#▪──── ⚔ ❝ EVERYTHING possible to be BELIEVED is an image of TRUTH ❞ 「 copy-of-a-shell 」

[jetblackknight]

c'mere @copy-of-a-shell, I won't bite : >

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙸𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙸𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄. 𝚄𝚂. 𝙼𝙴 ? ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ His reaction was genuine—it was a strange thing, to see yourself from your own perspective. To have an exact copy standing before you without a care in the world. To . . . be whole, and yet, a half of you not of yourself. If he had been drunk, Vergil might not have minded so much. How often he saw his two halves before him when he was, he didn't like to speak on. But this was different. This was a real entity. A real him. A real . . . something ? Its scent—their scent, his scent—was unfamiliar and alarming. And his instincts ! Everything told his instincts to unsheathe his weapon and attack . . . but how could he ? It was him.

                         ❛ H—How are you here ? You are . . . in . . .  ❜ His head was swimming too much to make sense of it, and Vergil reached for it, grasping at his temples with trembling fingers ; that stoic and serious exterior was certainly beginning to crack, and all he had done was walk up to Vergil. Oh, how confusing it was. Even the half that was within him remarked with a unique flavor of horror. A doppelganger, except . . . of his humanity ? What was the world coming to ?

[jetblackknight]

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Vergil did not expect the ' human dregs ' that had once been his to fall to silence. What he had said was merely a statement of fact. He had discarded his humanity, the humanity that was standing before him as frail as it had been before, yet now . . . artifically so ? It confused him as much as it must have confused the . . . what had he called himself, then ? V ? Yes. It must have confused this V as much as it confused himself. Or . . . Did it feel as his humanity had felt ? Had Vergil offended it, somehow ? Him. Offended him. Yes. Him. This was a part of him entirely separate. His own person, or, rather, devil. Vergil's temples began to ache. As he stopped in front of Grue's Cellar, he felt the gentle push behind him and turned, confused, before blinking.

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙸 𝚂𝙾 𝙲𝙻𝚄𝙼𝚂𝚈, 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙽 ? ❜

                          There was no offense to Vergil's tone this time ; rather, a genuine curiosity. HIs own humanity did not like sharing its own memories within his shattered, yet rebuilt mind. He could not remember what it was like to be powerless. Perhaps for the better, if this was how he had been. Still, that did not stop Vergil from reaching out to steady the artificial demon, before he could stumble backward and hurt himself ( how could he ? He was immortal ). The action simply felt . . . right, somehow.                           And this close, Vergil could once against see the distinctly inhuman appearance of this humanity's eyes, and inhaled.                          ❛ While it is . . . safe, for me to enter. Please keep your eyes down. We—We are walking into a bar of devil hunters. ❜ He hoped that the humanity-turned-devil could understand the intensity in his words, the begging-without-begging that he was implying. He let go of V's arms, but hovered, as if ensuring he would be okay.                           Such a strange sensation. Do I . . . Show him . . . my humanity ? No. Surely that would break this artificial demon's mind, as much as the humanity suddenly, almost insanely, agreed to appear.                          ❛ There is a booth in the back corner that is reserved for myself and guests of mine. We won't be bothered unless I call for the bartender. You . . . have little to worry about, otherwise. ❜

A part of him, he said. A part he tried to discard.

It conflicted with what V knew; that he had been brought to life by a flaming canid of a demon. A demon that made sure he knew who his creator was, yet never gave him his purpose. A demon that picked and dug at his mind, trying to spark memories that he could never recall, but couldn’t say for certain they weren’t there. 

But was that why? The reason for his fleeting and nonsensical memories of an island and armour and red eyes in a paled face-

Because he was discarded? Just an unwanted piece?

V was thankful that Vergil’s eyes weren’t on him, because he needed to shake his head to clear away the questions and thoughts that suddenly swarmed his brain, and he missed Vergil’s little ‘malfunction’ in front of the door.

Then, he was told to follow and Vergil began walking away, so V took after him, his footfalls as silent as his questions on the stone beneath him. His arms stayed loosely crossed over his chest as he walked, and his eyes momentarily stayed glued to the man ahead of him, vision trained on his back.

It eventually began to wander, though, as the pair walked. V, curious by nature, couldn’t help it; the scenery around him was a stark contrast to all he’d known in the demon realm, especially since he’d been mostly confined to Argon’s territory of volcanic glass and ash.

And the sky - the sky! -  was vast and open, nothing like the obsidian ceilings he’d often found himself staring up at.

He was a bit too enthralled by the unfamiliar sights around him, as when they reached whatever destination Vergil was taking them to, he ran into the taller man’s back headfirst, snapped back into reality by the collision as he stumbled backwards a step or two.

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙾𝚄𝚁 . . . 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 ? ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Argon ? A Demon ? His head spun with the sudden influx of information ; but he processed it quickly, logging it away to discuss with Dante either later, or extremely soon. Vergil glanced towards the front doors of Devil May Cry and then back to his . . . well, clone ? And yet, not ? And relaxed his sword arm, looking at the cobblestone street around them. He was thinking, exploring every option he could and every outcome that could occur. And then he looked up.

                         ❛ You are . . . me. A, A part of me, more precisely. ❜ Would that make any sense to this new figure ? This . . . demon, and yet not ? It was so confusing. The perceived frailty of his humanity, the exhausted eyes, the hunched spine, and the awkward and almost deathly-thin arms and body of a weak human. And yet the scent rang true — what stood before him as as immortal as any other demon. Vergil struggled to accept it.                            He gestured to the doors, but . . . what was he to do ? If they walked in, and Dante walked out of the bathroom and saw him, or, Sparda-forbid, smelled him before . . . Would he instantly wish to fight ? Yes. That was the only answer. ❛ We must . . . proceed gently. Cautiously. Our — my — brother may not be so receptive to you. I shouldn't be, either, but . . . how can I not ? You are me. The part of me that I tried to discard, permanently. ❜                           Oh, how Vergil so suddenly hated saying the words aloud. He did not look to see if it stung the artificial demon as it stung the humanity, struggling to cope, within him, stepping towards the front doors, and then back, and then back again. Short-circuiting was the only way to describe such a gesture. Vergil toiled with the decision.                          ❛ I — We have . . . much to discuss, but . . . Come. Dante will understand if I do not join him in his relaxation. ❜ He turned away from Devil May Cry entirely, to the right, down the street ; towards anywhere else. Not Grue's Cellar — they would snuff out this form as soon as they saw his eyes. Somewhere quieter. A diner, perhaps. Yes. A diner . . . where neither of them would eat, because artificial demons didn't need food. Fool ! Somewhere else, then. A library ? Yes. Surrounded by books ; would it soothe this Other, this Him, as it soothed himself ? He hoped. Sparda's Might, he hoped.

‘Him.’

For a moment V wondered if maybe, possibly, he could have meant Argon. But how could he? There was no way a demon like Argon could cause this reaction in someone like Vergil. As powerful as Argon may be to create artificial life, he wouldn’t be able to stand against the man before him.

So, who was ‘him’? 

V figured he shouldn’t vocalize that question, so instead, he answered Vergil’s.

“Followed? No, of course not.” V said easily, his arms loosely folding across his chest. “And I’m not sure who you mean by ‘him’. I was created by a demon named Argon, if that rings any bells.”

A beat, where V didn’t speak, before he decided to tack on: “I don’t intend to harm you or your brother, Vergil. Your face was simply one I recognized; I’m not sure how or why I know your face, but not our connection. I want to find out.”

There were his intentions, laid out plain and simple.

Part of him was severely anxious; if Vergil reacted negatively, violently, V didn’t think he’d be walking out of this exchange alive. That thought sent his familiars into a panicked buzz, but he clamped down on them, not allowing them out. The last thing he needed to do was lash out at the slightest hint of aggression. It served him just fine in and near Argon’s den when he’d needed to scare off lesser demons; it would likely end with him bisected in this encounter.

The most he could do was be honest.

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙵𝙾𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙴𝙳. 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 . . . 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Who else could it have been ? Who else could have ever been resourceful enough to conceal themselves just enough, yet not completely ? Of course. He had suspected it the moment the twins had been followed. But since it had posed no threat, Vergil had let it do what it did best. Escape was not just for the two—how silly of him to think otherwise. Now, here, Dante just meters inside, the steam of a hot shower concealing the window from which he would have been able to see outside, was none the wiser. Of course not. Dante was perceptive, but careless.

                          How strange it was, to be looking at himself. An automatic action, Vergil could not help but reach forward with wary fingers, gloved and dirty from hours of walking in a Demon World that was stifling as it was freezing. A perfect copy. Of course. Flashes of a memory, stitched together with television static, as if not of himself. Of course, his nightmares were no longer of himself. He could regard them with clinical accuracy, but there was no emotion. And yet . . . Touching the arm of the figure before him, of him, essentially, sent a shock wave of static through his fingertips that made him recoil. This figure was him, and yet . . . not. A perfect imitation. No detail had been left untouched, though his clinical mind did wonder of some. Natural, and yet dismissed instantly, as it did not matter. There were differences. His eyes were not the fully, gentle blue-green hazel of their mother. There was a startling difference ; a piece of himself, in the bright color right around his pupils. The color nearly matched his own eyes, a pale lavender that at a distance was indiscernible from the whites of his eyes. And the scent. The scent.                          ❛ A devil. ❜ The words came out almost unimpressed—monotone and devoid of emotion. But why ? There was only one reason, in Vergil's mind. And given this copy-cat devil's enhanced abilities, he was sure the reflection could sense it, too. Fear. There was only one 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 capable ( or so Vergil thought ) of creating perfect copies. He tried to keep his composure ; tried to keep a brave face for a mirror that seemed to know very little. But it came though, regardless, in the manic way in which he began asking questions. ❛ Were you followed ? Who were you created by ? Was it ℌ𝔦𝔪? Say it wasn't, or I'll, I'll — ❜                           How unlike himself, indeed. Wild eyes replaced a usual, disdainful gaze, and in them was a terrified teenager, barely twenty and only just then realizing what true horror was. It was . . . almost comical, if it weren't so tragic. Vergil brandished his weapon, though it was not turned on his reflection. Dante had not turned his weapon on Trish, not at first ; Vergil owed his artificial self the same, even if it, too, would end in disaster.                          ❛ A—Answer me, n-now. ❜ He demanded, though it was weak and useless.

Of all the expectations V had for when he revealed himself, Vergil looking at him as though he’d seen a ghost hadn’t been one of them.

He figured he must know him. After all, he could recall his face - though paler than death and with eyes dulled and red - but that didn’t mean V knew how they were acquainted. He had a few theories, but he wasn’t about to put any of those out there, not when Vergil looked, as Griffon was so eloquently putting it in the back of V’s mind, ‘like he was having a damn stroke’.

And how was he to answer that question? To spill his entire short life’s story? Was he meant to summarize it? Should he even answer that at all? ‘Of course I should,’ he immediately told himself. ‘He deserves that much at least.’ But again, how? Ugh. His lack of conversational skills was beginning to show, given that the only meaningful conversations he’d ever had were with the demons in his head.

‘Just talk!’ Griffon barked loudly in his skull, and V had to fight back a wince. ‘Before the poor guy passes out!’

“How am I here?” V repeated the question to himself, as though thinking about it, before pointing into the distance. The obsidian spire that housed Argon’s den was merely a spike in the distance, no bigger than a needle - a testament to how far he’d travelled following the twins. “I was made by a demon, over that way.”

It was the truth, plain and simple. And if left room for follow-up questioning, that way, if Vergil truly wanted more, he could ask. But if he didn’t, it saved V the trouble of dumping everything on him from start to finish.