Spellbound Chapter 10
Vergil x Fem!Witch!Reader
Chapter Ten: A Hex in Heels Word Count: 8,471 You can also read the complete work on my AO3 here.
A/N: Finally not dead and getting back into this project just in time for the holidays. B/c there's no greater gift than the delightful gift of giving characters emotional damageTM.
Tagging: nvswift @blooddrop-palace @foxterra @veenus-ow @vixenindecay @fuckyouseratonin @harlot-of-oblivion @sirenrayne @storminwomanform If you want to be added for future chapters (or vise versa), please feel free to comment and let me know!
CW: Includes dark content including depictions and mentions of emotional and physical abuse, violence, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, and slight implied sexual assault.
With the autumn equinox gala slowly approaching, there had been little free time for neither the witch nor the Sons of Sparda. Almost unsurprisingly, since the attempted ambush in the alley, there had been a large spike in demonic activity in the city. There was rarely a day where Dante and the others weren’t swamped with jobs from Morrison and callers. Had things been less complicated with the mystery around the Red Grave Coven, Dante would almost be glad for the sudden boom in business. After all, it would be nice to finally be able to wipe out a large chunk of both his bills and his debt with Lady in one fell swoop. But of course—as with most things—it was never that simple.
It had been nearly two weeks since Vergil had the chance to drop by the witch’s shop to visit her, though a part of him could tell that this was undoubtedly intentional. With him and the others all spread out and occupied with demon hunting, it would leave an opening for them to make any last-minute moves before the gala. Knowing this, Vergil only found himself becoming more restless, his mind consistently trailing back to her all throughout the day. Even when he’d focus on wiping out demons, the image of her face would quickly flash in his mind, frustrating him even further. There was even a notable dent in his bedroom wall from one evening of restless sleep, though thankfully for once Dante did him the favor of holding his tongue about it. It would hardly be the first broken mess in the building after all. It wasn’t anything that a poster and some tape couldn’t fix after all.
It felt far from fair to see her stuck in such a predicament, left to repeatedly deal with this nonsense while he’s kept away from her. He longed to hear the soft giggle of her voice as she’d smile at him warmly, handing him a cup of one of her special tea blends. He longed to feel the warmth of her hand gently touch his much larger and colder one. All the while she’d go about her usual self, carefully psychoanalyzing and dissecting his words and philosophy with care with just a touch of classical poetry in between.
It wasn’t anything much, he would admit, but it brought a pleasant bliss that he would trade the world for. No demon towers or trees. No sibling rivalries. No old scars and wounds to deal with. And ideally, not a single demon to but in to ruin the mood—or at least not till the end if he’d be so lucky. It was hardly anything his younger self would think he’d find himself longing for, and yet here he was. Much older and perhaps finally at least a little wiser—very much strongly longing for the sense of ease and peace his human half had craved for so long.
Now that he had gotten a taste for it, was it so long to want to savor it again?
Though, while he may be reluctant to admit it, there was much more he craved than just the unexpected yet welcomed peace she brought with her. After all, how could he forget that night even for a moment, even if nothing of the sort happened in the waking world. While what he had experienced that night was surely nothing more than a dream, he longed for even the possibility to manifest such a dream—to wrap her in his embrace the same way he had sweetly danced with her. This time, however, he’d do his best to hold on as though it were a matter of life and death.
Since meeting her, there was a part of Vergil that had begun to thaw from years of being entrapped in the coldest and most distant parts of himself. Some part of him called such things foolish, nothing more than a childish obsession and pathetic human longing. And yet, another urged him to run to it every day, to cast aside his stubbornness and pride and to seize it within his grasp before it was too late. He finally had the chance to have what he had wanted for so long, and now that it was finally at his fingertips, could he truly live with himself to throw it all away now?
So when he did finally seize the moment to go see her, he did not hesitate to take it. He had hardly even spared a moment to glance at Dante and Morrison as they were in the middle of going over the current progress as Vergil had strode past them. Dante had barely even gotten out a shred of a sentence as Vergil had closed the door behind them, leaving the pair to merely gawk as they blinked at one another in surprise.
“Well, someone is sure in a hurry,” Morrison chuckled, watching the older twin vanish out of sight.
“Hah, what can I say? Verg has it bad for the doc,” Dante smirked, leaning back in his chair while resting both his feet atop his desk. “With how stir crazy he’s been, I’d hate to see how much longer he’ll last with his chronic lover boy withdrawals. He even keeps that fancy charm she gave him in his room next to his bed. Talk about cute, huh?” Dante teased, sighing as he shook his head and rested his arms behind head. “I’m glad I brought his stubborn ass to her. I don’t think I’ve seen him so relaxed about anything in years. It’s almost scary. I even caught him smiling while on the phone the other day. Can you believe that? That hard ass naturally smiling about something that isn’t a book or killing something?”
“Stranger things have happened considering the past three years,” Morrison shrugged with a warm chuckle. “It’s nice to see him get out more at least. Who knows, maybe he’ll even learn to be friendlier with people.”
“Hah, easy, Morrison. The doc is a witch, not a miracle worker,” Dante laughed with an exasperated sigh. “Still, I’m just glad he’s found someone other than the kid to connect with. If she can handle demons five times her size, I’m sure she can handle Verg just fine.”
“But can he handle her?”
“He hasn’t been turned into a newt so far, so there’s maybe some hope for him.”
It had been a slow day at the shop. Not that she minded having a slower day for a change. There had been an increased demand for protection talismans, not that she was particularly surprised given the increasing number of demon sightings across the city. The city had only really begun to heal from the old wounds of the demon tree three years ago, some more than others. Though that didn’t mean there weren’t there share of still open wounds and scars that had yet to fade yet. The demons had made sure to remind everyone of that with each incident and sudden job that would come up for hunters.
At this rate, Dante might come close to clearing his debts to Lady. Well, assuming the property damage bills didn’t beat him to that first.
Not that such profits didn’t come with their own share of headaches either. She’d have to put up a bounty for more ingredients soon with how fast the charms and wards were selling. Not that either Dante or Nero would ever pass up the chance for extra pay and work on top of the mounting number of jobs. The components were easy work, and even easier cash that Dante was more than happy to take off her hands. She would likely be fighting Nico for scraps if she went to Nero, but she also knew well enough Nico wouldn’t sincerely try to challenge her for them.
Not if she wanted to keep her friends-and-family shop discount anyway.
Not that she was particularly worried. After all, Nero knew better than to overlook her baking between Kyrie and the kids, and she always threw in their favorites as bonus.
Her gaze flickered over to the scene outside, the sun approaching mid-noon as the old grandfather clock chimed in the hallway, breathing out a tired sigh. Normally she would have been enjoying tea with the older Sparda twin, the two chatting about whatever came to mind. She considered putting something together just in case the cambion in blue arrived at her door, though she also knew better than to get her hopes up. Though, should the Fates prove kind, she wouldn’t dare be one to refuse such a chance.
Perhaps I might make that devil’s food cake yet, she mused, monotonously scratching at a grime stain on the display counter when the bell above the door rang. The witch wasted no time in looking up to the entrance, hoping to be greeted by the image of the ever-stoic Dark Slayer.
However, her smile quickly burned away into ash, brows narrowed and mood souring like spoiled milk. Jupiter hissed and growled somewhere nearby beyond her vision, the familiar undoubtedly picking up on both her mood and the sudden unpleasant shift in the air. The familiar haunting smell that followed was the biggest indicator of the hell that had just walked in, following its owner like a phantom.
To most, one might associate the smell of lime and chili powder as a pleasant thing, probably thinking more of a bar or cookout at the beach. Though, that is before later noticing the distinct trace of hemlock that rolls in and takes center stage right after.
The smell of a hex personified if she ever smelled one.
A living, breathing hex that was simply known as Calyssa.
Just when I had Zane out on errand duty, too, the witch quietly cursed, fingers curled into dangerously tight fists, nails biting into flesh to later leave behind angry crimson crescents. It wasn’t hard to predict why she was there, and why now of all times. With Vergil and the others away and scattered to the wind with work, it would only be a matter of time till an opening was made for one of her classic visits. She knew she could summon one of the other familiars at a moment’s call if need be. Though, if Calyssa was feeling bold enough to come all the way out to her turf so brazenly, even practically ignoring the coven laws, it was obvious she wasn’t here for mere idle chit chat.
She knew the long strawberry blonde hair with tips dyed a bloody sanguine and eyes as green as venom all too well. Despite her actual age, it was clear her plethora of deals—past and present—were far from failing in upkeeping her youthful appearance. Any oblivious onlookers wouldn’t think of her as just another fashionable young woman in her thirties enjoying the prime of her life. Like a venomous plant, Calyssa always had a habit of making sure her appearance made her look as desirable and tempting as she was dangerous to any fool blindly drawn to her power and charms.
The witch could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand on edge as the older woman approached, her inside twisting in knots as she held her gaze.
“My, my, ___. It’s been quite some time! You’ve certainly grown quite a bit since our last meeting, I must say. And you’ve even established such a charming little shop here too. How cute,” Calyssa smiled, her tone as fake as the gold of her earrings. If she had any concerns about her visit, Calyssa certainly didn’t show it. If anything, she walked about the place as if she had just bought the place. “It’s so lovely to see you again, darling.”
“Pity the feeling isn’t mutual,” the witch countered coldly, brows narrowed warily. Although subtle, she could hear her heartbeat becoming gradually more noticeable in her ears. A younger version of her might have attempted to cower or attempted to evade the confrontation all together. But this was her turf, and she wasn’t about to become that scared little girl again. Not after everything it took to get here.
“Oh, don’t be like that now! There’s no need for such unnecessary coldness between sisters of the craft,” Calyssa countered with one of her serpentine smiles. The witch could feel her skin crawl as her brow twitched, though remaining firm in her spot behind the counter. Even the slightest sign of weakness would be enough to draw out those loathsome fangs. And becoming this hag’s meal of the day was the last thing she needed. One wrong move, and Calyssa would gladly rip apart and devour every shred of strength she had in her.
Don’t give the bitch what she wants, ___. She’s poking you on purpose. Don’t give her the fire she’s looking for. Remember what they taught you. Pick your battles wisely. With a deep breath, she briefly closed her eyes before opening them to the mockingly waiting Calyssa.
“Unless you’re here to buy something, I’m afraid you’ll need to leave. I’m not one to permit needless loitering on private property, especially during business hours,” she warned, her mind trailing to the devil arm knife she kept tucked under the desk table. The magic venom of the fang-based weapon would do more than enough damage if need be. If nothing else, it would certainly leave the hag trailing off in a fit of agonizing pain before she’ll be able to purify and heal it. That is, assuming the poison blisters didn’t start forming and covering the actual wound first.
The blistering and oozing blisters and boils were an almost pleasant image if it meant forcing them on Calyssa for a change. She knew the potency of dealing with the demonic venom firsthand during her much younger years in the Red Grave Coven. One of the many sadistic “punishments” some of the viler elder sisters used as a way of “putting them back in line” when a witchling dared speak out and question one of the head coven sisters. It had taken her nearly three months before she had recovered from the wounds inflicted by the whip her punishers had used, the blisters still leaving scars and nerve damage even after fully healing.
Even now she could feel the old scars on her back ache the longer she recalled it.
“Now, now, there’s no need for such a tone, ___. We were coven sis—"
“That was a long time ago. Something clearly you still haven’t come to terms with. And no. I have no plans on going back. So save your breath if your so-called business has anything to do with that,” she warned, her voice frigid and piercing like claws of ice. “If this is about the gala, you hardly needed to make the trip.”
Calyssa visibly bristled at her words. Had she still been under her jurisdiction in the coven, the whip would easily be at her side by now. That is, if Frost hadn’t ripped it to shreds the same night that he saved her from the hell they hoped to damn her to.
It was almost satisfying, seeing the proud mask slip and crack for the first time in years. Had it not been for the context at hand, she might have enjoyed it more. Though, just as quickly as they had slipped through the cracks, Calyssa wasted no time in sealing them up again. “So I see. I heard about your run-in with the girls and thought I’d pass on my dearest apologies. You of all people understand how unruly the young can be when their emotions get the best of them.”
“If you meant that then your little pawns wouldn’t be hanging about in another witch’s turf so brazenly. And not trying to attack her friends and business partners any less,” she added, fingers stiffly flexing as she leaned against the cold glass of the display counter. “If respect meant anything, you’d keep them in line and stay away from my shop and me. But we both know the truth of the matter, so do be the gracious witch that you are and don’t waste my time any further.”
“Now, child. We both know things have been difficult these past years. These past three especially. We’ve lost so many of our numbers from the incident with the Qliphoth. So many of our sisters were reduced to ash and fertilizer, so can you blame them for seeking out what of our number that they can?” Calyssa’s infamous venom made something in the back of her throat gag, forcing her to swallow it back the sensation. It felt akin to trying to swallow thick and sticky sludge.
“Even Gwen?”
There was an uneasy silence that laid upon the air with the weight of boulders, slowly crushing and suffocating all beneath it. The witch felt something graze against her ankle, recognizing Jupiter’s white fur from the corner of her eye as she kept her attention locked on Calyssa. One wrong look away and who knows what trick she would try and plant at this point. She wouldn’t put it against Calyssa to try and plant a spy or two of hers to hide amidst the furniture or floorboards until Zane would invariably sniff it out later. No matter what she tried, Zane could sniff out her handiwork with ease, sneezing and cursing up a storm until he’d later find it and thoroughly grind the pest beneath his heel. It was wise of her to come while he was out. She was sure he’d have threatened to skin and even cook the hag into chili for the hellhounds the moment he could corner her on the property.
Assuming Frost didn’t wring her neck and skin her first, that is.
“Now, I know the two of you don’t have the most stable of relationships these days, but do understand, dear girl,” Calyssa sighed, hands neatly clasped in front of her as her long strawberry blonde hair swayed as she walked. “You must understand there are some things that are beyond even my control these days. I did advise Gwendoline that it may be best to allow her sisters to handle matters instead! But, alas, she was adamant to do things her own way. Not unlike someone else we both know.”
What can I say, I learned from the best, she thought, biting into the side of her cheek, arms folded tightly against her chest, standing back slightly as Calyssa sauntered closer. The scent of hemlock only grew stronger, the smell of chili powder and lime having faded into mild hints as the two witches stood nearer. Had she not been so used to the smell she might have almost found it overwhelming. “Unless you’re feeling overly keen on wasting more of my time, I suggest you take your leave. Some of us do have duties to attend to.”
“Oh, yes, yes. I’m sure you certainly do. Duties including the sons of Sparda, too, no doubt,” she hummed, a cold Cheshire grin spread across her lips. “A pity really.”
“And? What of it? They’re quite reliable business partners and certainly far better company than some I know,” she countered coldly, nails leaving angry crescents in the flesh of her forearms as she stood firm. “I don’t know what nonsense you and your dear sisters are planning, but a word of advice: leave them out of it. It won’t end well, and I promise it won’t be pretty. Certainly didn’t end well for Mundus. But I’m sure you know that well enough with how quickly you cheated him out of your deal too just before he could collect.”
“How did you—”
“You seem to forget. You’re hardly the only big player in the country--least of all for just Red Grave City. I certainly don’t need to be the one constantly watching and babysitting your ass to know that much with just how many enemies YOU have,” she scoffed, a foxlike grin tugging at the corners of her lips, cocking her head before continuing. “For what it’s worth, I’d recommend not picking a fight with the sons of Sparda more than you already have. You’re already playing a dangerous game coming to my side of town and flaunting about the place like some self-important peacock.” With another scoff, her eyes narrow on Calyssa, the cracks in her mask slowly growing as the heavy silence returned with a vengeance. “I thought you of all people knew better than to underestimate your opponents. Guess all those contracts can’t preserve everything about you, huh?”
It wasn’t hard for anyone to know about the sensitivity about her deal with Mundus. Delicate as the original contract was, it was no small feat either given his own vicious and tyrannical nature. Not many outside either the Underworld or the innermost circles of the Red Grave Coven knew about it. The deal itself was a rare piece of work in it of itself, just short of a crown jewel of a match in terms of demon patronage contracts. Mundus was not a demon who would bother working with just any witch, so whatever she had bargained with him, it must have been big.
Though, judging by the gradually fuming look in her eye, the witch could tell her old mentor had begun to put the pieces together. Too bad the source of such information wasn’t one she could remotely touch—not without at least scorning herself tenfold from being anywhere near him. And even then, that was assuming she could get past even his radar. And if he could get close enough, not even the gods could save her.
After all, the Prince of Treachery always had more than just an eye for detail.
A fact that—without a shadow of a doubt—touched more than just a nerve for the well-preserved hag. In her unbridled pride and wrath, however, she failed to notice the shift in the air, indicating the quietly approaching storm just out of view.
“If you think you’re going to ruin things for us again, then you—”
“Oh, I’M going to ruin things? It’s all magically all my fault, is it? I, a humble hybrid of a witch, who has only asked to be peacefully left alone to go about her business? Who has been forced to build her web of contacts for nothing else if not survival because there’s no such thing as good enough? I’ve given you my simple ‘demands’ countless times now. I think it’s been more than enough time for you to let go. ‘Best let the past die’ as you say. You’ve lost your precious plaything. Find a new one. It’s what you’ve always done for your other toys, isn’t it,” the witch spat, unaware of just how loud her voice had become. “I’m giving you my final warning, Calyssa. Whatever you’re scheming, give it up. What’s done is done. And if you continue, I promise, it won’t end well.”
“Says the traitor working with the man responsible for the cause behind it.”
“Any other demon or menace could have easily caused this. Mundus probably would have done far worse to our kind if it had not been for Sparda and those like him.”
“A pity his own flesh has proven otherwise,” Calyssa mocked as she stepped closer, only stopping as the pair stood mere than inches apart. “Working with that half breed bastard will only make things worse! We have strived for power for so long! For greatness! To be so much more than a pitiful coven! Do you really plan to waste your future on such a wretched, imperfect, worthless, murdering half breed of a—” Calyssa began, reaching out to grab the witch’s collar.
“Calyssa, I am warning you. Get out or else.”
“Or else wha—”
“Or else you might just lose more than just your head.”
Both women froze at the unexpected voice, both gazes snapping to the unsheathed blade of Yamato poised perfectly at Calyssa’s bare neck. Neither had noticed the familiar chime of the door’s bell, oblivious of the quietly seething form of the elder son of Sparda. He never raised his voice despite its sharp and lethal tone, having an almost eerily calm demeanor about him as his eyes only sliced into Calyssa. The longer she stared at him, the more she could sense the ominous energy around him—a subtle detail, but nothing a seasoned witch like her couldn’t notice. It was a miracle he had the self-control to not switch into his devil trigger with such an ominous aura.
“W-well, well, isn’t this a surprise…” Calyssa breathed with a shaky laugh, slowly pulling away her arm before shifting her full attention to Vergil. “I was wondering when I’d have the luxury of meeting a Son of Sparda face-to-face. Though I must admit, this certainly wasn’t what I had in mind. A pleasure, I'm—”
“Calyssa. So I've heard,” Vergil interrupted, keeping Yamato’s blade pressed against the artery of her throat. “You seem to possess a nasty habit of foolishly ignoring the warnings of others. For your own sake, I’d recommend doing something about that. It would be most unfortunate if something unpleasant came from it.”
Calyssa opened her mouth to protest, only to quickly close it as Vergil pressed the blade further against her throat. Anymore and it would easily be enough to pierce enough skin to bleed. Exchanging a glance between him and the witch, Calyssa slowly raised her hands, letting out a bitter laugh as she shook her head.
“Ah. I see how it is. How interesting. And here I thought the Prince of Treachery and his brother were surely enough for you, dear ___. I’m not sure whether I should feel disgusted or perhaps even jealous,” she hummed before turning back to Vergil. “Very well, Tree Bringer. I’ll leave. I just wanted to make sure my old friend here would be attending the gala. With the company she seems to keep, it would be a shame to have it go to waste.”
Neither spoke as Calyssa cautiously stepped away from Yamato as the blade remained poised at her throat before leaving; the door’s chime sounding hollow as she disappeared. Only then, when the sound of the birds and breeze felt content to return, did the witch finally allow herself to breathe.
“Fucking hell…Can’t believe she decided to crawl out of her hole for once. And now of all times,” she mumbled, running a hand down her face as her body finally relaxed. She could feel the exhaustion wash over in a tidal wave, back aching with the weight of stones.
“Are you alright, ___?” Vergil asked, sheathing Yamato as he walked towards her, his voice now noticeably softer as he spoke.
“I…I will be,” she eventually nodded, swallowing hard before letting out a low bitter laugh as she shook her head. “I will be. Fuck…Can’t say I was prepared for hell on heels to come knocking so soon. My idiot ex and dumbass colleagues were one thing, but I guess…” her voice trailed into silence as her gaze looked off towards nothing in particular. It was only when Vergil carefully approached her and gently touched her shoulder that she even noticed she had been shaking, feeling the goose flesh that had spread across her skin like wildfire. The exhausting pounding of her heart had finally begun to recede from her ears, bringing some sense of peace to the aftershock taking its toll. The nausea refused to fully dissipate, clinging to her like stubborn cobwebs as they continued their futile writhing twists in her gut, albeit now somewhat milder at least.
Fucking hell. I must look like a mess, she internally cursed, allowing herself to rest her hand on his. Although not a man of many words, his presence alone brought an unspoken comfort. One few managed to bring her in moments like this. A small and unexpected blessing, but a welcome one all the same. Not unlike the kind Frost and Zane always brought upon sensing it with ease.
Despite the limited time they had known each other, little by little she found him becoming more of a rock than expected. Nero and Dante had been one thing, a source of friendship and unexpected family that had become a constant in her life before she knew it.
But Vergil, for all his own faults, scars, and everything else, seemed to start to become something more. And perhaps, like ivy clinging to a tree, perhaps she could allow herself to become just a bit more attached. She wasn’t sure when this particular seed had taken root, but it was far from an unwelcome one. It would be nice to have something new grow in this scarred and chaotic garden of hers, regardless of how familiar it still was all the same.
Even if it’s just for a little while.
“Let’s head to the lounge. I’ll close up here. Doubt anymore customers are gonna be dropping in anyway,” she added with a faint cough, trying to swallow down the last of the uneasy thickness in her throat.
Stepping around him, the witch silently cursed to herself as she closed shop, drawing the blinds and turning over the sign before locking up. If any of the gang came by, they knew to use the side door. Worst case scenario, they could wrestle out the spare key from the small garden gargoyles watching over it. Certainly never stopped Dante unless he was feeling especially lazy. In that case, he’d rather help himself to the prized napping hammock or lawn chairs to catch up on sleep until she’d inevitably find him.
“I see why you left your old coven,” Vergil said as she met him in the sun lounge. Sinking into the plush leather couch with a groan with Vergil in the matching armchair beside her, the witch quietly chuckled before letting out an exasperated sigh. Of all the days that had to drop by. “I apologize for not being there sooner to assist, ___.”
“Hah, thanks. But you don’t have to apologize, handsome. Hah, the old hag likely would have shown up sooner or later anyway. I’m glad it turned out the way it did, regardless of what it brought with it,” she sighed with a low mutter, rubbing small circles into her left temple. She could only pray nothing else would rear its ugly head after that.
She’d be lying if she said a part of her didn’t want to leap with joy the moment she saw him there. Unlike her or Zane, Calyssa barely knew Vergil or Dante, knowing only loosely of them beyond their more infamous exploits and their ties to Sparda. For what it was worth, it was perhaps the best backhanded blessing the gods could give her. If only there was a way to keep either from being in the direction of Calyssa’s venom.
Vergil was far from weak, that much she knew. That much could be said for any of the Sparda lineage. But it didn’t make the growing desire to protect any weaker in that moment. He had more than his share of scars and wounds that still needed to be addressed and healed. Whether he did that himself of course, with her, or someone else’s help, was yet to be decided. Though, if there was at least one thing V had taught her in their brief time with him, she knew there was hope for him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Vergil seemed half surprised himself by his attempt to comfort her. Such things were never his specialty, though that didn’t deter him from trying. At least Dante wasn’t around to tease his attempts later should they fail.
“I…I’m not sure to be honest. I don’t even know where I’d start with this mess,” she laughed bitterly, shaking her head before leaning against the couch. “There’s a lot to unpack to be honest. I’d hate to take up too much of your time with it.”
“Then it’s fortunate I have nothing better to do,” Vergil countered, brow raised curiously as he let out a soft scoff. “I may not be the best…advisor on such things. But at the very least, I can guarantee a willing ear to listen.” Vergil's tone was patient and soft as he spoke, his gaze gentle as he patiently waited on her every word.
The witch searched his eyes before willing herself to return his gaze, looking for even the tiniest sliver of doubt. When she found none, she let out a low and shaky laugh before shaking her head with a bittersweet smile. “It’s not much I haven’t dealt with before. Just old memories—some more scarring than others. Both literal and figurative, I guess.” Looking down to her gloved arms, she ran her middle and index fingers against the bend of her elbow, feeling the rivers of scars hidden beneath the fabric. “Most have healed with time and care—both on my own and plenty of help from others. Zane has been a good help with that, strange as it may seem to hear. As chaotic and insufferable as he can be, he’s a better mentor and friend than not. Well, when he wants to be anyway,” she added with a low snort.
“Doesn’t mean it could have been easy.”
“Oh no. Fuck no. Far from it,” she laughed as her eyes moved to the ceiling above, running her fingers through her hair. “It’s funny. People always have this clean and romanticized idea of what healing looks like. Like it’s this pristine and magical thing that happens with enough therapy, yoga, and health drinks or some shit. Too few people ever realize that it’s not like that at all. Sure, it can be a small part of it for some—assuming if it works for them. But it’s just a tiny glimpse of a bigger picture.”
The witch paused as she softly closed her eyes, allowing for a more comfortable silence to fill the space between them. The faint song of wind chimes dwindled in the distance beyond the open windows leading to the small garden in the back. The cool late autumn air brought a sense of ease compared to the overwhelming heat of the blood rushing rage and anxiety from before. The smell of hemlock had almost entirely faded from the space. Instead replaced with the pleasant smell of herbal tea and the half-devil’s own distinct cologne. A small smile curled across her lips as she allowed the pleasant mix to wash over her, cleansing away the overwhelming and nauseating miasma that always followed Calyssa.
“Do you know the story of Sisyphus?”
“The Greek king who angered the gods by trying to cheat death? Yes, I know the one,” Vergil nodded, tilting his head curiously at the change in topic.
“Well, as you may know, the theme of the story is that nothing good comes from trying to cheat the inevitable. Death especially. It is foolish and futile at the end of it all, merely delaying it till it will reap what you sow in the end. That much is a given,” she added with half lidded eyes, fingers mindlessly fiddling with some loose strings on the sofa’s arm. “In the afterlife, he was punished by having to push a boulder up a hill for the rest of eternity. And the end result is always the same. The boulder rolling all the way down again—all of it as inevitable as death itself. A cruel but fitting irony I’d say.”
Her brows narrowed as she quietly chuckled, arms folded across her chest. “In a way, healing can feel a lot like being that. Doing the same things over and over until we can learn from it hopefully. Of course, there’s always some who never do in the end, but such is the definition of insanity, isn’t it? Though, unlike Sisyphus, most of us at least have the chance to learn and grow from it. To change the outcome of the hand that life has dealt us in at least some aspect. We have not inherently reached the point where all else is inevitable. It is often messy and frustrating—maddening even—but despite it all—”
“There is still hope.”
“Exactly. It’s no pandora’s box, sure, but it holds true in its own way, too.”
A long, pregnant pause filled the air around them, an almost peaceful silence had it not for the topic at hand. “I’ve been pushing that boulder for a long time. Some hills are smaller than others. Depending on the day, that is. Sometimes I’m lucky enough to have no hills at all, rare as they are. Unfortunately though, try as I may…” she began, her voice fading as she swallowed hard, fingers curling into a tight fist as they shook at the memory. The familiar bit nip of pins and needles slowly crept through them the longer she thought, only causing her to tighten her fist further. “Some boulders seem determined to come back down all the same, no matter how many times I try to learn otherwise.”
“Ones like Calyssa,” Vergil quietly nodded with a knowing look. The expression on his face, although calm, was otherwise unreadable. She didn’t detect any form of judgement against her per say, though there was something else in his gaze that piqued her curiosity. She had half expected some sort of retort, some precise counter to the analogy presented before him. Instead, however, stood a steady and contemplative silence. Had it not been for the soothing twinkle of the windchimes and birdsong outside, she might have almost found it concerning. “You’ve more than proved capable of handling that boulder even so. Tiring and undoubtedly painful, you’ve still endured.”
The witch gaped slightly as she blinked at his words, carefully processing them before nodding. “What else am I to do? Giving in and succumbing to the pain won’t do me any good, even if it seems like it might. It won’t solve the hell I’m stuck in. It certainly won’t bring me out of it. There is no peace in sinking deeper inside a vicious whirlpool,” she scoffed, running a hand through her now disheveled hair. “If you’re lucky it’ll be merciful in how quick it chews you up and spits you out. Though, if it’s not—”
It'll be a different and much crueler kind of hell. A hellish kind of helplessness where you’re too busy thrashing and fighting from the pain of the current to even try and fight it to surface. A frigid and unforgiving hell that takes and takes and is all too glad to make sure nothing is left. It’ll be a blessing if a single scrap is left behind.
A sharp pang knocked from within the back of her skull, causing the witch to lurch forward with a hiss, pressing her still tingling hand against her temple. “Dammit…Not this again…fuck,” she hissed, trying to rub more circles against the area. Attacks like these didn’t come as often as they did years ago, though when they did, they were rarely merciful. At this rate, it would only be a matter of time before the pain spreads to her back and legs like lightning. Even now, the feeling bit and snapped at her nerves like angry rattlesnakes.
Of all the times for a flare up, why now?! She could barely think straight, the world around her fading into a numb and blurred silence as she tried to push it away. Her heart viciously pounded in her ears now, striking her with the ferocity of thunder. It took almost everything just to stay focused on trying to steady her breathing.
The sensation reminded her of long and gnarled claws scraping against steel; flashes of searing and electrifying pain sparking through her skull and down her neck with every spark that came from it. Although duller than the pain scraping and pounding incessantly against the walls of her skull, the familiar haunting pain along both her forearms began to prick and flare. If it weren’t for the suffocating agony of it all, she’d curse every god, angel, demon, and inhuman being she could think of.
Not just for the sudden brutal episode, but for the cruel and unusual timing of it all.
That it just had to be when he was there to see.
She tried digging her nails into her skin in hopes of countering the pain, to have something to ground her, but to no avail; both hands holding her head as her body curled in while leaning forward. The world around her was a drowning blur, leaving her deaf to the increasingly worried voice calling her name. Even now, she could swear she was being dragged into the gnawing darkness with each wave and pulse.
Only at the sudden feeling of the steady hand landing on her knee did she remember the world around her. The pain was still there, but it was provided enough of an anchor to finally hear him more clearly. “____, what’s wrong?”
“Hng…S-scars…C-chronic pain…flare up,” she hissed between breaths, a sharp hiss cutting through her as a fresh surge of pain shot and down her spine like lightning. “S-side effect from…them.” It took everything in her to bite back the urge to cry from the pain. It had been years since anything this ruthless had torn through her. So much so that she had once been certain she was finally free of them. Back in the days when she would be stuck in bed for days until the pain became tolerable enough to function. Though, at least then Zane or Frost would be around to tend to her, neither leaving until she had fully recovered.
Not without tempting the viper to strike again to finish the job.
Not that she would need to try hard. The years of repeated exposure to the demonic venom made sure to leave its cursed mark in the cruelest way it knew how. One that not even a powerful prince of hell could easily remove it.
Vergil quickly glanced about the room, grabbing the half empty cup of water sitting on the coffee table before giving it to her. With brows tightly knit and teeth gritted, he let out a frustrated growl before quickly picking her up, not wanting to risk waiting any further to bring her upstairs. His arms kept her close in a protective and steady grip, determined to keep her safe before placing her on the canopy bed as gentle as he could.
Even through the borderline delirium of the pain, she could tell he was growing frustrated at his own helplessness. Though the water couldn’t wash out most of the pain, its refreshing coldness at least gave her something to work with. If not just enough to guide the Dark Slayer to help however he could.
“Dresser. Top drawer. Green bottle with the blue pills…can’t miss it,” the witch instructed through labored breaths, concentrating hard to speak clearly; quietly cursing the mocking tremor that rippled through her arms as she did. It took nearly all her will and focus to not spill the remaining water in the glass as Vergil fetched the bottle. “G-good. Two pills. Then close the blinds. Less light the better,” she breathed, quietly thanking him as he pressed the two small blue pills into her palm.
The witch didn’t bother to look as she quickly forced them down, not even processing the usual bitter aftertaste as they touched her tongue on the way down. Cold water couldn’t feel more refreshing at that moment. It almost felt like heaven compared to the hot and sticky sweat which caked her forehead, hair, and clothes.
Vergil didn’t say anything as he stood close, watching and listening tentatively as he waited for any further instructions; oblivious to the shallow scratch marks he’ll leave in the wooden bed posts as his fingers remained wrapped around it in a death grip. Not that she would hold it against him. The wood could be easily mended either way, though as the pain began to fade, a different kind slowly slipped into her mind instead.
“Thank you…I should be okay now,” she breathed, letting out a deep sigh of relief, the extent of the attack having taken its toll even before its fully left.
“Are you certain?”
“This isn’t the first time. Though, I’m sure you’ve gathered that by now,” she said, gesturing to the medicine bottle. “Of all the times it had to happen, though…”
“If it’s my sake you’re worried about, don’t bother,” Vergil countered, kneeling in front of her. “Don’t waste your energy worrying about me—not after all of that, ___.”
“How could I not? Especially after you might have thought I was dying or—”
“____,” Vergil interrupted, voice firmer than she had expected, his hand resting atop hers before giving it a tight squeeze. The silence that followed would have been unsettling for some, though the longer the witch searched his pale blue gaze, the more she slowly began to understand. This wasn’t about him. None of this was, and he would be sure to remind her of that. “Would you rather I leave?”
“…Only if you want to,” she muttered after a long and heavy pause, swallowing hard as she forced herself to look elsewhere, a small bloom of warm shame growing in the corners of her ears. Between the exhaustion and everything else, she suddenly couldn’t help but feel so small under his pale blue gaze. Her fingers mindlessly picked at a few of the loose strings at the end of the quilt Vergil had draped around her, hoping the feeling would fly off like a disinterested fly. “Zane will probably be back in an hour, so you don’t—”
“For someone who’s quite talented at providing care to others, you seem quite fickle about receiving said care from others,” Vergil countered with a firm and knowing look, silencing her as he continued with a low scoff. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me directly otherwise. Now, I will ask again, ____. Do you want me to leave?”
Something in his words made her heart flutter as she stared at him, any thought she had beforehand quickly crumbling away like sand as she stared; mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find the words. The shame and guilt hissed for her to send him away, to force herself to deal with the remnants of pain alone and sulk in her helplessness. However, just as harsh as the voices were, another pierced through them with ease. One that was patient and gentle yet firm in its message. If there was ever a time to ask for help—shame and embarrassment aside—now was the time.
He wasn’t judging, far from it. He was offering his help—a precious thing that the Dark Slayer so rarely gave out freely.
The wound of one’s ego was trivial compared to the fear and agony of being left alone—unfathomably vulnerable after hell on heels herself had been there not even hours ago. For all she knew, this could have been Calyssa’s real move, knowing all too well of the hidden scars and unseen wounds that still marred her after all these years. A sadistic reminder of the hell the old hag would make her relive and worse should she continue.
Perhaps only the second cruelest thing compared to what Calyssa hoped to have happened that horrid night, had it not been for Frost. Thoroughly chained, beaten, and half starved in the deepest basement beneath the coven manor, all the while trapped with a hellish nightmare that hoped to break her in ways no one should ever be forced to endure. Least of all for what Calyssa planned to later be born in the many months after it.
“…No, I don’t,” she admitted, swallowing hard before wincing at the heavy tremor that ripped through her, causing her body to shudder in response, tugging the warm quilt closer to her. “S-so long as you’re willing, the company would be nice. A-at least until Zane comes back. You don’t have to stay after that,” she quickly added, hugging her knees close in hopes of trying to cease the shaking. “Gods…hah…I must look pathetic…”
“Hush,” Vergil whispered, taking away the now empty glass before placing it on the nightstand. “You’re far from weak with what you endure. I may not know the full details, and I’m sure you’ll tell me at least part of it in time. Though, if I may happenstance a guess, I think I can gather what—or more precisely—who did this to you.”
The witch only nodded, swallowing hard again as Vergil sighed, cursing under his breath as he ran his fingers through his hair, lightly tugging at the ends as he thought. “Is there anything else I can do for you at least? Water? Blankets? A heating pad, perhaps?”
“…Some water and the heating pad would be nice,” she muttered after finally relenting after a long pause, feeling Vergil’s patiently stubborn gaze dig into her. There was no denying the meaning of that look, said stubbornness even more reinforced by the motivation behind it. Even if she did try to send him away, something in it told her it wouldn’t be an easily followed request all the same.
What is it with the Sparda bloodline and thick-headed stubbornness, she thought with a faint scoff as she shook her head, silently watching as Vergil quickly retrieved both items as requested. She was almost taken aback at the gentleness in which he handled her as he carefully guided her to lie down, settling on her side atop the warmed heating pad. One would almost think he was afraid that one wrong move and she’d shatter like glass.
“Get some rest, ___. I’ll be right here. I promise,” Vergil instructed, situating himself on the nearby cushioned chair beside the bed. “I’ll protect you while you rest.”
“Mhm…It’s rotten work,” she muttered, unable to resist the yawn that tore through her, eyelids growing heavier with every blink.
“Not when it’s you,” she barely heard him murmur, arms folded firmly across his chest, pale blue eyes locked firmly on hers. Such a look might have been terrifying had it not been for the subtle yet gentle smile he wore all the same. “Now, get some sleep. There’ll be hell to pay in the morning. That much, I can promise.”