Affliction

Author’s Notes (must read!):

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and all its associated characters belong to Capcom, and are being used and abused in naughty ways without permission.

Sequence / Story: This is the first sequel to the Poison / Antidote D/V saga that I wrote. Affliction takes place shortly after Antidote, most likely overlapping with the epilogue. It covers Vergil’s side of events after his confrontation with Dante.

You will need to have read Poison and Antidote to follow Vergil's train of thought in this fic.

The story takes place shortly (a few months or so) after the conclusion of Devil May Cry 3 and includes spoilers for the ending. If you haven’t finished the game, I’d recommend holding off on this fic (and its associated stories, the P/A saga).

Content Warnings: This is a yaoi lemon darkfic and contains excessive / graphic violence, torture, humiliation, bondage, brutality, weapon!rape, and a lot of angst. If any of these things bother you, DON’T READ ON! This fic definitely isn’t for the faint of heart.

Notes on References: The first scene (rather randomly) takes place in the Room of the Fallen (Mission 18, Devil May Cry 3). If you aren’t familiar with this area, it’s a graveyard in the demon realm wherein the ground is made of blood. The only entrance and exit from the room is a portal that resembles a large oval mirror. (Quick thanks to whacko_dante for running a check on the room name for me... without my having to go into the game and load up Mission 18.)

Abyss are large, scythe-wielding demons with teleportation ability (they materialize from the ground).

Accursed are OC demons of my own creation. I tend to try to stay as far from OCs as possible when I write fanfiction, but in this case, I felt it necessary to include a higher demon class that was nigh undamageable. They are underlings of Mundus’ that never appeared to Dante during the game but revealed themselves after Vergil’s encounter with the demonic prince. (Further description in the fic itself.) They are part of my explanation for Mundus’ brainwashing of Vergil.

And yes… they are loosely based on JK Rowling’s Dementors. *runs and hides*

And lastly: If you enjoy, please comment / review! Thank you for reading.


~ Part I ~

The scarlet liquid beneath his boots trembled and rippled.

They were waiting there, as he had known they would be. As they always were… their rancid stench filled his nostrils, and he breathed in the heavy scent of blood and hate.

He stepped between the graves toward the shimmering portal mirror, mindful of the hulking Abyss rising behind him, but ignoring them nevertheless; they were a pittance, and his heart felt heavy in his ribcage.

They lunged; in a macabre dance of flashing steel and grace, he slew them all… beautifully, effortlessly. He flicked their dark blood from Yamato’s blade; it melted torpidly into the crimson shimmer beneath his feet. With a metallic shing, he resheathed the katana.

The surface of the portal mirror fluttered, then heaved, and something spilled out of it, crumpled to the floor, and straightened. It was indistinct, just a misty shape with no solid presence, but it carried an aura of terrible wrath and evil.

He wasn’t a stranger to hatred himself, but Vergil felt his lungs constrict and his heartrate quicken. Impulsively, his fist clenched around Yamato’s sheath and his teeth ground; the presence of the Accursed heralded an impending torture, not a battle.

Months before, as he had kneeled weak and defeated before Mundus, they had appeared. Their ebony fury had drowned him, suffocated his senses and consumed his consciousness. He had felt a strange emptiness after encountering them; almost as though a part of his essence had been devoured.

Now he remained motionless as the enveloping power of the Accursed washed over his body, blasting the warmth from his flesh. Icy, ethereal fingers closed around his throat, and he vaguely felt the blood floor ripple around him as he fell.

o-o-o

The hooked chains were biting into his shivering flesh; he had been divested of his jacket and vest. The heavy links wrapped around his throat and torso were morbidly adorned with razor-sharp hooks, embedded painfully within muscle and sinew.

Vergil cast his gaze downward. He had failed to gain Sparda’s power— again. Icy eyes narrowed angrily at this thought; no, it wasn’t as though he had failed. He had allowed his resolve to run aground.

Dante.

Despite the chill and the breathtaking pain searing his body, he felt a quickening in his loins.

Dante had taken something from him during their last confrontation. Vergil had had every intention of reclaiming the amulet and Force Edge, but instead he had left empty-handed and empty-hearted. He had laid his brother’s naked body on that cracked red sofa; covered him with a sheet and stared down at the pale face identical to his own.

He couldn’t say exactly why he had hung Force Edge back on the wall… or why he had placed the amulet gently on the desktop after gazing into its ruby depths for some minutes. He had left then, without even so much as a backward glance at his brother’s unconscious form.

Dante had stolen his resolution for power; the power that would defeat Mundus.

There was a sudden clanking of metal and a grinding of rusted gears; Vergil’s reverie slipped away from him and he felt his morosity draining as cold dread twisted itself in the pit of his stomach.

He chuckled bitterly to himself; his own weakness had led him here. Dread was no longer a foreign agitation, he realized with a dull pang. In only a matter of months, it had become his constant companion.

The Accursed had taken on a corporeal form; Vergil sneered. They were cowards to the last— only revealing their tangible figures when he was unarmed and incapacitated.

Vergil glared into dark, hooded eye sockets and inhaled foul acrid breath as the sallow-faced demon leaned toward him, leering. He choked down a gasp as a rusty, serrated blade cleaved his stomach, effortlessly parting muscle and organs. Warm blood effervesced from the wound and flooded down his body, soaking his pants, trickling into crevices and across his thighs. Vergil gritted his teeth; he would not give the Accursed the pleasure of his anguished voice… at least, not yet.

The demon was still leering at him; he could feel a bloodthirsty eagerness emanating from its presence. Burning scarlet eyes bored into his face from beneath shadowed lids; he knew the creature was drinking in his pained expression, relishing his agony. The blade was withdrawn and he closed his eyes as he waited for it to reenter his body.

He bit his lip as cold metal tore into his shoulder; he grimaced as it was wrenched quickly free… and a soft moan escaped his lips as it was re-embedded in his chest.

The Accursed laughed.

Vergil panted and groaned angrily as the harsh, eerie sound grated against his eardrums, cutting through the white noise that was already thundering in his head. The blade was being twisted; he felt ribs crack and splinter, and finally, he couldn’t stifle his tortured cries any longer; they tore themselves from his constricted throat and echoed hollowly throughout the chamber, drowning out the rasping cackles of the Accursed.