kowase | IC INBOX

...Good. [ it's not the first time he's need confirmation. he ... knows, that in all likelyhood, Nero feels different. Nero's been here for a year, and the damage to the spirit realm is palpable: those sent here from other worlds would eventually--should eventually--go back. But what if Dante was the exception? ...What sort of power would he need to obtain to make sure Dante stayed...?

He's distracted from these thoughts, if only momentarily, by the mention of 'Mallet Island'. The name isn't... familiar to him, and yet, at the same time, he's sure he's heard it somewhere before. It itches on the back of his head, like something he can't quite reach. ]

Usually, ordinarily. When you name a place from my past life. Something lifts into my mind easily.
Subtly.

This time... it's unclear.
I do not remember this Island.

[ he understands the concern, the need to have him confirmed again even after so many times before. in the end, they have no control over who comes or who goes, they can't even predict if the spirit realm will bring people over or if it'll spit out a horde of demons. but they can hope, right? allow themselves to believe that this might be different, that dante will stay even as others are swept up by the currents of an uncaring river.

but all of that are thoughts for another time, after a good few drinks, right now...

right now they're taking a trip down memory lane, dante's memories to be exact. ]

Probably because it doesn't actually exist. [ as nonchalant as he sounds there is the faintest trace of unease in his voice, the faintest trace of tension in the arms he has wrapped around vergil. ] It was a trap Mundus cooked up for little ol' me. He had hoped to use talk of a big bad demon to kill and a woman made to look exactly like our dead mother to lure me in so he could finish off Sparda's bloodline once and for all.

[ fat lot of good that did him, eh? ]

[ there's a number of times they go down memory lane--and usually the conversations are weird or clinical, easy to follow if only because he has memories to match. But there's something fuzzy about these memories. Like he knows he knows what Dante's talking about--but as if it was from a third person point of view. Like he was experiencing it while out of body, instead of being in control.

That's an uncomfortable line of thought. ]

Does he think he was clever. Making a clone of someone dear to you to set a trap is the oldest, and possibly most tired, boring trick in the book. [ he won't say it, but he's willing to bet that Dante knew it was a trap he was walking into.

just like he's willing to bet the other didn't care about that. ]

He got you to this 'island that does not exist', then. [ he invites the other to ... continue, despite how he really doesn't want him to. deep down. ]

[ that, at the very least, earns a chuckle from dante. it's a little uneasy but amusement still clings to the edges of it, giving the sound an almost sing-song quality. mallet island isn't something he likes to think about, it reminds him too much of the pit he found himself in for all those years. that depression so deep he was almost swallowed by it. if trish wasn't there, if lady didn't check in as often as she did, if patty hadn't stumbled into his life... ]

Guess he was really hung up over the fact a human woman stole his precious Sparda from him, so much so he made a demonic copy of her. [ dante's never asked trish how long she'd actually been kicking around before all of that, if mundus had made her for only the express purpose of luring dante or if she had been used for other things. his brow furrow, pushing the thoughts aside - that isn't a road he wants to travel, nor one he'd want trish to relive. ] Yeah, he got me to the island alright. Who am I to say no to a woman throwing a motorcycle at me and then telling me there is a demon I need to kill.

[ he knew the moment she showed up, long blonde hair swaying in the wind. an exact replica of the picture he keeps on his desk, that it was all a trap. ]

It was your usual affair, lots of demons in a ruined castle. Same old same old. Right up until I went head to head with this guy clad in dark armor. [ almost like the dark knight of legend. ] Didn't think much of it at first, not until he kicked my ass only to run away after seeing my amulet.

[ he'll allow himself to be quiet as Dante speaks. Drinking his drink with a little too much gusto, and then tipping his glass down for a refill. Alcohol did not do much these days to buzz his brain, but drinking it quickly at least felt good on his brain when he had too many thoughts and not enough outlets.

Perhaps he should look into something stronger, he thinks, as Dante describes the odd companion that got him to that awful island--and what he'd found. His own memories swimming as he desperately tries to find something Familiar in those words--his head thudding from the effort. His mind just keeps jumping back to that underground prison, the face of his captor as he drove metal implements into his skin, just to watch his regeneration heal the wounds; over and over again.

Amulet.

Amulet is a word that gets his attention, and he flicks his gaze up to the other, stunned into a sort of silence as he squints.

A hand on dante's throat... ]

...Amulets.
You mean the amulet that our mother gifted to us.

What reason did this armor-clad man have to fear from such an item.

[ he empties his own glass before refilling them both, gaze flicking towards vergil's face cautiously as he speaks. all of this is sure to drag memories up from the depths, snippets of things that are better left in the dark. he wants to be careful, but how do you be careful when every inch of the ground around you is covered in landmines?

dante lets out a breath, an aborted attempt at a laugh, bringing his newly filled glass to his lips. ]

Yeah, the very same.

[ the only thing they had left of her, outside of their humanity. ]

Because... [ he hesitates, uncertainty curling around his throat and squeezing down like a vice. there is no way to do this gently. ] He wasn't just some guy in armor. [ with a singular swing dante downs his entire glass, focusing on the way the alcohol burns as it goes down. ] You remember how Temen-ni-gru ended, yeah? We fought on the doorstep of the Underworld, I beat you but you refused to come back with me so you... jumped. [ absently his hand flexes around the glass, the memory of yamato slicing through his pain making it sting. ] I thought you died that day. I mean we didn't exactly hold back and you dived head first into the Underworld, a place whose inhabitants loathe Sparda with every fibre of their being.

It doesn't matter how strong you are if the numbers overwhelm you.

[ he breathes out shakily gaze focusing on vergil's hand curled around his glass. ]

Turned out you didn't die, turned out that Mundus had worse things in store for you. He broke and remade you, turned you into his very own Dark Knight to replace the one he had lost all those years ago. Then he sent you after me, probably hoping you'd end up being the thing that finally did me in. I guess seeing the amulet must have weakened whatever brainwashing he had you through.

[ vergil's never been an expressive man.

his eyes flicker with an expression that's quickly wiped away by Vergil's strong control, but there's still emotion in those bright blue, catlike eyes. Hearing this from Dante isn't easy for the exact reason the other assumes: because it brings back the memories long hidden between his temples. Memories that had once been blurry, vague--start coming into light as the other speaks. A fight at the lip of the underworld--ankle deep in fetid water with the gaping hole to the human world just above them--and a malicious, unending pit below them.

He remembers the thoughts going through his head moments before he pitched backward into the darkness: that the amulet he clutched to his chest was his.
And that it was the only thing that tied him to his demonic heritage, as his human heritage had long ago abandoned him.
Left him to die.
Protected and Loved Dante, while his own life became forfeit.

Three eyes flicker into his memory again, and he quickly brings the cup of liquor up to his lips; likewise draining the contents as he tries to fast-forward through what happened next. ]

...It took years.

[ he'll start off, keeping the shake out of his voice, even if it was there, just under the timbre of his so steady, careful tone. ]

He strung me up. In a chamber of his own personal making. Wires--chains...

[ he lifts his arm, a wrist--pointing at his joints, where long implements had been driven through, keeping him hung against the ceiling, never allowed to fully heal, but never allowed to die, as he continually spoke words of his entire life's failure at him; the constant nightmares born from those sometimes whispered, sometimes roared words. ]

It took years to make me into that thing. I think I ... 'Vergil' almost made Mundus insane with how long it took for his 'perfect Dark Knight' to finally take shape.

And Especially... with how quickly you broke me from it.

[ he was almost torn apart. wasn't he? what happened... what happened, there... ]

[ without wasting a beat dante refills their glasses again, draining what remained of the bottle. it isn't nearly enough to get either of them drunk, but dante finds comfort in the motion of just drinking. find comfort in the way it burns all the way down.

for a moment, almost a blink of an eye, vergil's visage changes. pale skin turns blue, red lines crawl up his cheeks, those blue catlike eyes become as red as blood, and dante feels his chest tighten. the emotions he felt the last time they fought when the knight took off his helmet to reveal the person underneath, surge back to the forefront. relief, grief, and guilt mixed as their swords clashed. ]

Yeah, I got the impression he was real mad about that. [ all those years of indoctrination thrown out because of an amulet and a face. ] Had a feeling that was why you sort of... floated up and vanished, Mundus' last ditch attempt to keep his Dark Knight. That was the last I saw of you, spent years thinking I had killed you that day.

[ shifting, dante reaches over to poke at vergil's head, lips curved into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. ]

Glad I was wrong.

The rest of the memory is fuzzy. Where I went after I escaped that three-eyed creature... I do not remember. I do remember wandering around a city made mostly of marble. I remember going to our family home. Burned husk that it was.

After that, my memories are ... difficult to understand. It is as if my mind is at a constant war with itself, and the memories are difficult to ... understand. Like listening to multiple radio signals at once.

[ he doesn't fully understand that he'd split himself in two--he only remembered bits and snatches of two different minds at war with one another. And it gave him a headache trying to understand either one. ]

You did not kill me. But I was so weak, I believe I was very close to it, anyhow.

[ dante exhales, downing the rest of his glass in a single swing. ]

That's because... [ maybe it would be better to tell him now, rather than let him live in this complicated mess of memories. maybe it would be better to shine some light on something that has undoubtedly been frustrating him ever since his memories began to filter back in. ] Yamato can do more than make portals. When you stumbled your way into that old house, I guess you decided to do something drastic. One last ditch attempt to beat me.

[ he pours another drink, gaze flicking to elsewhere in the room. ]

Did you know when Dad made those swords he imbued them with part of his power? It's kind of ironic when I think about it now, how he gave Yamato the power to split man from devil and he gave Rebellion the power to unify them. But that's what you did... you split yourself in two, that's probably why you're memories are like that.

[ Everything in his head is a tangled web of irritation and not-knowing. Spending days in a hot, uncomfortable box pretending to be Dante had made his patience run thin: Having the story outright explained for him right now is actually what he needs. It's clear he's clinging onto every word like it's water to a dying man in the desert.

He's coddling his current drink--not because he's started to feel a buzz, he'd need at least a dozen more before that--but. He's watching the other with a mix of ... confused, and fascinated interest. ]

I was not aware of this functionality of our swords. No. [ his eyes glance to the Yamato. Split himself in two...

How. ...Terrible. What a terrible decision to make...? ]

I did this baffling thing in order to 'beat' you. I cannot imagine how splitting myself in twain would help me be stronger.

[ ...ah. Wait.

It dawns on him. Rather, it isn't so much that he realises what it was; but rather. He remembers. ]

...The human heart was what I thought made me 'weak'.

Well, neither did I until I had the bright idea to stab myself with Rebellion with the Devil Sword Sparda on my back. [ finally, finally, unifying man and devil into a power beyond what he had ever had before and a new devil sword. ] Thinking back that was probably what woke that power inside me in the first place, if you had never stabbed me with Rebellion on the top of that tower it would've stayed dormant.

[ is he deflecting a little? yeah, maybe. the subject of vergil splitting himself and everything surrounding v is something of a... sore spot. ]

Yeah, exactly. You thought that by discarding your humanity you'd finally get the edge you needed to take me down, little did you know that it was that very same humanity that made you strong in the first place.

[ he... doesn't want to laugh--he's not quite in the mood to laugh, and yet, the sound is bubbling up from his throat anyway as the other reveals exactly how he'd woken up to his own devil powers. A memory flickering through his own mind as he ... considers saying what should be said, or keeping it to himself. ]

Who knew getting stabbed would be good for you. [ another long, pregnant pause. ] Truth be told, perhaps that is something we have in common. When I was... being chased. As a younger boy. By the demons that burned down our home. I managed to call Yamato to my hands. ...The demons ran me through with it, as well, before I managed to cull them all.

[ isn't that strange? Certainly not a coincidence. ]

Could you blame me for considering the human heart to be weak.
After all, humans are, by nature, brittle, short-lived things.

How was I to know better.

[ it is painfully ironic is what it is. an irony that drags up an old guilt from the murky depths dante once forced it down into, a small voice hissing into his ear: 'it's your fault, you chased him away all because you couldn't stand his attention being on that stupid book instead of you.' if they hadn't fought that day, if dante hadn't tried to take that damn book from him vergil wouldn't have been alone and their mother...

he pushes the thought aside viciously - no, he is not nursing that guilt again. he's not letting it sit and fester for twenty years like he did all those years ago. eva wouldn't want that. ]

That's some painful irony.

[ dante breathes out, cocking his head to the side. ]

Can't say I can, truth be told. Would've been nice if you learnt the lesson a little earlier in life, but better late than never I guess.

One thing that can be said about the human condition--one that I failed to see, due to my desire to completely discard that half of myself, apparently--is that we are never too old to keep learning things. One supposes.

Demons and Devils become cocky because they are confident in their power and cannot comprehend those who get stronger in the face of adversity.

[ he drags a thumb between his eyebrows--he can feel a headache trying to form, but due to his devil's blood, it will never truly settle; staying on the edge of his mind. ]

...This is not getting me drunk quickly enough. To think I used to drink half this and be done.

You're not wrong, brother mine.

[ dante laughs, reaching over to purposefully mess with vergil's hair. a distraction from the subject, from the pit they are dangerously teetering on. what's done is done after all, and they can't do much about it all now with the hindsight they now have. ]

Yeah, I know. It was a real pain in the ass trying to get drunk in the early days, what money I had left after Lady bleed me dry usually went into enough booze to kill a man. Even then the buzz never really lasted long enough.

[ there's a part of him that just wants to lie face-down on his desk, but. Showing weakness in front of dante? He couldn't do it. He has to steel his jaw and seem to be flawless--it was like an instinct, to never lower his head if he can help it. Showing he was stressed more than he already had? impossible.

He evens his gaze at dante. Wondering if he could will the other to leave so he can turn the lights off and just be alone with his new memories, new thoughts for a while.

He's used to being alone. ]

Perhaps it is for the best, and for the necessary health of beings like us that it does not effect us as much as it could.

Else I fear we may one day put ourselves into true danger.

[ he doesn't have to do much in truth. maybe it is because of their old age, or the fact that their twins, but he's found that he can read Vergil like a book these days. as such, he can see the way his brother's expression twitches, how stubbornly he holds onto the illusion of calm out of that stubborn instinct never to show weakness.

there is a part of Dante that wishes he would, that he would let that final barrier down instead of forcing Dante to break it down himself. but Vergil is Vergil and things are never easy with him. so he just smiles and finishes the last of his drink, placing the empty glass down on the desk and slips off it. ]

I don't need enough drink to kill God to do that, Verg.

[ he's been doing it for the last thirty years of his life. even with his brother back, even with some semblance of a family he's always longed for, some habits are impossible to break. ]

I've got some stuff I gotta do, I'll be back in a couple of hours. [ Dante rests his hand on Vergil's shoulder and squeezes. ] Call or text me if you need me, okay? I'll always come running.

[ with that Dante walks around the desk to the door, pausing only briefly to flick the room's main light switch off before leaving. closing the door behind him as he goes.

one step at a time. ]

IC INBOX - kaisou

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