Affliction

Characters belong to Capcom.

~ Part III ~

To be humiliated in such a fashion… the ironic cruelty of the unfortunate circumstances actually forced a sardonic laugh to rise up in his throat. The sound amused Mundus, but startled Vergil, and he gasped again as the sword hilt was thrust still deeper between his spread legs.

He raised his head and cast his piercing silver gaze over the chiseled features of the perpetrator of his torment; in response, Mundus smiled down on him. It was a distinctly benign smile, such as one might cast upon a beloved guilty child, but there was a malevolence gleaming deep within the dark prince’s eyes that caused Vergil’s racing heart to skip a beat.

The hilt of his own sword was rending him, forcing his entire body into spasms of mortification. Blood was spilling freely, pooling with morbid sensuality between his thighs as his body was rocked fiercely in brutal, metallic steel rape. He choked and gasped and bit his lips, until finally his agony swelled beyond palatability…

He screamed mindlessly now, because that’s what Mundus desired.

He cried out until his own harsh voice rang in his ears as flesh and muscle ripped and tore inside him. Mundus’ piercing scarlet stare held him captive and victimized him, rendered him soulless and empty. Vergil’s eyes burned and stung, the blood racing behind them, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from that cruel stony mask. He was clawing at the floor in agony and desperation, his fingernails torn, scraping bits of fabric and little smears of blood across the carpet.

His thoughts were slowly sliding into a train wreck.

Sparda’s sword… Sparda’s power…

And Dante.

All this time, his younger twin’s visage still swam hazily through his pain-fogged mind. Dante… the brother whom he fought, loathed, resented, and loved with a secret righteous selflessness that defied all principles upon which he based his life.

He had lost Dante the same way he had lost Eva… self-loathing seeped into his consciousness and smothered him, drowned him in darkness. He had exchanged Dante’s light soul for his own black one. As Mundus’ servant continued to lavish torturous cruelty on his aching body, he thirsted for only one thing: power.

His eyes were growing cloudy and silvering over. The searing pain was becoming dully bittersweet as his fragmenting thoughts lurched his mind into disconnect. Some ugly monster was rearing its head within his chest, urging his protesting body into readiness against his will. Through his anguish, he was acutely aware of the masochistically pleasurable sensation of his hard shaft sliding against the blood-slick floor.

The cruel thrusts of Yamato’s hilt inside him bucked his body violently, inviting an agony-induced craze, sucking him dry. He squeezed his eyes shut and cried out sharply as he came, retching at the same time, bringing up only acid blood from an empty stomach.

o-o-o

The demonic prince of the underworld gazed down at the helpless form of the half-demon son of Sparda. The seed of his mortal enemy was at his mercy; vile satisfaction warmed his cold veins as he watched the figure twitch and shudder, his pale flesh stained dark with satin blood.

Mundus gave a slight inclination of his massive head, and the servant blithely yanked the scythe blades from their victim’s legs. The half-devil raised his head a fraction, silvery blue eyes still blazing with hatred and unquelled defiance.

Mundus laughed, and waved a heavy, imperious hand in the boy’s direction. “I will have you yet, son of Sparda,” he rumbled, smiling maliciously into that steely gaze.

“My black angel. My nero angelo.”

~ fin ~

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Closing A/N: In DMC1, it is probable that a translation error resulted in Vergil’s “Nelo Angelo” title; technically, it should be Nero Angelo, Italian for black angel. The error most likely resulted from the interchangeable “r” and “l” sounds in the Japanese language.