second nestling.
Panic rose in Sparda's chest as he turned towards Vergil. "Where is Dante?"
Vergil's carefully crafted mask fell away for a moment, long enough to give Sparda a clear view of the barely concealed panic on his face. He spun in a tight circle, searching for his twin. "He should be here, this is…we fought Argosax around here. I sent him back."
So, that was why Dante's presence had vanished so abruptly. But that didn't explain why he had felt so weak before he disappeared.
Sparda nodded thoughtfully. He rose to his feet slow, claws curling tightly around the Force Edge. He wasn't sure if he wanted to yell at them or tell them how proud he was for facing off against Argosax.
Brilliant, brave nestlings.
But so, so foolish.
He'd decide later, after he found Dante.
As if reading his mind, the Force Edge warmed in his hand, a resonant hum filling his mind. She pulled him in a direction, tugging him towards something so very familiar.
The pull of the perfect amulet settled in his very soul. Calling him towards it.
There was something else, softer, more desperate, responding to the Force Edge's own call. He'd recognize the thrum of the Rebellion anywhere. It was hard to forget the curl of her power when she'd been the one he raised against Mundus.
Where the Rebellion was, his youngest was sure to follow.
"There," he muttered, more to himself than Vergil.
Sparda didn't give him a chance to respond, scooping him up and taking off into the air.
Vergil's shouted protests were lost to the air as Sparda flew high above decimated buildings and shattered roads.
He followed the urgent call from the Rebellion, her plea growing more frantic the closer they got.
He was finally able to sense Dante's presence, weak and fluttering as it was, like a candle on the verge of being extinguished.
Pure, unfiltered panic slammed into him, pushing him to fly faster. His wings buzzed loudly, nearly drowning out the hammer of his heart in his chest.
Please.
Please don't let me be too late.
Don't let me fail them again.
The massive crater in the middle of the city nearly stole his breath away.
He expected destruction. He understood the consequences of tearing down the barrier between worlds. Especially if Argosax the Chaos himself was involved.
Yet, he never thought he'd see his son curled up in the center of a crater, created by the impact of his own body, if the way he lay at the epicenter was anything to go by.
Sparda landed hard, the impact jolting his knees in a way that had him biting back a groan.
Dammit, he couldn't be getting old. Thousands of years of life on the battlefield and now his joints started to protest? Absolutely not.
He didn't fight when Vergil squirmed out of his arms, unsteadily making his way through the rubble and towards Dante.
Sparda moved past him, much more sure footed, as he rushed towards his youngest son.
Dante lay unnaturally still, body broken and twisted in ways that spoke of a fall from much too high to be survivable for the average sapien. Humans, while resilient, lacked much of demonkind's durability.
But to see his own son like this?
Sparda's heart shattered into a million pieces as he dropped to his knees. Claws hovered over Dante's face, covered in blood and grime with clear tear tracks cutting through it all, staining his cheeks.
His chest rose and fell, but barely, each breath shallow and struggling. His heart beat sluggishly, struggling to pump blood throughout his broken, battered body. There was a large, gaping wound in his chest, staining his gray shirt a dark crimson.
Sparda's hands shook as he brushed soft, delicate, human hands through Dante's hair. His true form was hard scales and sharp claws, but his human form had allowed him to handle his nestlings when they were just newborns. He had to be gentle.
Dante looked so, so young…hardly an adult. Sparda had to fight the urge to pull him to his chest and hold him there until everything was alright.
He heard Vergil come to a stop behind him, his sharp inhale the only indicator of his distress. "He should've healed by now. Why isn't he healing?"
Sparda brushed some of the dirt away from Dante's cheeks, trying to coax a response of any kind from his little boy. "Same reason you aren't."
Too badly injured.
Too little power.
Sparda had left his sons to face off against two of his greatest enemies alone. Not even he had managed to seal away either of them without assistance.
"Dante," He whispered. "You'll be alright."
He reluctantly removed the hand cradling Dante's cheek, drawing the Force Edge once more. Idly, he caught a gleam of the two halves of the perfect amulet, clutched in Dante's hand like a lifeline.
"Vergil," Sparda called, watching his eldest jolt in surprise. "Give me a hand."
"I only have the one," Vergil replied dryly as he knelt down on Dante's other side.
Sparda was half tempted to swat at the brat for that one.
"Just…put pressure on that," He said, gesturing towards the still weeping wound in his chest.
Vergil froze at the request, holding the tattered remains of his jacket close to his chest, reminiscent of a small child clutching their toy.
"Vergil," He said more forcefully. "We need to slow the bleeding until his healing starts to kick in."
This time, thankfully, Vergil nodded sharply, lowering himself to the ground. The motion must've aggravated some of his own still fresh wounds, given the slight wince as he shifted. He rolled what used to be his coat up into a ball as best he could with one functional hand and pressed it down on Dante's chest.
Sparda took his chance to quickly evaluate Dante's injuries. His neck and spine seemed unbroken, thank Chaos itself. Sparda knew he could heal from something as severe as his back breaking, but he didn't want to know if his half-human sons could survive the same. Blood clung to his fingers as he carded through Dante's hair. Head wound then, somewhere on the back of his skull. He must've hit it in the fall. He checked his limbs next. Broken arm (like his brother. A little ironic if you asked him), broken leg (surprising that it was only one if he had hit the ground hard enough to leave a crater), plenty of deep, jagged cuts and puncture wounds, but from what, Sparda wasn't sure. The most pressing injury then was the stab wound in the center of his chest. He needed to deal with the blood loss as soon as possible.
He didn't waste time. He was quick to set and stabilize the broken bones. Then, he bit into the flesh of his own palm, letting blood flow from the wound freely as he tried to get Dante's body to absorb it.
There wasn't even enough magic left in his body to do that.
Right.
Well.
Plan B it was, he supposed.
Sparda was gentle as he forced Dante's mouth open, supporting his head and allowing blood to flow into it.
He nearly sagged with relief when Dante swallowed instinctively. While his wouldn't be anywhere near as effective as that of human blood, it would still give Dante some energy back that he lacked in this moment. Rest, food, and water was the only way to truly bring his healing back. Unless he decided to start drinking human blood, which Sparda wasn't certain he'd condone.
The benefits of their split nature. Both his boys could heal and recover through demonic and human methods. Something he'd be endlessly grateful for.
Vergil peeled the edge of his jacket away, losing some of the tension in his shoulders. "The bleeding stopped."
Sparda smiled faintly as Dante's face twitched, eyes slowly blinking open.
Dante squinted up at him as Sparda wiped the remaining blood on his pants. He shifted Dante carefully so he was more comfortable, allowing his younger son time to process what was happening.
"God? 'S that you?" Dante mumbled, words slurred and voice rough and cracked.
Sparda tried—and failed miserably—not to bark out a laugh. "I think I'm about the furthest thing from that."
Dante blinked unfocused eyes at him, as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing.
Vergil leaned back, finally removing his hand from Dante's chest. "When I told that foolish girl to peel you off the wallpaper, I didn't mean you had to make us do it for you a second time."
Dante turned his head to the side slowly, tears forming in his eyes as his sluggish brain took in the shape of his twin. "Ver…gil?"
"Obviously," Vergil responded. Despite the attempt at composure, his voice shook, and Sparda could see the barely concealed tears forming in his eyes as well.
"You…you came back," Dante muttered. "I thought—"
"Well, you have the survival instincts of a brain dead rat, I couldn't just—" Vergil's voice cut out and he had to look away, glaring at the ground. He curled his hand into a fist. He took a long shuddering breath.
"I thought Mundus was gonna kill you." Dante choked out a sob, trying to reach up with his broken arm, only to gasp.
"Easy," Sparda said, a rumbling purr vibrating through his chest. "You need to rest."
Vergil hesitantly slid his hand into Dante's, curling his fingers around the two halves of the amulet. He leaned forwards, letting his forehead rest against Dante's. "I'm sorry."
Sparda pretended he didn't see the tears silently streaming down both of his sons faces, allowing them to soak in the other's presence without interruption.
Their souls were more intertwined than he'd ever know. Demonic twins rare and closer than any other siblings in Makai. It seemed as though Sparda was destined to be surrounded by them.
Baul and Modeus first, now Dante and Vergil.
Rare, his ass.
After several minutes where the two of them muttered whispered apologies to each other, Dante finally seemed to remember the body he was leaning against. He whipped his head back over to Sparda with such speed, he worried Dante was going to give himself whiplash. His eyes were wide as saucers.
"You—"
"Hello, Dante," Sparda said softly. "You've grown so much."
"Dad…?"
Sparda was gentle as he pulled Dante to his chest, taking care not to jostle him much as he stood. Vergil followed, still clinging to Dante's hand like he had when they were infants.
"Let's find somewhere safe for you both to get some rest, alright?"
Dante just nodded, still in disbelief. He muttered out a shaky, "Okay."
Sparda climbed out of the crater, ignoring the way his shirt slowly soaked from his son's silent tears.
He had so much to catch up on. But, more importantly, he needed to make sure they were safe, and healthy first. He'd make up for lost time then.