Disclaimer: I do not own High School DxD nor do I own Devil May Cry. Credit for the cover pic entirely goes to Banpai Akira.


Sword, or Death?


He was supposed to be dead.

He should have died when his brother drove Thunder Sword Alastor through his chest and struck him down with Hellfire Gauntlet Ifrit. He distinctly recalled feeling his mind being relinquished from that miasmic iron grasp, his body freed from a torment he had not realized was physically imposed on him. His presence within the mortal coil vanished, and with it his soul.

…He never got the chance to thank him. To thank his little brother for saving him. It did not mean that he was indebted to him. The dead could never repay the living. They had already paid their dues with their death. They could only pass on their legacy on to the living and perhaps hope that they would pick up the tabs.

His soul… imprisoned within a torturous vessel that did biddings not of his own will… it was enough to make him crave the peace of death.

So when the man became aware that he could feel his lungs breathing in fresh air, felt his heart beating warm blood through his entire body, and opened his eyes to see the world before him, it was understandable for him to be highly alarmed. He found himself near an orphanage of sorts, bewildered by the sound of children playing outside and laughing joyously. The senses he relied upon before and during his mind control whiplashed him into a state of extreme vertigo, uncomprehending of what was happening. His last memories were of nuns rushing to him, cries of surprise and horror accompanying them.

That was two weeks ago. Since then, he had burrowed himself in the orphanage's library, desperate for whatever information he could gather in this unknown territory. The nuns were curious and concerned as to why a (supposed) child was adamant about staying in a library instead of outside playing with his fellow peers and if he was recovering well, but otherwise did not bother him too much in his self-imposed quest to find out where he was.

He found out he was on Earth. That much was for certain. It still did not explain why he was de-aged and that aggravated him beyond belief. Was he to remain like this with nothing but time to retrieve his original form? Unacceptable. He needed to return to his original form now.

Staying in the orphanage was nothing but wasted time. He needed a way out that did not seem suspicious in the least. This place did not have any more to give him.

He found his way out through a "recruitment".


There was a shift in the paradigm.

A handsome face, wreathed on both sides by long, silvery hair, stared in scrutiny at the System that was left behind by his deceased Father. His expression, one that was usually of infinite patience and composure, was one of confusion and frustration as he stared at this unforeseen occurrence. Up until weeks ago, the System had detected an anomaly that was unnatural in its calling. Unnatural, in that not only did the System become alarmed, but the presence was also felt as well. He had no doubt that the Devils and the Fallen Angels were alerted to this as well; he would not be surprised if the other pantheons happened to be curious and send a scout or envoy to report what was happening.

But since then, silence. Not a single mishap had happened. Not a single alert of that foreign detection, only that it had happened in Europe somewhere, the closest continent to Heaven. This was the first time such an event had transpired. This could not have been an accident or a fluke; the System could not be tampered with by anyone except for those who knew its inner workings, and that was reserved only for Him.

So what could it mean?

"What is wrong, brother?" A voice interrupted his inquiry. He turned around to greet his sister. Radiance personified was what she was; an immaculate beauty that could not be matched by any in all of Heaven. Innocent blues gazed at him concernedly.

"Sister." He greeted not unkindly, but the unusual behavior was not missed by her. Without missing a beat, he gestured to the System their Father left behind as though it would explain everything. "Strange things are upon us in the upcoming years, and still I am not sure of what they are…"

"Strange things" was an understatement. He did not know what was going to happen. Perhaps they had already begun. He did not have His omniscience to know of what would come.

"What would you have us do then?"

He made a quick decision. "Inform Uriel and Raphael, Gabriel. Inform the other Seraphs. Inform the Cardinals of the Church as well. Until we know what the cause of this peculiarity is, I want our brothers and sisters to be prepared."

She nodded solemnly, "Of course, Michael."

Shaking his head, Michael placed aside his concern for the future for what was happening now; more specifically, methods to revitalize the number of Angels in Heaven. He could only imagine the mechanics that went into creating the Devils' Evil Pieces and dissect what he could from observation alone. Such repertoire was beyond him and any of the other Archangels, so it was cautionary step after cautionary step at this point.

"Gabriel, how far have we gone into our Brave Saint research?"


He slowly opened his eyes to scan the crowd he was amongst. Around him were children of all races and ethnicity, from the pale and fair skins of European descent to the tanned and dark ones of Asian and African ancestry alike. Such a diverse group of children gathered, but for what purpose? It was uncomfortable to think about.

"Hey, you." One of them called out to him in a relatively friendly voice. He ignored it.

If he had to be honest, the orphanage that had nursed him back to sufficient health was a far more comfortable place. At least the nuns and children left him be. At least it did not have the ominous feeling that this… "institute" did. Blast his de-aging. What sick joke was this? He was a Son of Sparda, not a damned child! Yet, here he was, in a body that was no older than eight. There were no silver linings here. He was back at the age he became aware of his own weakness. He felt self-conscious. He felt powerless to everything around him. This time, there was no Yamato, no portals that threw him into Hell to fend for himself.

Speaking of Yamato. He could not summon his sword. No matter what he did, no matter what conditions he tried to place himself under, Yamato never answered his call. He could not even feel his connection to the beloved heirloom his father bequeathed to him. His dread exponentially rose as his mind rapidly processed that information and came to multiple conclusions as to why.

It was that day all over again–

"Why so glum, chum?"

"…Call me that again, and I will make sure this sword gives you a very intimate colonoscopy. I am no "chum" of yours." He held up a handle that was the grip of a sword of light. A manufactured one, if the passing words of the people in charge here were to be held in any esteem. It did not help that he was still in unknown territory.

And there was this annoyance that had been pestering him since he woke up. With the white hair, icy blue eyes, and the smug smile that made him feel irritated simply for existing, if it had not been for the fact that the child possessed an entirely different facial structure, he would have mistaken the child for his brother simply out of attitude.

Even when he was not here, Dante still managed to annoy him. He supposed that was normal.

"I did not understand half of what you just said, but hey! You're finally awake! And angry. Or maybe constipated. Or all of that!" The child… teenager, he corrected himself, rambled on. Again, he was reminded of his younger twin. Whether that was good or bad was yet to be determined. "I'd ask if you were trying to cross the border and got caught in an ambush, but there are no borders or ambushes! Only a bunch of orphans!"

The boy's statement made anyone who heard him frown at him with disdain. "Oh, whoops. I said that last part out loud, didn't I? Ah, well. As the Americans like to say, 'Sue me.' Seriously, they really like to sue each other a lot. It must be like shooting people, except financially."

"Do not speak to me so familiarly," he spoke with his intention clear in mind. Either the child did not catch the underlying message, or he outright ignored it. The latter was more likely.

"What's with all the bandages on your head, anyway? You got scars or something? Or maybe you're just really ugly?" If he had not had prior experience with people prying into his life and still had Yamato with him, he would have sliced the boy down for his insolence. He refused to think that he himself was a child, only in appearance. "Wait... white hair. You must be from the Sigurd Institution from the Orthodox Chuch. You think they were telling the truth about that place creating some of the top warriors or somethin' like that based on that one German hero? From… something-something-unglied. How was your training? Must be where all your bandages came from, right? Right? Are you a, what's it, a test tube baby? …No wait, if you were, then you would be on the other side instead of here."

"...You talk too much."

He finally replied. The anger had ebbed away and was replaced with something stuck cleanly between annoyance and resignation. A child, he had to remind himself. Just a child asking questions… even if they were irritating. There was no use or pride in lashing out at a child.

"Would it help if I said that you just look a bit lonely and needed a pal for company?"

"Would it help if I said no, and ask why you're still here?"

The boy fell silent, then giggled slightly. Nervously, he corrected himself once more.

"Gotta do something about the nervousness, you know? Everyone seems so out of it and won't talk no matter what I say. It's not everyday that the Church selects us out of the blue and tells us that "God has chosen you to bear his message". I'm all for being special, but the way they said it… it's giving me a weird feeling. A bad weird, not a good weird."

The boy gestured at the other children who had hopeful eyes, if not a little scared at not knowing their surroundings. He silently kept an ear open for any information the child could give him, important or not.

"This place… I know they got a lot of kids gathering here tomorrow and the next week. One of those old men talked about test tube babies being unstable, so they have kids like us to pick up the slack. Or something. What about you? You got picked straight out of an orphanage, didn't you? Like the rest of us, then."

His mind processed the information furiously, including the ones the boy had said earlier. Sigurd Institution? Test tube babies? Church? Pick up the slack? What did any of those have to do with each other? Was there some kind of conspiracy that was hidden from plain sight? He needed to know. There had to be a way to return to his original form. He could not dally here any further.

At the point where he was at now, it was better to have meaningless clues than no clue at all. Said meaningless clues may very well be useful. The boy had thrown out a name from a human legend as though it actually happened. Not much when it came from a child, but he knew his own share of legends.

Specifically, the child had named out Sigurd, the great Norse hero of the Völsunga Saga that through the passage of time would develop into Siegfried, the invulnerably dragon-slaying hero from Germanic mythology. The implication that such a legend was in fact real meant more than just that; it implied that other human legends were just as real… which would infer that there was a lead somewhere that could explain his predicament.

After all, there were legends that spoke of jumping between realms and dimensions.

"Oh yeah. I never introduced myself, did I? You can call me Letitia. What about you?" He turned towards the smiling boy impassively, disgruntled that the child was still talking. "…I promise not to talk to you for the rest of the day. I just wanna be friends with my fellow white hair dude. Or dudette. You could be faking your voice to make me think you're a guy, for all I know."

The man-turned-child peered at the boy… at the very least, he could give the boy a name for giving him some context, even if it did not suffice. Plus, it would keep him quiet for a while.

"Gilver."

An old alias. Nothing more than a cover.

He came to a resolution at that point. His quest had merely been postponed by his mind control. He was controlled by Mundus because he was weak. He accepted that fact. Nothing had changed.

It was back to square one for him.

But that meant little to him. Life would go on and stop for no one.

And now that he had accepted it, he would do everything in his ability to deny that reality for himself.

And the solution to do that was simple. Vergil found it poetic, even.


I
Need
More
POWER



A/N: I know what you're thinking. "Wow, «DarkAkatsuk1». You already have Son of Sparda DxD, why are you moving onto Dark Slayer DxD already? Was it not good enough for you? You're gonna abandon SoS:DxD, aren't you? You massive willy."

The short answer is… I too admire the size of my willy.

The long answer is, this idea actually came to me back when DMC4:SE was announced in December 2014, meaning that this has been on the drawing board for roughly 5 years now. And by that, I mean that it was placed at the back of my head for those 5 years and only came forth whenever plot bunnies decide they want to fuck with me. It was only thought about seriously for a total of two weeks, at best.

At the moment, this story – like with SoS:DxD – will disregard the events of DMC5 but knowledge of concepts, items, and demons from the game will be known or mentioned. This is Vergil, after all. Between him and Dante, I figure he is the more bookish one and therefore, has more knowledge about history that can lead him to more power.

Have fun reading this chaos of a story. Will be updated as sporadically as SoS:DxD.

-DarkAkatsuk1, starting a new story
P a treon. com (slash) DarkAkatsuk1