098 - Blue Screen of Death
[Private]
[All written]
So that is how it ends then. I should not be surprised. I should not be at all. Fitting that I should receive this news out of the actions of this place. More so that it comes from that relentless annoyance.
Then that is what awaits me when I leave. A pathetic future with an equally pathetic end. There is no escape from it, no means of biding my time, no possible true future for me. The son of the great Dark Knight, the powerful Sparda...a slave to the demon he rose against. A pawn to the Devil that had brought destruction down upon my family. I feel like laughing.
Is this what I gained power for? Is this what I become strong for? To fall and to fail so completely? My goals, my aspirations, my power, absolutely meaningless. The end result is pathetic. The end result is…
Is this what you wanted, Cair Paradisa? To show me how powerless I am? To show me that there is nothing I can do, nothing I can change? You may have elongated my life, but for what purpose? I believe I know now. You wanted to show me something. Perhaps out of spite, perhaps out of some twisted moral sense, or perhaps out of insanity. You felt the urge, the NEED to show me something.
And I know what that is now. I’m weak. I am weak, no matter what I do, no matter what I accomplish.
What now? Do you send me home to my fate? Do you erase my memory and start from scratch, if only to enjoy it once again? Or will you keep me here further?
What’s the point of even asking? It should be obvious enough. You’re not yet finished with me. Not in this state-
[Room Filter]
[The first sound is minute, possibly non existent. It is the sound of a pen slipping from fingers, rolling along a slanted journal, then tumbling the short distance to the floor. Then there is nothing. A few moments, suffocating in length, pass without event, until Vergil’s face slowly starts to contort into some mixture of anger, helplessness and fear. And each has its moment of prevalence on his face before mixing into a single face that was as overloaded as it was unreadable. Mere moments later, the journal was airborne, thrown at the wall with as much force as Vergil could muster while sitting. It was enough, as the book slammed into the wall with an incredibly loud thud. The book itself was deeply embedded in the wall. And once again, there was nothing.]
[ooc: Brought to you by his current losses,and by Brother dearest dropping a bombshell on him.]
[All written]
So that is how it ends then. I should not be surprised. I should not be at all. Fitting that I should receive this news out of the actions of this place. More so that it comes from that relentless annoyance.
Then that is what awaits me when I leave. A pathetic future with an equally pathetic end. There is no escape from it, no means of biding my time, no possible true future for me. The son of the great Dark Knight, the powerful Sparda...a slave to the demon he rose against. A pawn to the Devil that had brought destruction down upon my family. I feel like laughing.
Is this what I gained power for? Is this what I become strong for? To fall and to fail so completely? My goals, my aspirations, my power, absolutely meaningless. The end result is pathetic. The end result is…
Is this what you wanted, Cair Paradisa? To show me how powerless I am? To show me that there is nothing I can do, nothing I can change? You may have elongated my life, but for what purpose? I believe I know now. You wanted to show me something. Perhaps out of spite, perhaps out of some twisted moral sense, or perhaps out of insanity. You felt the urge, the NEED to show me something.
And I know what that is now. I’m weak. I am weak, no matter what I do, no matter what I accomplish.
What now? Do you send me home to my fate? Do you erase my memory and start from scratch, if only to enjoy it once again? Or will you keep me here further?
What’s the point of even asking? It should be obvious enough. You’re not yet finished with me. Not in this state-
[Room Filter]
[The first sound is minute, possibly non existent. It is the sound of a pen slipping from fingers, rolling along a slanted journal, then tumbling the short distance to the floor. Then there is nothing. A few moments, suffocating in length, pass without event, until Vergil’s face slowly starts to contort into some mixture of anger, helplessness and fear. And each has its moment of prevalence on his face before mixing into a single face that was as overloaded as it was unreadable. Mere moments later, the journal was airborne, thrown at the wall with as much force as Vergil could muster while sitting. It was enough, as the book slammed into the wall with an incredibly loud thud. The book itself was deeply embedded in the wall. And once again, there was nothing.]
[ooc: Brought to you by his current losses,and by Brother dearest dropping a bombshell on him.]