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06 August 2009 @ 02:48 pm
Sister [Vergil x Trish]  
Title: Sister
Pairing: Vergil x Trish
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Genre: Romance, Friendship, Introspection, Backstory
Rating: PG
Word Count: 823



She was the sister he never had: beautiful and lethal and all things intended for elimination. With a flick of her tiny wrist, she fashioned lightning—electrified, amplified—and hurled it straight at him. Vergil dodged (barely escaping).

Mundus was gloating (if demon lords could) and remarked how marvelous she was, and how magnificent he was for creating her. Angry and disturbed, Vergil glared at herm (not daring to glare at the other) and reiterated the praise. Because, truly, she was a miracle. Appearance-wise, she was a masterful replication.

…a paint job well done…

Vergil cast her another scathing, savage look, which she took with frowning ease. She had heard the rumors about him, how he was the “Other Brother”, and how—if she wanted (if Mundus allowed and he did)—she could practice with him. Because down here in hell, history and legacy did not matter, only the passions of brutality and the ability to deal out blows.

And no one was more agile than her in acrobatic grace.


Mundus was the epitome of a sadist, and as such, demanded that Vergil take her under his wing and teach her the ropes, so to speak. Reluctantly, Vergil agreed and guided her around the sunken caverns and looming gloomy halls of hell.

She was unimpressed, with the tour and with him. Snidely countered that he must be weak or something, having lost to Dante (the forbidden name). Vergil strangled the urge to strangle her. Visualized the delight of crushing her sinewy neck, make the bones go crunch-crunch under a tight noose grip.

“You don’t like me,” she stated.

A matter of fact. Vergil growled.

“No, I do not.”


Was she seriously that stupid?

“Because…I just don’t.”

“Is it because I look like her, your mother?”

Bullet-fast, he grabbed her arm, twisting it and hissed low and murderously. “You do not speak of her ever again.”

Trish (damn, despicable name; Mundus had a wretched idea of a joke) freed herself, lit her body on fire and sent him flying.

“Why not?” she asked, persistent, “I’m supposed to pretend like I’m her right? That’s why I was created. So tell me about her.”



Like Dante and his Beatrice…like the world was going ablaze, sick with ironic humorous tragedy.

She followed him everywhere, completely unbefitting and risible. The other demons raised their brows quizzically, debating whether he or Mundus had gone insane. Nonetheless she trailed after him obediently, the exemplary bitch. Vergil was really starting to get pissed.

“Will you get away from me?”

“Not until you tell more about Eva.”

“Stop saying her name.”



She smirked, pleased to see him disconcerted and feathers ruffled (the beauty of a good, biting pun—learned directly from Mundus, from the best).

“Did you have a bad relationship with Mommy?” Trish teased, merciless.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t get enough love from her? Was Dante the favorite?”

“I said—”

He shoved her against a wall, unprepared to meet her watery gaze, the exact mirroring effect of Eva. Vergil shuddered, thinking this must be some ancient spell (and he was a fool for getting enchanted).


Eventually (as all good things come) he caved and told her about Eva, coached her in the ways of his mother. He described Eva’s mannerism, gestures, and the light, trilling laughter that always permeated throughout his childhood with clerical detail.

Mostly, Trish listened with fascinating awe, eyes wide like she were in love, and bombarded him with a million questions at the end. But sometimes, she grew quiet after an anecdote, rose from the seat, and left him with an excruciating pain of scarred clawing.

She never looked back at him during those times, always walking away head down and wisps of hair swimming past her back. And Vergil would sigh, feeling like he just committed some awful sin.

But in hell, that was a cheerful thing.


She kissed him randomly one day, said she wanted to see what it felt like.

He stepped back, startled. Déjà vu and the crawling, festering impression of Eva kissing him like that, hard and desperate.

“I wanted to leave a mark, so you’ll remember me.”

“I’d never forget someone as irritating as you.”

And with that, Trish departed from Mundus’ court. The ideal balance between siren and mother. Finally, he could have a moment’s peace (of not thinking about her, consumed by her existence).

Vergil secretly wished she would kill Dante and spare him an inevitably cataclysmic confrontation.


Now is the time for you to do your part.

So, Vergil strapped on his hell-angel self and entered the portal that would take him to the human world. To Mallet Island: to origins and a single sublime, finishing riposte.

Where Trish was…and where Dante was too.

Brother, “sister”—and enemy. Vergil knew Dante would sacrifice even himself for her because he would do the same.

The resemblance is purposely uncanny.


JaneGrayjanegray on August 7th, 2009 02:00 pm (UTC)
I really liked this fic :)
Y U no auto-translate?lye_tea on August 7th, 2009 02:01 pm (UTC)
Yay! ^^ These two don't get enough love.