Celestial Touch

Free at last, finally tasting happiness,

Five years of hell for nothing,

Trapped inside the minds of failures.

A wise man once said,

"That which does not kill us makes us stronger."

But we were dead,

So are we now invincible?~~

PROLOGUE

In a manner of statistics, it had been nine days, twelve hours, and eighteen minutes since he had managed to pry himself away from, quite blatantly, fate.

Vergil had never been one for surprises. They did not really touch him, nor churn up any kind of emotion within him. But he had to admit, being back on the higher surface of earth was indeed, dare he say, unforeseen. He could never have even imagined that the realm of the living could be so full of consternation, so unexpected. He remembered hating this place, in a manner. But now it felt so unique, so different. The air that swam in his lungs as he walked, it was like fine wine. Fresh and light, he enjoyed it so much that he was almost certain that he could indulge in it until he was drunk with ecstasy.

It fed his weakened body, gave nourishment and life to him. He strode slowly, but as he regained his coveted power and strength, he continued with more constancy. His shoulders braced the discomfort, rising up. His aching legs, despite all their bruises and deep gnashes, swung back and forth relentlessly. And as time shed by him, his calm exterior returned, far stronger than before, his face forged into that all-too-familiar porcelain mask.

It was so unlike the abyss. That horrid realm of the damned he now despised so much. No longer would he act as a slave. No longer would he flap and struggle desperately, trying to touch freedom, only to have it shy away from his fingertips, vanishing before his despairing eyes.

No…now was his time. And he would embrace it hard, squeezing all of his advantages to his breast, and he could honestly swear upon high heaven and Lucifer's lair that he would not fail.

No one would stop him. No one could stop him. And if they had the audacity to dare then he would put them in their places, which was far lower and deeper than they could ever have even conjured up in their darkest nightmares.

He was not far now. His frayed heart guided him as he went, the surroundings slowly falling into place in his mind as he drove onwards. He touched his side now and again, only to twist his face in disappointment. He had forgotten that his treasured weapon had left his side during his battles in the underworld, but the feel of its power and majestic wonders were still engraved into his extremely intellectual brain.

He needed his blade back, his silent companion. His only companion. That was the first step.

And after that, he would be well underway…

He breathed in, clearing his throat in a way that would be taken as a passing by others, but for Vergil, his bare gasp meant something else. He was actually quite…excited, if that was the word. He was unclear on the symptoms of that emotion, so he was unsure. But yes. He was rather pleased with the outcome so far concerning this situation.

The best virtue being that he was finally, finally free. Being able to spread his wings was like a fragile flower to him, something that had not even been touchable since…how droll. He could not even remember anymore. All he knew was that he would not let opportunity slip this time. No one could steal his will of him again, no, never. His freedom would remain tangible, and no kind of being would stand in his way.

He could do what he wanted, as he intended. How refreshing. How utterly beautiful.

And oh, he had some things planned…

After hours of painful walking, he finally came to a halt. He had hardly noticed his surroundings as he had entered the city; the bright, artificial lights challenging the moon's radiance and all its natural effects. This strange mix of the modern world and twilight's elements confused him slightly, but he soon grew accustomed as he absorbed information. It wasn't like he had never seen a city before…not at all. But after so many years of enslavement, it was all very hard to accept. It was just that things seemed to have changed so much, moulded to differ. Thankfully though, he found himself standing outside his destination.

A pair of double doors guarded by a large bouncer fully suited in black confronted him. The guard's huge head turned in his direction, the sunglasses that hid away the bouncers eyes giving him no kind of incline of emotion. Yet he knew, if those shades were to be ripped off, his own pupils would stab at the bouncer's mercilessly, his eyes far more challenging than those of a pitiful human.

"Your name on the list, silver?"

That was indeed a new one. Silver. Of course, the guard was referring to his platinum hair. Hm.

He could hear the loud, repulsive club music coming from behind the door's that the bouncer guarded, and he looked above to see the sign "The Harlequin" glowing in neon blue, knowing then that this was indeed the correct place.

"I am here to see the Harlequin."

He sensed a brow cock from behind the guard's shades.

"Name?"

A pause.

"Vergil Sparda."

Immediately, the guard moved his humungous body aside.

"She's been waiting for you a while, sir."

Vergil's face refused to extend in measurement. He kept his emotion caged, as though cast in stone, and merely looked upon the guard with sulphuric eyes that screamed impudence.

"I am sure she has." with no more words needed to be exchanged, he entered the club.

He almost, almost sighed. But he swallowed down the horrid distaste in his mouth as his eyes slowly swept about the scene before him.

Humane. How utterly, typically, completely humane.

The club was choc full, sweating, flailing bodies of humans dancing underneath the multicoloured disco lights, the different sexes mingling and winding as one. He watched with expressionless dislike as males and females openly grinded their bodies against one another in a fast rhythm to the pounding music, some even kissing and groping in dark corners of the club without abashment.

Deciding to hasten no more, he passed by as quickly as he could, brushing aside the odd stumbler and drunk. The back wall had only one glass door crafted into it, and with not one look back, he took hold of the cold handle and clicked open the lock, closing the glacial portal carelessly behind him after he entered.

It was almost as though silence was a person, for it suddenly crushed him in a fast embrace. After the colourful life that the club had boasted, the back room seemed to be very demeaning. It was like the beating of one's heart had ceased in a millisecond, and Vergil could not help but frown at his new surroundings. Mirrors encased his vision, a hundred Vergil Sparda's glaring back at him. All along the walls they were, lined up like a crystalline army throughout the long, modernised corridor before him.

He slowly turned to face himself in the nearest mirror. He looked himself up and down, from head to toe. He noticed how torn his sapphire coat was, how blemished and bruised his skin looked through the windows that the rips in his trousers left, how beaten and broken his torso was, poise sagging due to the never-ending pain that drenched his body.

And his hair…oh no.

Damn it to hell, he looked like his brother. Like the very embodiment of his other half. His snowy hair hung down over his face, shielding his eyes like wintry curtains. His bangs caressed his skin lightly, but all the same, he hated it.

He was not his sibling, he would never be his brother. Though one could interpret the difference through their expressions, his brother's visage always full of such overbearing confidence, cocky as a peacock. So vulgar. And then he, so calm, so composed. But that exterior was never one to be taken lightly, for his lethal guard was well and truly alive and prepared through every minute of his life.

But when his hair was like this…flattened over his face in such a boyish manner, like a teen crazing over his favourite rock band, Vergil could hardly stand it.

He growled sinisterly, feeling his fists clenching hard. It took every fibre of his being not to slam a punch right into the mirror, which would be a vain attempt to punish the resemblance that his reflection presented between he and his brother. Although he would love to hammer the glass into a million fragments until they were nothing but dust, he knew that it would do his brother no harm, no matter how hard he imagined the reflection to be him.

So, instead, Vergil took a breath in through his nose, and calmly slipped a broken hand through his hair, pushing his locks back so that his appearance might please him and allow others to understand that it was he who was present, not his brother.

He moved down the hall as purposefully as need be, making sure that his demeanour was one that displayed his determination and relentlessness openly. Coming to the end of the corridor, he had to take a moment of hesitance to take the time needed to switch his gaze, for the reflections haunted him like ghosts. But now he could see that the corridor changed direction, round a bend to the left, so he followed. Another glass door soon came into view, the muffled sound of laughter breaching his ears. He wondered what could be so entertaining. But then the name "Harlequin" made it seem obvious and ideal.

Vergil did not knock. He did not feel that he needed to, did not see the point. So instead, he opened up the door, not with a bang, but just as though he had been formerly invited.

He calmly closed the glass behind him, feeling eyes burning into his head before he had even gazed upon this new room. The merry voices had ceased as soon as he had entered, replaced with a painful silence and occasion whispers. Raising his head up, his icy eyes giving away no hint of feeling, he took in what he considered to be a very strange place.

Glass. Again. What was most noticeable was the large table centred in the room, four men sitting around it. Cards and money scattered its crystal surface, making it deem-able that he had interrupted a poker game. In each corner of the room, he noticed large glacial figurines of glossy angels, reaching up for the untouchable heavens.

One man stood up, glaring daggers at him. Yet of course, Vergil did not flinch.

"Who the hell are you? This room is private!" yelled the man, pointing back at the door that had recently been disturbed.

"I am here to see your mistress." Vergil mused most bitterly, a tone of boredom clinging to his icy voice.

The man before him seethed.

"How dare-!"

"Sit, man, and be still." A crisp feminine voice ripped through the man's sentence, shaming his accusations. His fat cheeks bloomed crimson, and he slumped back into his chair, obeying his mistress.

Vergil watched as the shadow lurking near a dark corner stepped out, and transformed into a woman. Her figure was beautiful beyond belief; something that even the stiff Vergil could not ignore, though he did not show it. She wore a most extravagant suit, sensuously slipping over every curve of her exquisite body. Her pale skin, white as snow, seemed to shine between the contrasting gleams that the mirrors gave off, her yellow, almost silver hair long and straight, hanging down over her shoulders. Although he could not see her face, for it was hidden by a diamante mask that shimmered vividly, he knew that she was, by nature, an extremely radiant woman. He could see her glazed, ivory lips pursing as she surveyed him closely.

"Leave, gentleman. I wish to talk to this man alone. You may continue with your game later."

Whispers and grumbles broke out as the men pulled themselves to their feet, glaring Vergil up and down with glued expressions as they left the room.

Silence inhabited the air for a little while, before he noticed the Harlequin smile, her expression unreadable due to the fact that he could not see how her eyes evolved through the slits in her mask. So he neared.

"I must say…" she began, her voice silky and smooth "I usually foresee visits. However, although it sounds most disheartening, I never thought I'd see a Sparda again."

Her tone towards the end had been a little playful and light, but he hardly noticed it. Once again, it was his brother that cropped up into his mind, born from her words.

"A Sparda? So I take it you have not seen my brother since my…departure." He ran a finger over the cold, glass table, brushing the poker cards gently so they shifted a little, continuing to watch her through the corner of his eye.

Her head cocked in an odd manner. Like a curious child.

"I have never see your brother anyway, Vergil. Your disappearance made no difference to my meeting him."

He would have laughed at that, but his ribs were still healing after the many tortures he had suffered through in hell.

"Disappearance? One way to put it…" he whispered under his breath, entwining his fingers around a card, and flipping it near his face to reveal its identity.

A joker.

That brought back some memories, alright.

"Remind you of anyone?" he blinked as he felt the sound of her voice so close to him, her breath loud in his ear.

"Yes. That insolent fool."

He was referring to Arkham. He was not sure is she understood this, was not sure if she could answer with an understanding, but the thought of that useless scum made him think of…

…her.

He shook his head, shooing the thought away.

"You seem to be distracted, dark slayer. Is there something bothering the great son of Sparda?"

Contemptuous woman…

He heard her hiss as he pounded his aching fist under her throat, lodging his palm around her windpipe. He lifted her up into the air, where she hung quietly.

He wanted to rip that mask off…wanted to see her pain, if there was any…wanted to drink in all her fear and use it as his arsenal.

But he knew it would come to no avail.

"Don't mock me." he rasped like a snake, ready to plunge its fangs into its prey. Yet, she only sighed, folding her arms and waiting fearlessly for him to put her down. He smiled somewhat, his lip curling cruelly, and without defeat, he threw her across the room.

He fought of the urge to pound the table as she jumped to her feet and brushed herself off carelessly, as though nothing had happened.

Damn demoness…

"Now that you've had your little tantrum, Vergil, would you care to tell me why you are here?" the Harlequin stated in a very matter-of-fact tone, hands on her hips.

He took a moment for himself. He knew why he had come; this demoness, the Harlequin, was a keeper of many secrets. He had known her during his stay in the underworld, though she left quite a few months before he managed to escape. She was considered a very important figure by some, for she knew many things and rarely asked for a payment when she gave aid and advice. Why, one might ask? Because she helped both sides…demon and human, and the best part of it all was when she watched them clash against each other. That was her reward. She just loved watching them all squirm, even her own kind.

Nonetheless, Vergil's stay in Hell had not been such a nice reprieve, and now that he was free, he had a high score to settle. The first thing he wanted to do was find his sword, and he had guessed that the Harlequin would be able to give him the low-down on that little dilemma.

However, he doubted she knew anything of his twin. Which was just typical, in his opinion…

"You hold a great deal of secrets close to your heart, madam. Especially concerning the damned. And I have things that I must see to."

"Concerning the damned?"

"Eventually…"

She put a finger to her lips thoughtfully, painted, metallic nails dancing in all her shiny brilliance.

"It depends on what you would like to know, oh great one." she dared to jest again, compressing a snigger as she watched his face freeze up with inner rage.

He gritted his teeth behind his lips before continuing.

"I have lost an important heirloom. Something my father passed onto me. A sword named Yamato. I need to know its current location."

"Ah, yes of course, that beautiful katana, now I remember." she said airily, waving a delicate hand about. "Hm…you may find this to be quite humorous."

His face remained clad in seriousness.

"How lucky for me." he drolled, completely uncaring.

She shrugged, taking his heavy attitude as lightly as she could.

"Yamato is in the possession of a young man, who slays demons as an occupation. And, ironically enough, he works for your brother."

He twisted his lip in annoyance, frustrated that it seemed to be the same story every time.

He wanted his mother's amulet…he had to pry half of it away from his brother. He wanted the power of his father…his brother stood in his way.

"What's wrong, dark slayer? Not as funny as you expected?" the Harlequin sniggered irritably, and he watched her with bubbling anger as she picked up a stack of cards from the table, holding them up to the slits in her mask.

"Be quiet and do your job." he muttered sourly, turning away and taking a few slow paces as she read a fortune.

He only had to wait a moment.

"The young man often visits your brother's shop, but he does not live there. He usually works alone, but now and again your sibling tags along…plus his partner and friend."

"Partner and friend?" he turned to face her again, hands behind his back.

"Yes. His partner being the blond demoness who resembles the traits of your mother, and his friend is a lady who goes without a name."

He arched a silver brow.

"I am unfamiliar with such a lady."

"No, you are not. If I am correct, she prefers to be known as, simply, "Lady.""

Hi heart stopped. His lungs heaved. His mouth turned as dry as sand, and the apple in his throat throbbed ever so slightly as he took a swallow.

Stop it.

He forced himself to shut down as not to show his emotions. Luckily for him, the Harlequin did not seem to notice anything different in his character as she set her cards back down on the table.

Of course…she works for Dante. No, she's friends with Dante…

It took everything he had to stop himself from sneering with jealousy. He scolded himself however, angered by his weakness.

He could not let these thoughts keep cropping up on him…

"So the sword is with him now? What is this boy's name?" he inquired, adjusting himself to his full height, boasting his composure and invincibility.

"Yes, it is, and his name is Nero. If you carry on to a city named Fortuna, you are sure to find him with haste. But perhaps you should be discrete. After all, if this boy were to find out that you are the brother of-"

"I am aware of what I intend to do without you telling me. Your opinion is not required."

With that, he turned on his heel to retreat to the glass door, sensing the Harlequin gazing at his back solemnly.

He looked back once before he left.

"I will not return for help again, demoness, so you should be sure to never see another Sparda after this night."