IloveVergil
Demon a$$-kicker
Chapter 1: Tormented past
I lean against the bookshelves of the gloomy library room. My chests rising and falling with exertion, I give myself some time to rest before I can continue on my quest to finish that ba$tard father of mine.
My legs feel limp and fragile as they slowly start to give away, but I struggle to keep standing. No, I can’t let my weakness stop me from going on. I need to carry on, to stop that madman from succeeding in his goal. To avenge the death of my mother.
I still cannot believe sometimes how much my life has changed in the past few months. My own father…could I ever even dream that one day I’d trying to take his life? That I’d be running around some demonic tower searching for him with guns in my hands, hoping to blow out his brains for what he had done?
No. That would be too merciful, he deserves even more pain.
I want him to feel the agony he has caused me, the absolute emptiness of my heart, the undying despair that torments my soul.
But that is not possible. For I don’t believe he has a soul. Not anymore.
The face of my dead mother flashes in my mind’s eye. I remember her lying lifelessly on the cold stone floor of the basement of our house, covered in torture marks and bruises, blood dripping from a large cut across her chest. Her once beautiful and lively eyes staring unresponsively into the void, her fingers still clutching the locket father had given her on their last anniversary.
And I remember myself, collapsing beside her lifeless form and crying. Howling with grief and anguish, I sob with her head in my lap, my tears falling on her quiet face, almost… peaceful?
The innocence of my soul was lost that day when I swore to end the life of that man who killed my mother. All feelings that were good and pure…I could feel none of them any more.
All I could feel was hatred.
Cold and pure hatred.
Is that what vengeance is all about?
No, what I’m doing is not just for me. I’m doing this for my mother. For justice. For everyone who is going to suffer if he manages to gain Sparda’s power.
I lean against the bookshelves of the gloomy library room. My chests rising and falling with exertion, I give myself some time to rest before I can continue on my quest to finish that ba$tard father of mine.
My legs feel limp and fragile as they slowly start to give away, but I struggle to keep standing. No, I can’t let my weakness stop me from going on. I need to carry on, to stop that madman from succeeding in his goal. To avenge the death of my mother.
I still cannot believe sometimes how much my life has changed in the past few months. My own father…could I ever even dream that one day I’d trying to take his life? That I’d be running around some demonic tower searching for him with guns in my hands, hoping to blow out his brains for what he had done?
No. That would be too merciful, he deserves even more pain.
I want him to feel the agony he has caused me, the absolute emptiness of my heart, the undying despair that torments my soul.
But that is not possible. For I don’t believe he has a soul. Not anymore.
The face of my dead mother flashes in my mind’s eye. I remember her lying lifelessly on the cold stone floor of the basement of our house, covered in torture marks and bruises, blood dripping from a large cut across her chest. Her once beautiful and lively eyes staring unresponsively into the void, her fingers still clutching the locket father had given her on their last anniversary.
And I remember myself, collapsing beside her lifeless form and crying. Howling with grief and anguish, I sob with her head in my lap, my tears falling on her quiet face, almost… peaceful?
The innocence of my soul was lost that day when I swore to end the life of that man who killed my mother. All feelings that were good and pure…I could feel none of them any more.
All I could feel was hatred.
Cold and pure hatred.
Is that what vengeance is all about?
No, what I’m doing is not just for me. I’m doing this for my mother. For justice. For everyone who is going to suffer if he manages to gain Sparda’s power.