I do not own Devil May Cry or any of the characters, stories, plots, locations, etc. thereof. I do not own Henley's Poem "Invictus" or any of lines within it.

Enjoy. RR.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her gloved right hand holding a smoldering cigarette jostled at every bump. A thick cloud of smoke floated around her red hair, a darkened halo. Dark glasses hid her eyes, and he wondered briefly what she was thinking; it was hard to tell sometimes. His eyes returned to the road. She was probably reminiscing, thinking about a darkened time she would always want to forget but never would. He also tried to forget, but he would remember and see her there in that darkened place. His mind wandered back to it: pain, blood, and hopelessness. Their sins always in front of them in the darkness.

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He licked the jagged stone wall where condensation had formed. The moisture burned like acid, searing his throat and doing nothing to quench the thirst that burned inside of him since first day of his punishment. Days, years, months, blended together. His time was marked by the next torture, the next beating, the next violent attack. They resorted only to physical pain. His death, his betrayal, had freed him and they could no longer reach him. He accepted his torture. He deserved it, he wanted it, the world was safe because of him. His brother was safe because he let him kill him. The shining moment when Mundus fell away in a flash of red, and he saw his brother's sword falling towards him.

He let the blade strike him.

Dead, yet not completely. After he felt his heart stop, he saw light in front of him, darkness behind him before he was swiftly dragged into the depths of hell where the living remained in constant stasis. The hunger tore apart your insides, the thirst weakened you until you could barely cry through parched lips, but you never died.

The demons would flay his skin with whips, claws, and scythes as he stared steadily ahead. They would drown him, burn him, break his bones, barrage his ears, nose, and eyes with the most horrible sensations but he never gave in, never repented. He was a traitor, and their torture was out of spite. After a while, they knew they could not break him, but they could unleash their wrath upon him and revel in his pathetic lack of power.

But they would never have him.

He coughed up the water, spittle running down his chin. He wiped it away with a hand stained brown with blood and dirt and any number of other foul substances. His eyes wandered to the hallway just beyond the rusted bars of his cell, then to the cell next to him. It had been empty for a while. They had let the demon who spoke against Mundus expire some time ago. There was no room for dissention. Even after his defeat, Mundus remained a powerful figure with many demons scrambling to do his bidding. Vergil had been placed in the custody of a fairly powerful demon with a grudge against Sparda's swift rise to the top of the demon hierarchy.

He adjusted the shackles around his wrists. They had to be tightened as his form became more emaciated. Leaning back against the wall, he let his eyes close, and the image of his brother appeared in his mind. He smiled as he thought of the word…traitor.

The slamming of a door and shrill pleas awoke him from his reverie.

A group of giggling, vaguely humanoid demons dragged a figure in front of his cell and threw it into the empty cell next to him. Through half-closed eyes he watched the demons with their jaws full of crooked teeth snapping, claws reaching, and bulging black eyes turned up in malicious mirth prod and poke the figure curled in the fetal position at their feet. One arm feebly fought off the demons as the other guarded its face, a shock of red hair visible between the crook of its arm. By the thin arm and long fingers he could make out in the dim light, he judged the figure to be a woman. Following the group of demons, the lord of the prison in which he was imprisoned entered the cell. His power was barely contained within the form of a middle-aged man dressed gaudily in velvet.

He remembered how this demon would have never posed a threat. How he could slice him apart and watch the blood drain out, but his weak body had no motive to attack. Shame filled his heart.

The demons scattered as their master entered. He kicked the female at his feet. She lifted her head, eyes pleading.

"Who are you? Where am I? What do you want?" she shouted, unable to move in any direction because of the circling demons. He watched her between their quickly moving legs.

The demon standing above her smiled, "You're in hell my dear."

Her forehead wrinkled and her chest began to heave as she looked around. Her eyes widened upon seeing the demons, as if she had noticed them for the first time.

"But…hell doesn't exist," she murmured.

The demon leaned down and gripped her chin tightly with his blackened fingers.

"Of course it does my dear. You're in it." His voice dropped low, sickly sweet in mock comfort. "You're going to be its newest member. The best demons are always broken humans."

He let go, "And the best torturers are always the pious ones. They understand guilt."

The demon reached a hand into his robe and withdrew a whip of black leather, the tassels ending in sharp steel spikes shaped like claws.

He fingered one of the steel claws, "You will suffer. You will starve and thirst. You will feel pain. But you will never die. There is no hope, you will never escape."

Her face muscles trembled at the sight of the whip. She buried her face in her hands as the demon smiled.

"Make it easy. Give in now. Swear yourself to me, and I will let you go. Submit. Surrender. Give me your soul."

He tilted his head to get a better look around the demons. He waited for her trembling pleas of submission. Leaning forward slightly, he saw through the bars that her face was still buried. A low murmur came from her muffled hands.

The demon leaned forward, "What was that?"

"I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." She looked up, her lip trembling.

The demon sighed and let the claws of the whip fall to floor. They clicked against the stone, tinkling lightly against each other as ironic wind chimes.

His eyes darkened under his thick brow, "You have no idea what pain I will cause." He leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her eyes widened.

He leaned back and smiled, "How do you live with yourself?"

The whip came down, she screamed. He looked away, rolled over onto his side, and closed his eyes. He heard the whip enter into her flesh again and again, tearing away skin and muscle until all that was left was a bloody mess of tissue. She stopped screaming after a while, and he fell asleep.

The slamming of the prison door awoke him from his slumber. He rolled over, shackles clinking, and glanced at the woman. She lie on her stomach, her back a mess of red and black. She trembled occasionally, her breath labored as the lungs expanding pulled on the torn flesh.

"Why am I not dead? Or…am I dead already?" she asked, face pressed to the stone floor. Her voice was raspy from her screams.

"You only die if they want you to. No, you aren't dead. There's a part for the souls and their punishers and a part for everything else," he responded, resting her back against the stone wall.

"How can they make me into a demon?"

"It's not as difficult as you may think. People become demons all the time."

"I'll be like them?"

"It's hard to say. The last time they had one, a priest, he gave in as soon at it was offered. Seeing hell shook his faith."

"I won't give in."

He laughed, skeptical of her resignation. His laughter fell dully on the floor as if the walls, unused to the sound, intentionally muffled it.

"They'll find something. Humans are weak."

"God forgives."

"You can keep telling yourself that. I wouldn't know about forgiveness."

She placed her arms beneath her, palms flat on the ground, and attempted to push herself up. She grunted and fell back into the puddle of her own blood, her muscles trembling with pain. He watched from the corner of his eye, but remained silent. She would learn eventually.

"Why is this happening to me?" Her voice was barely audible as she spoke to the blood soaked ground.

"God only knows." He jiggled the shackle around his ankle that was pinching.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He snorted, "It doesn't really matter. You'll be dead or a demon soon any way. I can't help you."

She lifted her head as far as it would go and stared at him.

"You're not a demon?"

"I already am one," he said, staring at the bars ahead of him.

Her brow wrinkled, "You don't look like one." He smiled.

"Half-demon," he said.

"Why are you down here?"

He looked at her. Her face was streaked with blood and dirt. Green eyes were murky beneath tears of pain and stress, but her eyes were hard, dark as they stared. A part of him wondered if she were deserving of this. They were stubborn eyes, not the eyes of the god-fearing faithful. Obstinate and proud. She would learn that the whip was just the start. Like a thorn in her side, minimal. She will look back with fondness at the biting claws and the torn flesh of her back.

"I'm being punished," he said. Like you, he thought.

She paused for a moment before she asked again "What's your name?"

"Vergil."

"Like the pagan. He led Dante through the underworld." Her corners of her mouth could barely hold their grin. "It's kind of an ironic name."

"You like poetry?"

"I love it. It was my major," she grunted.

"What you told the demon. It was Henley wasn't it?"

"Invictus," she said and rested her head. After a pause she said, "My name is Evangeline."

He stared at her for a moment. "What did you do?" he asked.

There was silence. He could not tell if she was unwilling to answer or merely fainted.

Heavy steps echoed through the prison chamber. A female demon in leather stood before Vergil. Her almond eyes bugged in anticipation. In her hand, she carried a chain and a small knife.

"Ready, Vergil?" she said, twirling the chain.

He leaned back, waiting for the pain to begin.

Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.

Let me know what you think.