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When the Sparda twins plunged from the top of the Qliphoth tree into the underworld, Dante had a gut feeling they'd be here for a while. He wasn’t wrong.
Finding the tree again hadn’t been difficult. After all, it was like a beacon for every demon in the underworld, dragging them in like moths to a flame. No, that wasn't quite right. More like lost sailors racing toward a lighthouse, desperate to be the first to reach shore except the prize at the end wasn’t salvation. It was nothingness.
A non-existent reward at the finish line of a life or death struggle. The irony wasn’t lost on Dante, but honestly? That wasn’t their problem. With Vergil by his side, it almost felt easy. Almost.
The journey to the Qliphoth went smoother than expected. Dante had been to the underworld before, so he recognized some of the landmarks if you could even call them that. But in silent agreement, he let Vergil take the lead. His twin had spent half his life trapped here. He knew the terrain better.
Dante preferred not to dwell on that thought.
This wasn’t the time to reflect on past regrets or the suffering Vergil had endured alone. It was enough that they were together now, fighting side by side, not against each other. They could have flown straight to the tree and ended this before a day had even passed in the human world.
In theory, it made sense. But in practice? They weren’t about to test their limits like cocky rookies. This was their father’s domain, and even as two of the strongest half-demon hybrids in existence, they knew better than to underestimate what lurked in the shadows. The underworld was a living, breathing nightmare, always shifting, always waiting for the slightest mistake. And they had no room for mistakes.
And yet, in some twisted way, he had never felt happier.
For the first time in years, he had his brother back. And this time, they weren’t trying to kill each other.
So, they traveled on foot, resting only when necessary. Food was scarce, no surprise there. Sleep came in brief, uneasy intervals. There was no sun, no moon, no way to track time. Dante hated it. Hated the uncertainty, the constant awareness that something could attack at any moment. Hated the taste of demon meat that he had to force himself to stomach just to keep his strength up.
When Dante first time landed in the underworld, he swore he’d only eat demons if he absolutely had to. Unfortunately, this time his survival didn’t care about his culinary standards.
Even when carefully roasted over a fire, assuming the meat didn’t burn too fast or dissolve into something worse, it was stringy, greasy, and tough to chew. The flavor? Like expired meat that someone had tried to salvage by throwing in every spice they could find, only to make it worse. It was disgusting.
Vergil, on the other hand, ate without hesitation. No grimace, no complaints just cold efficiency as he tore into whatever they managed to kill. If it were up to him, he'd have gone for another serving without blinking. Dante watched as his brother wiped his mouth clean, smearing away remnants of blood on the back of his hand. The fresh corpse of a slain demon still twitched beside him.
"I don't get how you can stomach that." Dante muttered, poking at his own portion. "I spent two years down here and never got used to it." Vergil barely spared him a glance before answering, his voice flat as ever. "I had a lot of time to adapt."
Dante stopped chewing. He heard what Vergil was really saying, even if the words never left his mouth. They still hadn’t spoken about those ten years, ten years where Vergil had been at Mundus’s mercy, suffering alone while Dante wasted time in the human world.
If he had looked harder if he had even thought for a second that his brother might still be in danger...
Dante exhaled and shoved another bite of demon meat into his mouth, trying not to gag. No use thinking about it now.
Destroying the Qliphoth had been easier than expected. Suspiciously easy.
The demons in these parts were sluggish, almost numb. The ones protecting the tree barely noticed them before they were cut down, and the whole thing fell apart without much of a fight. The real problems started after.
Once the tree was gone, the demons that had been hypnotized by its presence snapped out of their trance. And they were pissed.
The underworld became a war zone. Waves of demons attacked without pause, swarming toward them in a frenzy. Not that it did them any good before they could get anywhere close, they were already sliced apart by Yamato or pumped full of lead from Ebony and Ivory. But the onslaught never stopped.
By the time they had fought their way clear, Dante figured the worst was over. With the tree gone, all that was left was getting the hell back home. Simple enough. Or so he thought.
"What do you mean you can't open a portal here?" Dante asked, eyes narrowing. Vergil gripped Yamato’s hilt tighter, his frustration barely visible beneath his usual calm. "We’re too deep. The barrier between worlds is too thick."
Dante frowned. "Too thick? You mean to tell me your fancy sword, which can slice through dimensions, suddenly has a limit?" Vergil shot him a sharp look. "Unless you’d like me to try anyway and risk opening a portal in the wrong place, attracting even more demons in the process, I suggest you keep quiet."
Dante threw up his hands. "Alright, alright. No need to get your coat in a twist. What’s the plan, then?"
"We find a place where the veil between worlds is thinner. Then, I can cut us a way out without attracting unnecessary attention." No big deal, Dante told himself. Just a little detour. As long as they stuck together, nothing major should happen.
...Right?
Dante sometimes wonders just how much luck he really has.
It started subtly. Nothing dramatic, no warning signs just a scratchy feeling in his throat, easy enough to ignore. They were in the middle of pushing back another wave of demons, and that was where his focus needed to be. Still, it nagged at him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
He raised a hand to his throat instinctively, but the moment was short-lived. Another demon lunged at him, claws swiping through the air where his head had just been. "Hey!" Dante barked as he twisted out of the way, unloading a round from Ebony right between the demon’s glowing eyes. It crumpled before it even knew it was dead.
"Maybe you should start fighting instead of standing still like a fool." Vergil grunted, his voice sharp over the clash of steel. He had already cut down three demons before Dante had even finished dealing with one. With one fluid motion, he kicked another attacker backward, Yamato carving a clean arc through its chest before it hit the ground.
Dante rolled his eyes. "As you wish, princess." He gave a mocking bow, which just so happened to make a demon lunging at him from behind overshoot its attack and stumble forward instead.
"Jackpot." A smirk tugged at Dante’s lips as he pulled the trigger. The demon’s head snapped back, and it fell lifeless at his feet.
Later, at their makeshift camp, Dante leaned against a large rock, watching the small fire flicker between them. He was still feeling off, but he ignored it. No point in making a fuss.
"Next time, I won’t save your stupid ass." Vergil muttered, tossing another handful of dry grass into the fire. He sat across from Dante, his expression as unreadable as ever. Dante snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time don’t interfere. I already had him." He stretched out his legs, tilting his head back against the stone.
Vergil scoffed, staring out into the distance, ever vigilant. "Fool. So be it. Next time, I’ll let another demon rip your head off." Dante laughed, but the sound was rougher than usual. His throat was getting worse. A sharp pain flared every time he swallowed.
"Hey... Verg, maybe I’ll take the first shift tonight." Dante said, standing before his twin could argue. Resting here was unpredictable. With no sun or moon to track time, they relied on instinct, taking turns watching over their little camp.
Normally, Vergil took the first shift, something about being "the older brother" and therefore "more qualified" to guard their territory. Dante never really paid attention to the reasoning, he just knew it meant more sleep for him.
Vergil’s hand tightened around Yamato, his eyes narrowing slightly. "After today, I’m really wondering if I can trust you with my eyes closed." It was a tease, but there was a glint of challenge behind it.
Dante grinned. "Gee, is it so hard to trust your one and only twin? Maybe next time I should let the demons have you while you sleep." Vergil exhaled sharply as if he were holding back the urge to slice Dante in half right then and there. "Just stay alert, and try not to get yourself killed."
Dante snorted and gave a lazy thumbs up as he walked away from the fire, heading for his patrol. Only when he was far enough did he finally double over, a harsh cough ripping from his throat. His fingers pressed hard against his mouth, suppressing the sound as much as possible. He didn’t need any nearby demons catching on.
Something was wrong.
Dante wasn’t the type to get sick. Hell, neither of them were. Any past injuries healed fast, and poisons never lasted long in their system. Yet here he was, struggling to breathe past the burning in his throat. It wasn’t normal.
His gut told him to go back and tell Vergil. But what good would that do? His brother probably wouldn’t have an answer for this, just an annoyed sigh and some snark about having to do all the work himself. That was the last thing Dante wanted.
He clenched his fists, steadying himself. Whatever this was, he’d shake it off.
He had to.
Forcing his body to move again, Dante continued his slow patrol around their camp, pushing aside the nagging discomfort in his chest.
When he circled back to the fire, he found Vergil leaning against a jagged rock, arms crossed, eyes closed but Dante knew better. His brother might have looked still, but he wasn’t asleep.
Crouching down, Dante grabbed a handful of dry grass and tossed it into the fire, watching the flames greedily consume it. His gaze flickered to Vergil again. It had been years since they had really seen each other. And now, looking at him, Dante could barely recognize the twin he once knew.
The passage of time had carved harsh lines into Vergil’s face, his skin a shade paler, his features sharper. They had shared a face once. Now...?
Now, Vergil barely looked like him anymore.
Dante had sometimes wondered what Vergil would’ve looked like if things had been different if they had never been separated as kids, if their paths had never diverged if Vergil had stayed instead of running headfirst into a vengeance and power that consumed him.
The thought made Dante exhale through his nose. It didn’t matter. What was done was done.
Not wanting Vergil to wake up and grumble at him for staring, Dante reached up to rub at his chest absentmindedly. A dull, burning ache sat there, spreading into his throat. It was nothing, he told himself. Some weird demonic cold, maybe? It wouldn’t be the first time the Underworld had tried to mess with him in ways he didn’t expect.
Well, whatever it was, it better pass quickly.
His eyes drifted back to Vergil. This time, his brother’s posture had changed, his shoulders weren’t as stiff and his breathing was deeper. Finally asleep. Dante hesitated for only a moment before pulling off his red leather coat. The cold immediately bit at his arms, but he ignored it. With a silent movement, he draped the coat over Vergil.
He knew his brother would scoff at it the moment he woke up, but for now, Dante could at least make sure he wasn’t freezing his ass off. He shivered slightly but still smirked to himself, shaking his head as he turned back toward the fire.
Settling down, Dante pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his arms on them. His eyes swept over the surrounding darkness, scanning for any movement.
Hours passed. The flames crackled softly, barely keeping the shadows at bay. Dante was getting tired. Too tired. His limbs felt heavier than they should, his head foggy. It wasn’t right. He could go days without sleep if needed, this wasn’t just exhaustion from fighting. His body was slowing down in a way that was... unfamiliar.
Still, he ignored it. They had a system. One of them stayed awake, keeping watch, while the other rested. That was how they survived. Dante wasn’t about to screw that up now. The sound of rustling broke through his haze, and he turned his head just in time to see Vergil shifting. His brother stirred, blinking awake.
"Hey..." Dante’s voice came out quieter than intended, raw and strained. Vergil’s sharp gaze immediately flicked to him before lowering slightly just enough to catch the sight of Dante’s coat draped over him. Vergil exhaled through his nose. "Sentimental fool." He muttered, standing up and brushing the coat off.
Dante just shrugged. "Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome, your highness." He mumbled, before shifting where he sat and dropping onto his back, too tired to stay upright any longer. The moment his head hit the ground, his body all but demanded he shut down.
Vergil, watching the movement, frowned. "You could’ve woken me if you were that exhausted." He pointed out, his tone sharp as ever, but there was something else in it... something bordering on concern.
"And risking you would try to hit me again with Yamato?" Dante muttered, barely lifting his hand to wave him off. "Yeah, no thanks." Vergil rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. He opened his mouth to say something else, but by then, Dante was already drifting off, his exhaustion swallowing him whole.
The next time Dante woke up, he felt the familiar weight of his red coat draped over him. But there was something else another layer, heavier, more rigid. A blue coat.
Vergil’s.
Dante hummed lightly, trying to shake off the drowsiness creeping at the edges of his mind. The extra warmth was gone before he could fully register it.
"Get up, Dante. I’ve already let you sleep longer than you should have." Vergil’s voice cut through the silence, cool and clipped as always. Dante groaned, stretching lazily before shrugging his coat back on. Even then, he still felt a lingering chill settle deep in his bones, but he chose to ignore it. No way was he going to mention it and have Vergil nag him about slowing them down.
His brother was already standing, waiting with that perpetually unimpressed look on his face. Dante smirked, rolling his shoulders as he stepped up beside him.
They started walking in silence, their boots crunching against the dry, cracked ground of the Underworld. There was no need for words, they both knew where they were going. The plan was simple, find the thinnest veil between the demon world and the human world, use Yamato to cut through it, and get the hell out. Easy.
So why did Dante feel like something was gnawing at him from the inside?
The uneasy feeling had been growing ever since he had fallen asleep, leaving him with a weight in his chest that didn’t seem to fade even after waking.
"You’re quiet today." Vergil finally said, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but Dante knew better, he was suspicious "Are you planning something?"
Dante snorted. "Yeah, just enjoying the scenery." He said, waving a hand vaguely at the vast, desolate wasteland around them. Vergil rolled his eyes, looking as if he immediately regretted asking.
"But it’s nice to know you care." Dante continued, his smirk widening. "If you want, I can start-"
"Forget I said anything." Vergil cut him off sharply, and Dante couldn’t help but be grateful. Talking was harder than it should be. His throat was raw, each word scraping against it like sandpaper. The conversation died down again as they walked, but they didn’t get far before both of them halted at the same time.
A horde of demons loomed in the distance, their twisted bodies shifting restlessly as if sensing fresh prey. Vergil turned his head slightly, glancing at Dante. Dante met his gaze and gave a quick nod. No words were needed. In the next instant, they were both moving.
Dante drew Ebony and Ivory, their familiar weight settling comfortably in his hands. The rhythmic popping of gunfire rang through his ears, a sound so familiar it was almost soothing. He aimed for the heads, each shot landing with deadly precision, cutting down demons before they could get too close.
Vergil, on the other hand, had taken a more personal approach. He was already in the thick of it, Yamato flashing in deadly arcs as he cut through anything that dared step into his path. There was a cold, effortless grace to his movements, each strike was precise, each dodge calculated. Dante couldn’t help but watch for a moment, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.
His brother was so damn cool.
Not that he’d ever say that out loud.
Before he could call out a cocky remark, a sharp sting flared in his throat. Dante doubled over slightly, muffling a cough into his hand.
Shit.
The moment of distraction nearly cost him. A demon lunged at him, claws outstretched. He barely managed to pivot in time, firing a few rounds straight into its skull before it could reach him. From the corner of his eye, he checked on Vergil. His brother was several meters away, still cutting down demons with the same ruthless efficiency.
Good. He hadn’t noticed.
Grinding his teeth, Dante forced himself back into the fight. With a grunt, he holstered his pistols and switched to his sword. The weight of the blade was reassuring as he swung it through a cluster of demons, slicing through them like paper.
Vergil, high in the air for a brief moment, landed on the edge of Dante’s sword, using it as a launch pad to propel himself forward. The motion was seamless, his coat billowing behind him as he delivered a final, decisive blow to the last demon standing.
Dante whistled lowly, crossing his arms as he watched Vergil wipe the blood from Yamato’s blade. "Show-off." He muttered, shaking his head. Vergil didn’t even spare him a glance. "Try to keep up." Dante smirked, even as a sharp ache pulsed in his chest.
Yeah. He’d keep up. He had to.
For now.
Vergil took the lead again, and Dante followed. The sword fight had drained him more than it should have, a dull ache settling into his muscles. Every step sent an unpleasant throb through his limbs, but he pushed forward, keeping his usual swagger intact. He wouldn’t give Vergil the satisfaction of seeing him struggle.
Still, his throat burned. He rubbed it absently, swallowing against the dryness. They walked in their usual silence until something at the bottom of the slope caught Dante’s attention. His vision felt slightly hazy, but he squinted and-
“Hey, Verg... is that...?” His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. He almost didn’t want to say it out loud, as if speaking would make it disappear. Vergil stopped beside him, arms crossed, surveying the sight below. “Yes. A watering hole. One of the few in this world.”
Dante blinked a few times, making sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. A small lake stretched out before them, its surface eerily still, reflecting the dim red glow of the Underworld’s sky. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Water. Actual water. Dante couldn’t remember the last time he had seen any that wasn’t a putrid, sludge like mess.
Vergil’s eyes narrowed slightly. “We’ll need to be careful. Demons lay their eggs in places like this.” Dante scoffed. “Like mosquitoes?” Vergil gave a slight nod. “Something like that.” Dante stared down at the water again. His body screamed at him to go, to drink. He wasn’t even sure when he had last had anything to drink, and suddenly, his throat felt drier than ever.
“Shall we?” Dante asked, voice tinged with anticipation. Vergil exhaled through his nose. “Go first. Keep your eyes open. I’ll scout ahead.” Dante didn’t need to be told twice. He slid down the slope with practiced ease, landing lightly on the damp ground near the water’s edge.
Jagged rocks protruded around the lake, providing some cover, not that it mattered much. If something was lurking, it would already know they were here. Still, he didn’t sense anything dangerous.
Stepping forward, his boots sank slightly into the shallow water, sending ripples across the surface. He crouched, cupping his hands, and took his first sip. The moment the water touched his lips, something in him snapped.
His body demanded more.
Dante hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until now. He drank quickly, greedily, scooping up handful after handful, but it wasn’t enough. His hands shook as he plunged them back into the water, bringing more to his mouth.
But still, the thirst clawed at him. His knees buckled, and before he could think, he leaned forward, shoving his face into the water, drinking deeply as if he had never tasted anything so pure. The cold liquid rushed down his throat, filling his lungs with relief. It was heaven. It was-
Pain.
Suddenly, his throat constricted, a sharp, burning sensation cutting through his breath. His body jerked as he choked, sputtering violently, water spilling from his lips as he struggled to breathe. His vision blurred for a second.
His chest tightened. Dante slapped a fist against his chest, forcing himself to cough out the blockage. A few seconds passed before he could finally suck in a proper breath. A slow clap of footsteps echoed behind him.
“Are you done fooling around?” Dante turned his head to see Vergil standing at the water’s edge, arms crossed in that signature unimpressed stance. His expression was unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitched just slightly.
“It would be pathetic if you choked on water.” Vergil mused, crouching down to take a sip with one hand, far more composed than Dante had been.
Dante forced a grin, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he shakily stood. His pants were soaked up to his knees, his sleeves damp, but he tried not to care. “Find anything interesting?” He asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from whatever just happened.
Vergil glanced at his own reflection in the water before responding. “We’re getting closer. I can feel it.” That should have been good news. So why did Vergil sound almost hesitant? Vergil straightened. “We’ll need to make camp soon.” Dante frowned. “That soon?”
Vergil wiped the excess water from his mouth, glancing at their surroundings. “The demons here are more active, but they follow a pattern. They rest in cycles. If we time it right, we can clear them out and secure a place for ourselves.”
Dante rolled his shoulders. “Sounds like a plan. When do we start?” Vergil hesitated. Just for a second. But that second was enough.
Dante saw it, the brief flicker in his brother’s usually composed expression. Vergil had never cared about their rest schedule before. He always treated it like a waste of time, an inconvenience. Yet here he was, strategizing for extra downtime.
It wasn’t for himself. Vergil was watching him closely. Dante clenched his jaw. He could practically hear what Vergil wasn’t saying.
You’re slowing us down.
I’m giving you a chance to rest before you become a liability.
Don’t make me leave you behind.
A cold dread settled in Dante’s stomach. He forced himself to laugh, shaking off the unease. “Yeah, yeah. Sure. Let’s do it.” Vergil narrowed his eyes but didn’t push further. Dante turned away first, flexing his fingers. His throat still burned. His limbs still ached. But now, there was something else inside him, something worse.
Fear.
Not of the demons. Not of the Underworld. But of what would happen if Vergil was right. Of what would happen if he really was slowing them down. And what Vergil would do if he couldn’t keep up.
Dante’s footsteps felt heavier than usual. Each step sent a dull throb through his legs, but he ignored it. His body could complain all it wanted, he wasn’t about to slow down now. He barely had time to react before something hard pressed against his chest, stopping him mid-stride. He glanced down, Vergil had extended Yamato’s hilt to block his path.
Dante followed his brother’s gaze.
Just ahead, a group of demons lay dormant, their grotesque forms curled in uneasy slumber. Their grotesque wings twitched, claws dug into the ground, their twisted mouths muttering faint, guttural noises as they slept. Dante exhaled sharply through his nose. He already knew what would happen the second they took another step.
Without a word, he pulled out Ebony and Ivory, the cool weight of the pistols grounding him. He forced his demonic senses to sharpen, ignoring the sluggish feeling creeping into his bones. Vergil nodded, then vanished.
The moment he reappeared in the center of the resting horde, Yamato’s blade gleamed in the dim light before slicing through flesh. The demons’ roars shattered the silence, and Dante tightened his grip on his pistols.
Dante surged forward, twin pistols firing in rhythmic succession. The gunfire rang in his ears, mixing with the screeches of dying demons. More of them stirred, their grotesque bodies lunging toward him. But Dante kept moving. Kept shooting. He didn’t give them a chance to get close.
He felt his heart hammer against his ribs. His movements needed to be precise. He jumped, flipped mid-air, and fired downward, cutting through them before landing in a roll. More demons awoke, their numbers swelling. Then he felt it. The air shifted, colder, heavier. A shadow passed over him. Dante looked up.
No.
A twisted, armor-clad figure hovered above the battlefield. Its heavy wings flapped once, sending gusts of wind across the ground. The metallic sheen of its blade caught Dante’s eye, but he could only focus on its face if it even had one beneath that helmet.
An Angelo demon.
Dante’s breath hitched. For a second, the world blurred at the edges. His mind screamed at him to move, but he couldn’t. His hands trembled slightly on the grips of his pistols. He tried to shake it off, tried to focus, but the weight of memories crashed into him like a tidal wave.
Blood.
His sword swinging wildly, cutting through without hesitation, without thought.
A pained cry, inhuman, yet too human all the same.
The moment of realization.
Dante gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening around the pistols until they hurt.
He didn’t know.
He swears on everything he’s ever cared about, on everything he’s lost that he didn’t know.
Fratricide.
“Dante!”
A sharp impact against his back snapped him out of it.
Vergil.
Their backs pressed together, a familiar formation they had fought in a hundred times before.
“Restrain yourself.” Vergil said voice edged with irritation. “That’s the third demon that almost took your head off.” Dante blinked rapidly. The battlefield came back into focus. Right. He was here. Vergil was here. Vergil was alive. Breathing. Fighting. Not trapped behind that cursed armor.
Everything was fine.
Both brothers moved, dodging Angelo’s heavy blade as it struck the ground with a deafening clang. Dante rolled away, raising his pistols to fire a barrage of bullets. The Angelo faltered under the gunfire but didn’t fall. Vergil, meanwhile, tore through the lesser demons, his strikes swift and merciless.
Dante adjusted his stance, gripping his sword as he prepared for a closer fight. The Angelo lunged at him, its blade aimed for his chest. Dante blocked, the force rattling through his arms as metal clashed against metal. Their eyes met for a split second. And the Angelo knew.
It felt his hesitation. that lingering piece of doubt...
And for the first time in a long time, Dante felt afraid.
He planted his boots into the ground, gritting his teeth, he pushed harder against the blade, trying to regain control of his breathing, his focus.
Then a flash of blue streaked behind the demon.
A clean, precise slash. Vergil’s sword cleaved straight through Angelo’s neck. The demon’s head tumbled to the ground, its body flickering into dust.
Silence.
Dante let out a slow breath, his heart still pounding against his ribs. He clenched and unclenched his fists, willing his body to steady itself. He needed to get a grip.
“Dante.” Vergil approached him. Dante forced a smirk, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove. “I’m fine.” The words felt heavy in his throat, but he managed to say them.
Vergil didn’t look convinced. His piercing gaze lingered on him, searching, calculating. For a moment, Dante thought he might push the issue but then Vergil simply turned, pointing Yamato toward a small cave in the distance.
“That will do for camp.” Dante followed his gaze, exhaling through his nose. The cave wasn’t much, but it would provide shelter. He nodded, spitting to the side, trying to rid himself of the lingering dryness in his mouth.
“Yeah.” He cracked his neck. “Lead the way, fearless leader.” Vergil didn’t dignify him with a response, only started walking. Dante followed, but the weight in his chest didn’t disappear. Even as they moved forward, even as they left the battlefield behind, the memories clung to him.
Because for the first time in a long time, Dante had felt it again. That creeping, suffocating dread. The kind that whispered.
What if it happens again?
Dante pushed the thought away. Everything was fine. He was fine. Vergil was still here. Still watching his back. There was nothing to be afraid of. The cave they had found wasn’t much, small, cramped, with rough stone walls that barely shielded them from the cold but it was enough.
Vergil was already tending to a small fire, the flickering flames casting shifting shadows along the cave walls. Dante slumped down against the rock, crossing his arms as he let his head rest back. Neither of them spoke.
The silence between them was thick. Not comfortable, not suffocating just there. Dante could feel Vergil’s occasional glances. Great. He knew.
Dante exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly as if the movement could shake off the weight settling in his chest. “Go to sleep, Dante.” Vergil said at last, his voice steady but firm. Dante cracked open one eye, peering at him through the dim light. “What, you don’t want me to take first watch?”
Vergil’s response was a sharp look.
Yeah, okay, dumb question.
Dante huffed and turned his head to the side. “Alright, alright.” He mumbled, shifting onto his side with his back to Vergil. “Wake me up if anything happens.” Vergil didn’t answer.
That was fine.
Dante closed his eyes.
The next time he woke up, he immediately knew something was off. His body still felt sluggish, like he hadn’t gotten any real rest. His limbs were heavy, and there was an uncomfortable weight pressing on his chest, not just exhaustion, but something deeper.
The fire had burned low, barely more than embers now. That meant time had passed. Probably more than he thought. Frowning, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, blinking groggily. "Vergil?"
Nothing.
Dante sat up fully, shaking the sleep from his mind as his heart picked up its pace. He glanced around the cave, his senses sharpening.
"Vergil!"
Still nothing.
A faint spike of panic ran through him before something shifted at the edge of his vision. Dante turned sharply and froze.
Vergil’s doppelgänger stood in the dim light, its form flickering slightly, its cold blue eyes staring directly at him. Watching him. For a moment, neither of them moved. Dante swallowed, shifting his weight like he was expecting a fight. But the clone made no move to attack. It didn’t even twitch. It was just there. It hit Dante then.
Vergil left it here on purpose.
He was watching over him.
Dante barely had time to process that before the doppelgänger flickered and vanished. A second later, footsteps echoed from the cave’s entrance. Vergil stepped inside, his coat brushing against the stone. His expression was unreadable as usual, but there was the faintest tilt of his head as he took in Dante’s awake form.
“I see you’re awake.” Vergil said, his tone neutral. Dante pushed himself to his feet, feeling his head spin for a second before he steadied himself. He ignored it. "Where the hell were you?" There was a sharper edge to his voice than he intended, a trace of something too close to worry. He hoped Vergil didn’t catch it.
Vergil didn’t so much as blink. "Patrolling." he said plainly. "I needed to make sure nothing would trap us while you were slowing us down." Dante’s stomach twisted at those last words. A small pang of irritation flared in his chest, covering whatever else he might have felt.
"I'm not slowing us down!" Vergil actually snorted at him, his lips curling slightly at the corners. "Do you have any idea how long you’ve been sleeping? I wouldn’t be surprised if an entire day passed."
Dante felt his eye twitch. "Then maybe you should’ve woken me up, dumbass." Vergil gave him a pointed look. "Have you seen yourself?" Dante bit the inside of his cheek. Okay. Fair point. He still felt the exhaustion clinging to him, his muscles aching, his throat sore. He hated that Vergil noticed.
But there was no way in hell he was going to admit that. "That’s because you let me sleep on the damn ground." He grumbled instead, crossing his arms. "Bet I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I didn’t have a rock jabbing into my spine."
Vergil merely raised a brow, unimpressed. Dante smirked, stretching his arms behind his head as if to shake off the lingering fatigue. "Doesn’t matter. I’m still at 100%, more than able to kick your ass whenever I feel like it."
He should have really thought that through before he said it. Because the second those words left his mouth, Vergil’s smirk sharpened like the edge of a blade.
Oh. Shit.
"If that’s the case." Vergil mused, turning toward the cave entrance, "It’s been a while since our last sparring match." He glanced back, something dangerously amused in his expression. "And, if I recall correctly, we’re still at a draw."
Dante stared at him. Vergil walked outside without another word.
Dante let out a long, dramatic sigh before trudging after him. He really should learn to keep his mouth shut. But then again. A fight might be exactly what he needed right now.
They moved a short distance away from their camp, stepping into an open field. The air was still, thick with the scent of earth and distant decay. The ground beneath them was uneven, littered with the remnants of past battles, scorched marks, shattered bones, and deep gashes in the dirt. It was the perfect place. If demons decided to interrupt, they could shift seamlessly from sparring to slaughter.
Vergil was already waiting for him, Yamato held loosely at his side, but Dante could see it, the tension in his stance, the subtle twitch of his fingers. He was impatient. They hadn’t had much time to fight each other since they cut down the Qliphoth tree.
Dante smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Wow, didn’t think you were that desperate for me to kick your ass." Vergil’s only response was a sharp, unimpressed look before he raised Yamato in preparation. "Prepare to die"
Dante shook his head. He could feel the stir of something deep inside, his inner demon practically vibrating with excitement. It had been too long. And then, their blades met in an instant.
Sparks erupted as his sword clashed against Yamato, the force of their strikes sending sharp gusts through the clearing. Dante twisted, dodging as Vergil’s blade cut dangerously close. Another dodge. Then another.
He had always been fast.
Dante leaped back, adjusting his grip before surging forward with a brutal swing. Vergil shifted at the last moment, his movements precise and controlled. Then Dante picked up speed.
He struck faster, relentless, each blow heavier than the last. His legs moved instinctively, dodging between swings, his coat billowing behind him. Then, at the perfect moment, he locked their blades together, pressing forward with a cocky grin.
Big mistake.
Vergil’s boot connected with his chest, sending him skidding back. Dante coughed, spitting onto the dirt. A dull ache bloomed where the kick landed, but he only grinned, despite the tight feeling creeping into his lungs. "Cheap shot." He muttered, twirling his sword.
Vergil smirked but remained silent, his grip on Yamato tightening. Dante swung again, twisting mid-motion into a pirouette, his blade cutting through the air in a deadly arc. Vergil sidestepped at the last second, his eyes never leaving Dante. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat.
Shit, he’s getting serious.
Yamato blurred, slicing toward Dante’s face. He barely managed to kick it aside with his boot, staggering back as his breath came out shallower than before. Vergil tilted his head slightly, observing him. "Tired already?" His tone was smooth, almost mocking. "We’ve barely begun."
Dante gritted his teeth, bracing against the growing fatigue. "You wish." He forced more strength into his arms, pushing against Vergil’s next strike. The fight continued a whirlwind of flashing steel and raw power. Every strike sent echoes through the battlefield. Every dodge took just a little more effort. Dante ignored the way his muscles burned, how his breath started to hitch.
He wasn’t about to back down. But then, his vision swayed. For a split second, the world tilted sideways, the edges of his sight blurring.
No, no, not now.
Vergil lunged. Dante tried to dodge, but the moment he moved, a sharp cough tore from his throat. His body wavered, his grip tightening on his sword as his strength faltered. He barely caught himself on one knee, breathing hard, his chest constricting painfully.
"Dante?" Vergil’s voice cut through the haze, but Dante ignored it. It didn’t matter. He forced himself upright, raising his sword in time to meet Vergil’s next strike. The clang of their blades rang through the air.
And then, the world spun. Dante’s legs buckled. His vision darkened. He barely registered the sensation of falling before the ground rushed up to meet him.
"DANTE!"
For a moment, Dante braced for it the inevitable strike, the finishing blow, a blade driving through his chest, the cruel sting of defeat. But it never came.
Instead, the only thing he felt was something grabbing him, yanking roughly at the collar of his coat. A firm, unrelenting grip, as if trying to haul him back from the abyss.
And then darkness.
When Dante opened his eyes again, the world was a blurred, shifting mess. His body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and lingering pain. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. Then he noticed it, the familiar glow of light blue just beneath him.
Vergil’s Doppelgänger was carrying him.
Dante’s head lolled slightly to the side, his vision still unfocused. He could just make out Vergil walking ahead, his form sharp and steady against the hazy backdrop of their surroundings. In one hand, he held Dante's sword, the massive blade resting easily against his shoulder. In the other something dark, dripping, and unmistakably grotesque. Demon parts.
Dante grimaced.
Did I pass out during the fight?
He hoped not, but the fresh splatter of blood on Vergil’s boots told him otherwise. A wave of humiliation settled in his stomach. He forced his throat to work, but all that came out was a dry, scratchy exhale. His body was still too weak to properly react.
Vergil must have sensed his stirring because he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance back at him. Dante didn’t say anything. His throat burned, raw and rough, and his head throbbed with every slight movement. Vergil, as expected, didn’t acknowledge his struggle he merely turned forward again, resuming their silent journey back to the cave.
Vergil’s Doppelgänger carefully lowered Dante onto the cold stone floor before vanishing into nothingness. The moment his body touched the ground, a quiet groan escaped him. His limbs felt dead, sluggish and unwilling to cooperate.
"Idiot." Vergil muttered as he knelt to stoke the fire. The glow flickered, casting long, jagged shadows against the walls. Dante smirked, though it was weak. "Good to see you too." He croaked, his voice rough like gravel. A brief coughing fit followed, shaking his entire frame.
Vergil’s eyes flickered toward him, his hands working methodically as he began to carve the demon meat. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused?" His tone was sharp, but there was something else underneath it, something restrained.
Dante barely managed to roll onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "I know, I know." He muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "You're in the lead now by one point." He tried for a joke, but even he could hear how pathetic it sounded.
Vergil exhaled through his nose, a slow, measured breath, probably to keep himself from smacking Dante upside the head. "Sit up." He ordered, and there was something in his voice that left no room for argument. Dante scowled but did as he was told, pushing himself up with considerable effort. His muscles protested every movement, but at least he managed to stay upright.
Vergil handed him a piece of demon meat. "Eat. You need strength." Dante eyed the chunk of flesh warily. It was still slick with blood, barely cooked over the fire. His stomach twisted at the thought, but he knew he had no choice. They had to eat something.
Vergil, for his part, didn’t immediately eat his portion. He sat across from Dante, unmoving, watching. Dante hesitated. "We were attacked?" He asked, trying to recall the last moments before his blackout.
Vergil’s grip on Yamato tightened ever so slightly. "A few seconds after you passed out theatrically." He replied coolly, before finally taking a bite of his own food. "Eat." He repeated, sharper this time. Dante sighed and forced himself to take a bite. The meat was tough, bitter, and iron-tinged with blood. His teeth worked through it easily enough, but his stomach was already rejecting it. He swallowed, barely suppressing the nausea rising in his throat.
Another bite. The moment it slid down, his stomach churned in protest. A miserable growl erupted from deep within him, followed by an overwhelming wave of dizziness. His mouth flooded with saliva. He barely had time to react.
Dante lurched forward, gagging violently. The food came back up in a sickening rush, splattering against the ground as his entire body convulsed. His hands gripped the stone floor, trembling. His throat burned, his stomach twisted painfully, and his breath came in short, ragged gasps.
Small tears pricked at the corners of his eyes from the force of it, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse face-first into the mess. Then a steady hand caught him.
Vergil’s grip was firm, fingers tightening around the collar of his coat to keep him upright. Another hand pressed against his back, not harsh, not impatient, just there, grounding him. Dante squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing shallow and erratic. He hated this. He hated feeling this weak.
There was no snide remark from Vergil. No sharp insult. Just silence. A moment passed. Then another.
Vergil didn’t let go.
"Do you think you're done?" Vergil's voice was quieter than usual, almost uncertain. Dante spat the last remnants of bile from his mouth, wiping the back of his hand against his lips. He gave a weak nod, though the motion made his head spin. Vergil barely hesitated before gripping his shoulders and pulling him away from the mess.
"Not good." Vergil muttered, more to himself than to Dante. "The smell will attract demons." Dante swallowed hard, his throat still raw. The weight of Vergil's hands on his shoulders was grounding, but an ugly thought curled in the back of his mind.
This is it, huh?
He could already picture it, Vergil walking away, leaving him behind in this damp, miserable cave, struggling just to keep his breath steady. His body, weakened and useless, would be easy prey.
Panic surged up his spine.
Dante knew Vergil wasn’t the type to stick around for dead weight. The idea of being abandoned, of being helpless, made his stomach twist violently. Vergil might not even mean to leave him behind. Maybe he'd just decide it was logical. The best option.
Dante would rather Vergil kill him outright. It would be more merciful than whatever slow, pathetic end awaited him if-
Something moved in front of him.
Vergil's Doppelgänger reappeared, crouching low, its piercing blue glow reflecting off the cave walls. Before Dante could fully process what was happening, Vergil pulled off his own coat and draped it over him, the fabric heavier than it looked.
"Verg?" Dante rasped, voice hoarse. Vergil silenced him with a sharp glance. "Hush. Don't waste your strength." Dante barely had time to register the warmth of the coat before he was being lifted. The Doppelgänger gathered him effortlessly, its hold unnervingly secure, as if afraid he might slip away at any moment.
"We have to leave." Vergil announced. Dante shivered as the air hit him, the heat from the fever warring against the chill outside. His body tensed. The Doppelgänger let out a low, guttural growl soft, but reverberating through his bones.
His instincts flared. His own demonic blood reacted before his mind could catch up, an involuntary rumble escaping his throat in response. A test, a call-and-response between brothers.
Vergil clicked his tongue. "Fool. You should have told me you were feeling like this." Dante swallowed, licking at his cracked lips. His response came out before he could stop it. "I didn't want you to leave me." The moment the words left his mouth, his brain screamed at him to shut up.
The Doppelgänger’s grip tightened slightly. not in a discomfort way, but in something else. Something like protecting. Up ahead, Vergil clenched Dante's sword a little harder. His pace didn’t slow, but the air around him shifted.
"You must be an even bigger fool than I thought." Vergil said, his tone sharp but lacking its usual bite. He didn’t look back, but Dante caught the flicker of his gaze in the corner of his eye, scanning their surroundings. "If you think I would leave you like this."
Dante blinked slowly, his mind sluggish, trying to process that. Vergil didn’t hesitate. Didn’t mock him for the weakness in his voice. Didn’t throw back some cutting remark. He just... kept moving forward.
As Dante forced his blurry vision to focus, he realized they were near the watering hole again. The quiet rush of water reached his ears, the damp scent filling his nose.
"Here." Vergil muttered, leading them toward a patch of rock and grass. It wasn’t ideal shelter, but it was secluded enough to keep them from being seen at least for now. "If you throw up again, I’d rather not have to drag your sorry corpse away from the stench a second time." Vergil added dryly.
The Doppelgänger set Dante down on the grass with unnatural gentleness before fading away once more. Vergil crouched beside him, watching with that same unreadable expression. Then, without warning, he pressed the back of his hand against Dante’s forehead.
Vergil’s lips thinned. "You have a fever." Dante could see it now, worry. Not dramatic, not overt. But there.
Vergil was worried.
Dante’s breath hitched slightly, and before he could stop himself, he raised a trembling hand toward his brother. Vergil caught it instantly, pushing it back down. "Don't waste your strength." His tone was firm, but his grip was careful.
Dante let out a quiet groan, curling in on himself slightly, pulling Vergil’s coat tighter around him. His body still trembled from the fever, but at least the fabric offered some protection. Vergil sat beside him, sword resting against his shoulder, gaze flickering between Dante and their surroundings.
"All we can do now is wait for this to pass." He said as if that was the simplest thing in the world. Dante shut his eyes, exhaling shakily. His body ached. His head throbbed.
"I'm sorry." He muttered, voice barely above a whisper. A beat of silence. Then the quiet rustle of fabric as Vergil adjusted the coat, making sure it covered him properly. Dante barely noticed, already slipping back into exhaustion.
Vergil simply kept watch.
Dante sees fire.
A roaring, all-consuming inferno, swallowing everything in its path. The heat scorches his skin, sears his lungs, makes it impossible to move. He’s trapped, wedged inside a dark, suffocating closet, the wood trembling from the heat outside.
He tries to scream, but the smoke chokes the sound before it can leave his throat. "Mom!" His voice is raw, cracking with panic. "Vergil!"
No answer.
The fire rages on, licking at the door, turning the world outside into an unrecognizable hellscape. The closet walls press inward, the space growing smaller, darker, suffocating. Dante’s heart hammers. He can feel hot tears slipping down his cheeks, the helplessness curling deep into his bones.
Then, the door rips open. The darkness outside isn't relief it's something worse. A looming figure, shrouded in black armor, glowing red eyes staring down at him.
Nelo Angelo.
Dante can't breathe. His body jolts, no longer a child, no longer in a burning house. The closet is gone. Now, he’s sitting in a vast, endless space, knee-deep in dark red, murky water. Alastor, his sword rests in his lap, its silver gleam drowned in fresh blood.
He looks up.
Nelo Angelo is sinking. The water pulls him down, twisting, consuming. Dante stumbles forward, reaching out instinctively, trying to catch him before he disappears beneath the surface before he’s swallowed whole. His fingers barely graze the edges of the demon’s gauntlet before...
Gone.
"No!"
Dante stares at the rippling water, breathless. The blood spreads, tainting the surface in deep crimson waves. He tries to move, tries to scream. Then he felt it.
Heat.
Not from the fire this time, but from inside him. Burning through his veins, crawling up his spine, wrapping around his throat like a vice. He isn't alone.
Something shifts behind him. A presence. Dante turns.
And sees himself.
Expressionless. Hollow. Then slowly a smile curls on his lips.
It isn’t his smile.
It’s something else. Something terrible. Something unnatural, twisted into a grotesque parody of amusement. A grin that belongs to a monster.
His doppelgänger moves fast, too fast grabbing him by the throat and yanking him downward. The bloody water surges up around him, dragging him into its endless depths. Dante fights, thrashing, clawing at his own reflection. But the other him only tightens his grip, dragging him deeper.
He’s falling.
Falling.
Falling-
Dante woke with a sharp, choked gasp. His body was trembling violently, soaked in sweat. His breath came in ragged pants, his lungs straining, his throat raw, had he been screaming?
Something pressed over his mouth, firm but not painful. Dante’s hazy vision swam as he instinctively tried to push away the touch, half-expecting to see the Doppelgänger restraining him again. But no. Not this time.
Instead, a pair of glowing blue eyes stared down at him. Not human. Not the cold, calculating stare of Vergil’s usual self. This was something else.
The demonic form of his twin.
Vergil’s grip on him was solid but not crushing, his claws resting against Dante’s mouth to silence him. Not as a threat, not as an attack just... holding him there. Grounding him. A low, guttural growl rumbled from Vergil’s chest. Not hostile. Not warning.
Soothing.
Dante’s own body responded before his mind could catch up. He let his head rest against Vergil’s chest, letting himself be enveloped by the steady warmth. He focused on it, on the solid presence above him, on the way Vergil’s body vibrated with another quiet growl. His own demon blood stirred, answering in kind.
A weak sound rumbled from Dante’s throat, not quite a growl, but an acknowledgment. Vergil must have taken that as a sign of improvement because, after a few more seconds, he withdrew his hand. Dante took a deep, shuddering breath, lungs struggling to adjust. As expected, he coughed harshly and wet, saliva sticking to his lips. He was too exhausted to wipe it away.
Vergil made another low sound half frustration, half something softer. Then, without warning, he lifted his wrist to his mouth. Dante barely had time to register what was happening before Vergil’s fangs sank into his own skin. Blood welled up instantly, rich and dark. Dante’s tired eyes widened.
Then, Vergil pressed the wound lightly to his lips. Dante jerked slightly at the metallic scent, his sluggish mind catching up to what was being offered. No. He didn't want to-
His instincts overrode his thoughts. The moment the first drop touched his tongue, his body reacted. His demonic side, desperate and aching, surged forward, forcing him to accept it. His lips parted, his body betraying him as he drank. Warmth spread down his throat, rich and burning, sending a shiver through his limbs.
He didn’t think about it. Didn’t let his mind linger on the taste or the way it coated his teeth. He just drank, ignoring the way his stomach twisted in disgust even as his body soaked up the strength it gave him. After a moment, Vergil pulled his hand away. The wound closed instantly, healing as if it had never been there.
Dante groaned weakly, head spinning, body heavy. He barely had the strength to open his eyes. He felt himself being lowered back down, the warmth of Vergil’s coat settling over him again. His brother's presence remained beside him, close enough to feel.
Dante exhaled slowly, letting the last dregs of tension slip away. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not when he mumbled, "Thanks, Verg."
Vergil didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either. Dante took that as enough. And then he let himself slip back into sleep.
When Dante’s body woke again, he felt the weightless embrace of water around him. It was cool against his fevered skin, lapping gently at his submerged limbs. His red coat was gone. So were his boots and pants. He was left in nothing but his shirt and boxers, his body floating just below the surface.
Above him, the sky remained an unchanging dull gray. He mumbled something incoherent, his tongue thick in his mouth. A firm hand cradled the back of his head, keeping him from slipping under completely. He wasn’t in danger of drowning. Not by accident, anyway.
Slowly, Dante turned his head.
Vergil was kneeling at the shore, half-crouched in the water, one hand supporting Dante’s head while the other rested against his own chin. He looked tired.
"Vergil?" Dante’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. Vergil shifted slightly, tilting his head down to look at him. "I see you finally decided to return to the land of the living." Vergil murmured. His tone was as dry as ever, but exhaustion threaded through his words, faint but unmistakable.
Dante frowned. Something was off.
"What...?" He croaked, blinking sluggishly. His body still felt wrong, too heavy, too warm despite the cool water surrounding him. Vergil sighed, his fingers tightening just slightly in Dante’s damp hair before releasing. A small, almost imperceptible gesture.
"You had a high fever." Vergil explained, his voice dropping into something closer to disinterest, though Dante could tell it was a front. "I had to cool you down somehow." Dante let out a weak chuckle. "So your first thought was to dunk me in a lake? I always knew you were the caring type."
Vergil exhaled sharply, an unimpressed sound, but there was no real bite behind it. "Your fever hasn’t broken yet." He said instead, pressing the back of his hand against Dante’s forehead. The touch was fleeting, but Dante caught the slight furrow of Vergil’s brows. "It’s lower than before, but still not gone."
Dante studied his brother more closely.
Vergil looked exhausted. His normally composed expression was tinged with something strained like he’d been running on nothing but sheer willpower for far too long. "How long was I out?" Dante asked. Vergil shrugged, rolling his stiff shoulders. "Not long. My Doppelgänger has been keeping watch."
Ah. That explained the exhaustion, at least in part. If Vergil had been sustaining his Doppelgänger and looking after Dante, he had to be running on fumes by now. Dante exhaled slowly, then tried to move. His muscles protested, but Vergil helped him sit up without a word.
The water rippled around them, the coolness washing against his fevered skin. The lake reached just above his waist now that he was upright, droplets sliding down his arms as he ran a hand over his face. The taste of metal still lingered on his lips.
"You know..." Dante started, voice quieter now as he gazed at the distant rocks along the shore. "This kinda reminds me of when Father fed us his blood." Vergil’s gaze flickered to him, intrigued. He adjusted his position slightly, no longer kneeling but sitting properly by the shore.
"Tell me about it."
Dante smirked faintly. "Since when are you the sentimental type?" Vergil didn’t dignify that with a response, just waited.
Dante let his head tilt back slightly, staring at the sky as he pulled the memory forward. "We must’ve been, what? Three? Four?" He let out a quiet chuckle. "It was winter. Mom had stepped inside to grab our hats, but we, being the little dumbasses we were, ran straight into the forest."
"Of course we did." Vergil muttered, shaking his head. Dante grinned. "And, of course, we ended up falling into a frozen lake." Vergil went still for half a second.
"I don’t remember that." He admitted, though his voice had taken on a distant tone. Dante hummed, his fingers idly skimming the surface of the water. "Yeah. I don’t remember how we got out, but I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t for our demon blood, we’d be dead."
"That much?"
Dante nodded. "When we got home, our fingers were so frozen that a few of them practically snapped off when we tried to bend them." His smile faded slightly. "Mom was terrified." Vergil didn’t say anything, but Dante could feel the shift in his presence, his twin's sharp mind combing through long-buried memories.
"That same evening, Father came into our room." Dante continued. "Didn’t say a word. Just sat down next to us, bit into his own fingers until they bled, and pressed them to our lips." He paused, letting the memory settle. "I don’t remember much after that." He admitted. "Just the taste of his blood. And the next morning, we woke up perfectly fine. Like nothing ever happened."
Vergil was silent for a long moment. Then, quietly, almost hesitantly he murmured. "I think I remember." Dante looked at him. Vergil’s expression was unreadable, but his fingers had curled slightly in the grass. "Mother wouldn’t let us out of her sight after that. If we left the house, she had to be there."
Dante snorted. "Can you blame her? We were tiny idiots with zero survival instinct. And being half-demon probably didn’t help her nerves." Vergil exhaled through his nose, something almost resembling amusement ghosting over his features.
Dante let his gaze wander back to the water. He felt... lighter, somehow. Maybe it was the fever making him nostalgic, or maybe it was just the absurdity of it all, how even after everything, they were here. Together. Alive.
"Funny how things come full circle, huh?" He muttered. Vergil glanced at him. "What do you mean?" Dante smirked, stretching out his arms before letting them drop back into the water with a soft splash.
"Father fed us his blood to keep us alive." He said. "And now here we are, you doing the same for me." Vergil’s expression didn’t change, but something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "Hmph." He muttered, looking away. "Don’t make it sound so sentimental."
Dante chuckled but didn’t push it. He let the silence stretch between them, comfortable, peaceful.
"I think I know where the best place to open a portal is." Vergil’s voice cut through the silence. Dante blinked, shifting his gaze to his brother, who had straightened from his crouch. Vergil extended a finger, pointing toward a small hill in the distance.
"That should be a good place to quickly open a portal and get out of here." Dante followed the direction of Vergil’s finger, studying the hill. It wasn’t far, hell from the looks of it, they could have reached it hours ago if Vergil had decided to move.
A frown tugged at his lips. "If it’s that close, then why didn’t you just go there earlier?" Vergil didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes flicked toward the lake, his expression unreadable. "And leave you here?" His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it. "Do you really think your... friends would be happy with that choice?" Dante let out a short, dry laugh.
"They’re not my friends."
Vergil turned his head, raising an eyebrow at him. Dante sighed, his gaze dropping to his reflection in the rippling water. "Don’t get me wrong, Vergil." He swirled his hand through the surface, distorting his own face. "They... they probably see me as a friend, but I never really let them in. Not completely." His hand stilled, and for a brief moment, he just stared at the fragmented image of himself.
"But don’t tell Lady that." A small smirk ghosted over his lips. "We’ve been through a lot together, and I’m sure she wouldn’t take it well if she found out." Vergil snorted softly. "And Nero?" Dante hesitated, his smirk fading slightly.
"Are you telling me my son isn’t your friend?" Dante let out a breath, tilting his head back so the water lapped at the ends of his hair. "I never wanted to get attached to him." The words came out quieter than he expected. "Didn’t think I deserved to."
Vergil didn’t say anything, just watched him. Dante continued, voice thoughtful. "The kid could handle himself. Maybe if I’d met him earlier, things would’ve been different. But by the time I did... it just didn’t feel right." He let out a quiet chuckle, but there wasn’t much humor in it. "Didn’t stop me from caring, though."
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then Vergil ever directly said. "You know you’ll have to explain this to him when we get back, right?" Dante sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Yeah... I know." His fingers stilled, gripping the strands for a moment before dropping. "Honestly? I didn’t think I’d live this long."
Vergil’s expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his gaze, something unspoken. He didn’t respond. Instead, he extended a hand. Dante looked at it for a second before taking it, allowing Vergil to help him to his feet. His body was still weak from the fever, but standing felt a little easier now.
"Come on." Vergil said, steadying him. "Let’s rest for a while. Then we’ll start making a plan to get there." Dante nodded, following his brother’s lead.
Whatever happens, they will be in this together.