While I’ll make a legitimate pinned post eventually, this is an independent, private, and selective dash-only portrayal of Sparda from the Devil May Cry series, based heavily on my own interpretations of the game and personal lore. All of his pages can be found here!
I’ll probably explain this more thoroughly in a later meta post, but demons did not have their own widespread concepts of gender until they began interacting extensively with the human world.
While it’s true that some demons still exhibit forms of sexual dimorphism, this is largely perceived by demonkind as the remnant of 'archaic’ sexual reproduction methods that demon society at large no longer participates in—a practice that was fading into irrelevancy for a long time, but finally ‘ended’ with Mundus’s reign, as most demons now are created and evolve by preying on other creatures in a process that allows demonic power to manifest in more varied and violent forms.
To put it simply, demons in the ‘now’, and for the last roughly twenty thousand years, have embraced the notion of reflecting their power and station within demon society with their appearance, which is one of the main reasons that weak lesser demons are most often small and relatively unimpressive, but powerful demons present larger and more varied forms. While this is also tangentially related to a demon needing to possess the skill and amount of demonic energy required to maintain an appearance that varies from what would be considered their true form, it went from being a particularly pervasive social stigma against appearing more threatening or powerful than you really were, to being disallowed almost entirely under Mundus’s reign, as it would quell independence and the threat of division in his many massive armies. There were exceptions made for this of course (Sparda being a notable example, as one of Mundus’s most prominent generals) but for most, even for the small number of demons who weren’t conscripted into actual fighting forces, such individualism was forbidden.
All of this to say, a great deal of attention is put on aesthetics and physical appearance by demons, and in the present day a lot of demons do choose something akin to a gender identity that they believe best reflects their chosen aesthetics (especially those that live in the human world or otherwise interact a lot with humans) but given the history of demons as a whole, the idea of demons possessing any labels beyond a basic biological “sex” that didn’t mean much to begin with is a very new concept, so much so that many demonic languages still don’t possess many, if any, gendered words.
“ 𝗜 𝗗𝗢𝗡'𝗧 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪. 𝗠𝗔𝗬𝗕𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗖𝗛 𝗠𝗘 𝗢𝗡 𝗔 good day. ” to be honest, he himself was just as surprised at the overall lack of an emotional outburst. maybe it’s because he’s so surged up with demon essence and doesn’t want to explode. maybe he’s so lagged behind on feeling the motions that nothing, if anything, slips out from the cracks of his mental state. all that’s left is loathing for a past unrectified. raiden looks at his now-empty hands, palms facing upwards, and flexes the digits a bit slower ( he wasn’t overall angry at sparda’s disappearance, but moreso at the people who made him this way in the first place ). sparda said he would have cut them down himself had he been there, and raiden has no other reason but to agree. with the patriots gone, there was no way to enact the revenge he so desired.
… perhaps when he’s alone, that might change. maybe he’s simply too afraid to let sparda see the remains of that broken child resurface.
“ yeah, i get that a lot. the whole ‘ mistaking me for some big scary demon lord ’ when that’s not even the half of it. ” a small, self-deprecating laugh escapes then. at this point he was hardly any different from one when he was designed to be the ‘ perfect hybrid ’, whatever that may be. he’s no cambion like dante or vergil, yet he may be the closest thing to an artificial one mankind could ever hope to achieve. the cyborg glances back to sparda as well, and he takes in the smile. it feels welcoming. almost.
“ no, you're… you’re good. i think you crippled the rest of the horde, but one can never be so sure. when we’re done here, i need to go back for a second sweep and make sure no stragglers survive. preferably soon. ” which was code for now ( though he was being rather polite about it ). “ if i don’t expend this surplus of demonic energy soon, it might consume me. who knows. they never quite fleshed out the conservation and conversion bits, and i’m not about to find out if hoarding it comes with any consequences. ”
“NO, PLEASE. Do not let me keep you further. I’ve interrupted your schedule enough as it is.” Hands clasped in front of him, Sparda gave the slightest incline of his head, “There will be enough time later—and though I understand I’ve spoken a similar sentiment in the past... I will do all in my power to guarantee it, if that’s what you wish.” A note of sorrow morphed Sparda’s expression then, perhaps a bittersweet farewell after having only just reunited... but of course, he couldn’t simply keep the boy there forever. He had little doubt there would always be that part of himself that sought to compensate for his mistakes, and not merely those committed against Raiden, but it was not Sparda’s choice to make.
“HM. I wonder...” Turning away again, Sparda took a moment to consider, eyes wandering across the wall as he lost himself in thought before the memory seemed to finally come to him.
“IN OLD TIMES, when my influence spanned the globe, my human allies were often in need of a manner by which they could communicate with me, or at the very least summon me when I was needed.” Once the dark knight turned again to show his face to Raiden, his eyes were drawn to his palm, cradling within it a small but building assemblage of demonic energy. “It is entirely possible to call upon demons without the need of a material sacrifice or even a pact, though such methods do still require a medium capable of directing the call to its intended recipient—which, is to say...”
Sparda extended a hand to Raiden, holding in its center a small, shining stud: a mass of crystallized demonic energy, a void of complete blackness rimmed with a deep, glowing purple. “If you would like... you may use it to call upon me, when or where ever I may be of use.”
Never let it be said that Sparda didn’t have friends. There are hundreds of devil arms in his archives whispering their nonsense to him day in and day out, after all.
I’m debating on whether it would apply as much anymore, after spending so long around humans, but when Sparda first began living among humans disguised as one, you couldn’t be blamed for mistaking him for an actual, honest-to-god marble statue. His appearance was rushed given everything going on in the human world at the time, and so he hadn’t yet come to terms with the idea of the ‘imperfect’ appearances of humans, even if those imperfections were subtle—and it didn’t help that so much of him was the “same” color, white hair, white eyes, incredibly pale skin, not even bothering to imitate blushing or skin flushing.
To add on to this (because of course I forgot to elaborate on it) the twins actually did help Sparda form a more natural appearance, since he was able to see how his genetics would actually interact with normal human forms. Most notably... no longer being as pale as a sheet.
I’m debating on whether it would apply as much anymore, after spending so long around humans, but when Sparda first began living among humans disguised as one, you couldn’t be blamed for mistaking him for an actual, honest-to-god marble statue. His appearance was rushed given everything going on in the human world at the time, and so he hadn’t yet come to terms with the idea of the ‘imperfect’ appearances of humans, even if those imperfections were subtle—and it didn’t help that so much of him was the “same” color, white hair, white eyes, incredibly pale skin, not even bothering to imitate blushing or skin flushing.
the batman :: @synthons : " you’re not my father. " haha oh nooooo
“I AM VERY aware of what I am and am not to you, Raiden.” He hadn’t anticipated their reunion to be devoid of issues or strife; Sparda’s tone, though weary, was not surprised. “I haven’t been a father to my own children, much less to anyone else.”
“BUT THERE IS much and more about demons, about our world, that you’ve yet to experience for yourself, much less to truly understand. I would prefer to annoy you into staying alive rather than holding my tongue, and risk leaving something important unsaid.” The burnt-out remains of the home still largely stood, though the dark knight had cleared much of the ruined furniture and miscellaneous debris from the living room, even appeared to have discarded some of it; the wind stirred up ash and dust as it traipsed through the gaps in the walls and roof, though Sparda paid this little mind as he worked.
“DEMONS ARE NOT merely the mindless monsters you have faced thus far—no doubt many have all but lost their minds in the wake of the... incident. But I have little doubt that the usual order of things will soon return, that higher demons will return to their nests and hunting grounds. You must be prepared for beings whose lives are shaped by deception, instinct, true intelligence.”
random dialogue :: @bloodawakening : "don't treat me like a child."
“I APOLOGIZE,” Sparda answered without delay, punctuating his statement with a wide swing of a spectral scythe, earnest yet still amused. “It was not my intent.”
It wasn’t an excuse he could rely on for much longer, but could it helped that a father might dote upon his own spawn? Especially after such a long absence... still, in spite of his young age, Dante was more than holding his own against this veritable little horde of assailants. The Rebellion sang in his grasp, two entirely different frequencies of power that yet hummed in warm harmony with one another...
SPARDA TOOK THE admiration welling within his chest, and channeled it instead into a precision thrust of the self-named blade.
“THOUGH THIS IS the first that I’ve been fortunate enough to fight alongside you, I understand you have much and more in the way of experience beyond my knowing, Dante. I will let your skill speak for itself, without my interjections.”
at the turn of a heel, as the other came more into view, eyes widened. and for a split moment eyes glaze over with a memory long buried ; a boy who choked back tears, as his brother cried out asking when their father would return but their mother could not say anything as she cooed gently and stroked the boy’s head to reassure him, the other blinking back tears before excusing himself. retreating to his own space, sobbing quitely under the blankets he had hidden underneath for his seemingly long-gone father. all their mother’s attention on his younger brother and one herself who was hurting ; he had to be strong as the eldest now that they had lost their father.
I have to stay strong —
thoughts snap him from that momentary distraction, scrunching his eyes up in a twisted flurry of anger. a child that would have happily welcomed his father’s return long gone. ( but ached beneath an icy barrier )
this has to be a trick, his mind spoke, but the other’s voice and demeanour ( although stiff ), spoke otherwise, befitting of the last image he had seen of his father. knuckles pinched white with a tightened grip around yamato. a blue flame bursting and blaring from his eyes. the weakness of emotions betraying him, though the devil would persuade himself otherwise.
❛ it matters nought. perhaps, it would have been wise to stay as the legend you’re, father. — ❜ clenching his jaw his words are shallow. he was nothing but a legend now, a legend that his sons ( he, himself ) would lift the mantel too, by surpassing him. for a man to return to a world that seemingly had no more use to him, how foolish he believes. but hearing his father call his name, a part of him can’t deny he didn’t wish to hear that acknowledgement again ; but maybe in different circumstances. ❛ indeed. it having been the only thing that proved of use to me, accepting me on that faithful day. ❜ pride reflects off his words that hit deep ; a reminder of where his father had failed. as eyes trail down to the blade, holding it up as it glowed ; an unfamiliarity that he knew his father would notice. but taking note of it, vergil eased the wave of anger that washed over him ; he would not allow a chance for the current-infused power to overturn yamato and teleport him away from this meeting.
❛ even at the cost of you defiling our blood, i have proven myself in many merits — i have risen so that i can reclaim what was halved. ❜ his free hand snaked up over his own chest, where his amulet currently laid hidden ; along with his brothers too. ❛ I am worthy of that, too. ❜ for a trained ear it would become evident what he sought out for ; force edge, the very item sealed in hell. ❛ daddy’s blessing would just be an extra. ❜ his lips curl ; despite all his anger, and not initially seeking it, he can’t help but humour the thought that between him and dante, he would be the one receiving the honour of hearing such things from their father. that as the eldest, he was proving himself.
SPARDA’S SILENCE GREW long and unhurried, though his gaze was no less scrutinizing, colorless eyes flickering, the subtle curl of his lips growing stiff, almost forced. Vergil... was ever severe beyond his years, but the dark knight would never have called his son cold in his childhood, quite the opposite. Eva oft remarked that both he and his eldest son were as the surface of water, unchanging above despite activity and change hidden beneath, yet prone to... overreaction, when disturbed.
IT HAD BEEN a horrifically idealistic belief—perhaps a horribly erroneous assumption, on Sparda’s part.
“WHAT DO YOU intend to do with it?” he asked quietly. He spoke nothing of Vergil’s claims of contamination: his own history was proof enough as to what Sparda believed of his children’s human heritage, though he bristled only slightly at such an insult. Vergil was, in spite of it all, clearly still a child, and at the mercy of his own emotions, besides. Sparda could not blame him, nor judge him, but he committed it to memory, every undertone, every ounce of anger and hatred.
“IS THE TEMEN-NI-GRU what you consider to be ‘proving yourself’?” A child, yes, but one who had committed wrongs—of course Sparda would know. Anger had flared within him the moment he felt the seals begin to collapse, replaced only with chagrin once the cause had come to light; even if reconstructing the occlusions would likely prove little more than a mild expenditure of effort, the mere notion that one of his own children... but, still. No matter what he felt, Vergil was his son; heavy words were all he could yet muster against him, in spite of the myriad feelings battling within his heart. “My power remains yet undisturbed, and here you stand... to what end?”
IT WAS NOT entirely true, not of this time. But neither the Force Edge nor the Sparda hidden within it were there, not with Vergil... not with this Vergil. The demon had heard of the rumors from his human companions, mutterings of a bountiful power his youngest son had claimed in Redgrave City... for all of Vergil’s talk of power and worth, paired with what little of his future he’d gleaned from his human informants, Sparda was left to wonder. “It is true that the Yamato was crafted for your explicit taking, yes. The Force Edge... not so. Do not presume the tomes of strangers and ancient twisted rumors to know me, son—mine is not a power that merely yields to the strongest, nor to just any one person who makes to claim it. Yet you seem thoroughly convinced it will bend to your whim. For what reason?”
I can see - In the dark. On through the shadows and somber veils. Past the masks - The grays and blacks. I see into souls…
The yawning pith of your starless whole. Aspirations of your being. Things you carefully keep hidden - Are never hidden from me long…
tumblr - Helaena C Moon / instagram - helaena.c.moon
𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗔 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗗 𝗗𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗞, 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘'𝗦 𝗔 𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝘾𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙆 as raiden’s index claw taps against the surface. it’s anxious in manner: he can’t help but feel restless. those halcyon days of being experimented on, tortured, used… all for the selfish progression of mankind. it’s all blurred together in his mind. “ i know. i wouldn’t really know where to start myself. ” his voice grits, as does his jaw. the lower half practically grinds over his teeth. before the cyborg even has a chance to THINK it over he downs the entire drink in one go, the aftertaste burning the back of his throat just barely, suppressed by the inhibitors.
the sorrow circles back to a familiar rage the more he silently dwells on it, and without even noticing there’s a ‘ crack ’ that sounds as the glass begins to shatter. he wasn’t even trying — yet given his ridiculous output of strength, breaking glass was about as easy as breathing. raiden looks down and lets out a sigh, reopening his palm to look at the crushed fragments. realizing his emotions were a touch out of hand, the shoulders slump in some form of defeat.
“ … for now your company’s enough, i think. it’s nice to see a familiar face in all of this. ” certainly a hair more relaxing than having to deal with a horde of demons, except raiden can’t deny the baseless violence is more of a comfort than not. he turns to face sparda completely this time, holding his hand out a bit sheepishly ( it seems like all he’s good for is breaking things nowadays ). “ i'm… glad the feeling is mutual, at least – though i don’t know if i can forgive you yet. i mean, this is still a lot to take in for me. how’d you even find me anyway? ”
NO COMMENT COMES from Sparda regarding the broken glass, though the small smile that curls his lips is plainly nostalgic, almost... he stands and retrieves the glass in his palm, throwing it away with all the casualness of a father who’s dealt with his fair share of broken China and damaged antiques. “I know better than to ask for forgiveness now—your understanding is more than enough, and you’ve been quite gracious, listening to me thus far as you have. If I can be completely honest, even that was more than I could have anticipated.”
A THOUGHT APPEARED to occur to Sparda then, and instead of returning to his seat, he moved around it, approaching a console table against the wall; a candle resting upon it flickered to life, revealing a wall covered floor to ceiling with arms of various types and origins, demonic and human... he moved to the holsters above his sides and slipped his pistols free, gently setting Luce and Ombra aside. “Truthfully? Entirely by accident.” The demon slipped the monocle from his eye, fetching a cloth from his back pocket and wiping it clean. “While it is true my main objective has been locating my sons, I’ve still done what I can to help tide demonic disturbances I come across... now, in hindsight, the sheer amount of demonic energy there was likely in part your doing, though at the time, I assumed it was the work of an elder demon. One who’d managed to hide its nest from hunters until then, I suppose I thought.”
SPARDA RESEATED THE glass over his eye and glanced at Raiden, offering a sheepish smile. He’d always been one for meticulous planning—it seemed that his unexpected detour to the nest earlier had been the first along a line of happenings that knocked the progenitor off-kilter. “I apologize if I was intruding upon a job of yours. I’ve no doubt the nest itself was taken care of, but all the same...”