A/N: Happy Easter!

Summary: Set after DMC 4. Rated M for violence. One- shot from Dante's pov.

What should a devil hunter do if there is an end to the loads of demons? His thoughts inevitably lead Dante to his evil brother.

I don't own anything of Devil May Cry.

Status: not beta-ed, complete

The hunter

It's a hard life - the life of a hunter. It's not always bumping into a swarm of your pray or shooting it from afar. Often enough it is lying in wait, observing in silence. And more than once you come back home empty- handed.

That was what Dante had to learn, too. The hordes of demons always seemed unlimited in number but recently there had barely someone seen even one. This business was dying. And he had killed the greatest part of it with his own weapons. Mankind was about to be save but for the wars among themselves. The son of Sparda was far from participating in those. Of course his abilities would end some battles a lot sooner but he wouldn't want the blood of men on his hands. One just doesn't save mankind to slay them down afterwards. But what would he do if even the last rare missions were completed, the last demons killed, the last troubled caller calmed. You could be the greatest demon hunter of the world still there would be a landlord, a power company, a seller and others wanting to be paid. There was no other job Dante could think of doing. He was not a seller himself, nor a gardener, nor a pencil pusher or anything else. His life was all about fighting, weapons and power. There was no place for politics or economy. It had always been him and the demons. No one else - except for the girls and his brother. His female partners were having a hard time themselves. They had left Devil May Cry quite a while ago since the hunting ground no longer offered enough missions for all three of them. Still they would call every once in a while, trying to keep their friendship alive. Dante was grateful for that. Slaying demons, being gone for days or weeks or even months, coming home covered in sweat, blood and left-overs of different evil creatures just doesn't work for normal social relationships. If you were not a hunter yourself you would never get along, left alone understand. Hunters just don't talk about the weather or TV programs but about weapons and fighting techniques. Some time ago Dante had at least used to visit a pub once or twice a week but nowadays he stayed in his office, lying in wait for a call, craving for a mission, wishing for demons.

It was a Monday, though Dante didn't recall the day of week since all of them resembled each other. They were like septuples, hard to tell apart. Like every other day the demon hunter sat at his desk, reading some magazine he wasn't really interested in. His hearing was concentrated on the phone which sat on the table in utter silence. It was driving him crazy. Day by day he was losing more of his sanity. He couldn't even sleep properly anymore. Strange thoughts had started forming in his mind. Dangerous thoughts. Thoughts about his brother, Vergil. Years ago when Dante had just bought the office his dear brother had send a man to call him for the fight. The demon hunter remembered the call he had gotten before Arkham had entered. It had been some worried woman but he had hung up before she could tell him what this call was about. Oh, he had been so confident. If someone had told him that demons were about to become an endangered species he would have called them crazy. And if he had felt very mischievous he would have introduced them to Vergil. But his brother was gone for years now. Maybe he died, maybe he wasted away in hell or just maybe he hunted. Hell. The only place were the number of demons never decreased. Just opening a hell gate for a few minutes would result in thousands of demons swarming the city again. Everything would be like it had been. The thought was so tempting. Still the last time someone had opened a hell gate was years ago as well. He had met Nero back then. The kid was probably married now, maybe having his own kids already. Dante wondered how that half devil made his life. Yet it was better to stay away. At these times when hunting was almost impossible every hunter was easy to upset. Being half devilish didn't make things much easier. Men used to have quite a temper but that was nothing compared to a bitching inner demon. Small wonder though, being restrained all the time with your needs unheard and no hope to ever relish in freedom again everyone would go nuts. Dante knew this feeling all too well. He wouldn't want to put the kid under such pressure. This was something one could only handle with some practice. Like Vergil maybe, his evil twin who always held back his devil to preserve his cool, untouchable aura. Yet he got to a place where his demon side must feel at home. A place where he could let lose without consequences. Dante remembered him, wrapped in blue flames, the power he emitted, yet the pain he suffered caused not by the demon but his human part. Up to this point the hunter had been certain that the human half of their heritage was the more comfortable part. But then he had seen the agony human feelings caused in a devil. He still felt so sorry. This was different from feeling a sword cut through your flesh, pierce your body, tearing apart muscles or even breaking bones. Feelings couldn't be healed by withdrawing a blade, spending up demonic power or bandage wounds. You don't see the damage you made by splattered blood, parted limps or spread guts. But you see it in their eyes.

The day was almost over, the moon gleamed in the sky as did the amulet which held so much still unknown power at Dante's chest. It felt the unspoken call, the never confessed craving and it reached out through invisible boundaries to find the memory of its other half. In a matter of seconds its might traveled miles, sought at different places in different realms, got felt by powerful creatures and escaped them before they even comprehended the feeling and finally it found the soul of its counterpart. There it was, the phantom of the other half which was made of the same stone, filled with the same power given to the descendant of the same blood. The other son of Sparda, Vergil. Yet the body and mind were bound, not free to get anywhere so the only solution was to break every rule of physics, dimension and reason.

He didn't know what happened. In one second he sat at his desk waiting for the phone to ring, dwelling in his thoughts and in the next he found himself at a place he had never seen before. There were red brick walls but they were not connected to anything, hovering inches over the ground but reaching up to touch the sky, there were trees with leaves of liquid blood dropping down and forming red puddles, there was an intense heat which already made Dante sweat. The sky was set ablaze, the flames licking down to the ash- covered soil but never reaching it.

"A labyrinth?", the hunter asked. The answer came immediately. A wall burst under the pressure of a giant tree falling down on it. Dante evaded the stones and jumped through the branches, running down the falling trunk. It had been a clean cut which parted the trunk from the root like from a sword not from an axe or saw. When the hunter landed on the tree stub he listened out for any noise. There was complete silence even as the tree hit the ground in slow motion. Gravity wasn't so strict around here it seemed.

"Where are you?", Dante called out, his voice sounding like thunder in this acoustic void. He knew someone must have cut the tree. As a precaution he reached to his back only to find Rebellion gone. Of course. He was never armed when he waited for a call at home. This would definitively change when he got back. But right now he felt highly vulnerable without his beloved guns and trusted sword.

The cut came unexpected yet Dante had felt it a split second before it could decapitate him. He dodged away. His blue eyes scanned the area. There was the fallen tree, the stub of it, the stones of the wall and some intact walls around. No one was in sight. And there was still this utter silence. The same silence that drove him crazy when he waited for a call. He knew there was someone and he expected to hear something so he strained his hearing until the lack of sounds made him imaging things. Now he heard a rustling like white noise and every now and then a voice could be heard but all too quite to be understandable. He knew this couldn't be real but he couldn't stop it once it begun. Slowly he turned around to make sure no one would surprise him.

The next attack came from above and this time Dante got a glance at his opponent. Just a moment later he didn't believe what he had seen - whom he had seen. He had escaped another cut to his neck, terribly precise and inevitably deadly if it hit. The person he had seen moving through the air was gone. Still his memory showed him blue flames and a red gleaming amulet which couldn't be there.

"Where am I?", he asked hoping to get an answer at least to that question. No one replied but the voices he imagined. They were even worse than the silence. Since they were barely audible he listened in even closer, making things even worse. Hesitantly he started walking. The same that happened to his hearing started with his vision soon. By just a few steps he had reached an area that looked exactly the same to each side. The tree was out of sight so there were just brick walls. The pattern repeating from wall to wall making them blur together had an immediate effect on the brain. Dante couldn't tell where one wall ended and the other begun, which was closer and which was further away. And when he looked up to relax his eyes he saw the flames licking down making him feel like they could reach him every moment though he knew they ended far above. A look at the ground didn't help either. There was a slight breeze which Dante couldn't feel but it moved the ashes of the ground creating an impression like the ground was moving under his feet. Wherever he looked the sight would strain his brain causing a head ache and soon hallucinations as well. He wasn't so sure anymore whom he had seen minutes ago. Maybe he had imagined that, too. Desperately he looked around for a tree but for some reason his steps had led him away from them and deeper into the labyrinth. He used his hands to guide him for he couldn't trust his vision anymore. The stones were hot, almost burning his skin if it wouldn't be for his demonic half to safe him from that. He felt another cut coming and dodged again. The walls were close so he looked at the stones for some hint that his feelings were still intact. They were undamaged. Maybe he imagined the attacks, too? What if he did not evade the next cut? Would he die or would nothing happen? He didn't dare to try.

Minutes passed while Dante tried to figure out where he was and how to stay sane. Nothing happened but for the occasional, invisible attacks. The hunter knew his sense of time had already left him, too. He tried to mark his way on the walls with the ashes from the ground but he found that nothing could stain these walls. The ashes stayed on his hands but not on the stone. He then tried to damage the brick stones with his powerful kicks and punches but those also left no marks whatsoever. This place was meant to drive a sane man crazy. After some more time Dante grew tired of dodging the cuts without seeing where they came from or what kind of blade caused them. Again he started to doubt if they were even real. But still, ignoring them could be a deadly mistake. Since he knew no other way he started talking to himself, his own voice being louder than the imagined ones even when he whispered. But he felt uncomfortable making noises with an opponent around and he found himself falling silent and listening again, subconsciously hoping for a treacherous sound.

The irritating game ended suddenly when Dante found a corner where the stone was soiled with blood. As eerie as it was, it still was a sanctuary for his mind. He could watch the blood being absorbed by the stone like they were cotton wool - slowly but constantly. The blood must have been shed only a little while ago. When he turned around to look if there were other traces of someone being around he faced the most unsettling sight of his life.

There he was, in all his former, young glory, Vergil, looking exactly like at the day on top of the demonic tower when he had chosen to go to hell - literally. Dante felt so much older at this moment. Could he being imagining things again? He had seen Vergil much later, fought him and watched him disappear but this person in front of him now was not the demon who suffered from human feelings. This was the human who longed for his devil.

"Say something", Dante demanded. He didn't feel like being cocky or cool, he was in fact clinging onto sanity. "Who are you? Why is no one else around? What is this place?"

His opponent didn't answer but his jaw tightened like he wanted to say something but couldn't open his mouth or maybe he bit back an answer. So they both stood in silence glaring at each other while the blood slowly disappeared from the walls. The moment it was completely gone the man who appeared to be Vergil went completely crazy. Though he had no sword he acted like he wielded the katana which had been his weapon for most of his life. It was not just an unsettling sight but Dante could actually feel the cuts, avoiding them by intuition to not get hurt. Then Vergil triggered his demon, equipping himself with the only weapons he seemed to have left: his claws. Next he attacked like a madman. Though Dante tried to keep some distance between himself and the insane demon he couldn't always avoid getting hit, his blood staining the walls around and being sucked up by the ashes on the ground. The wounds caused a burning pain that made him feel lesser insane himself. The blood also calmed the demon who attacked more precisely the more of it got shed. The pain, the sight of another devil, the blood - all that woke the beast inside the hunter as well. It raged against its confines of reason, screamed inside Dante's head louder than the white noise or the voices. The demon wanted to be set free after it had been held back for so long now. The feeling was overwhelming. It resembled joy, making Dante want to give in. And so he did. The next attack he didn't avoid. He caught the oncoming demon, digging his own claws into the other one's scales and skin, tearing at it until he drew blood. The wet, warm feeling was like chocolate to a despaired mind. He wanted more. The last fight seemed to have been ages ago. It felt so good to claw, kick and punch at a mighty enemy who attacked back with full force. This was not just about hurting but about being hurt as well. Every wound caused by the other demon sparkled through the devil driven body like electricity. Blood of both demons splattered around, so much that the ashes couldn't absorb it all. Soon they were fighting with their feet in their own blood. But that wasn't nearly enough. Dante remembered the dull feeling of boredom, the nagging worries about money and all the other crap that had been his life over the last years. It felt like needles torturing his soul and this fight now was like pulling them out one by one. It was medicine. When he sunk his claws into that flesh, when he kicked into the other one's stomach, when he punched the demon's face he felt like destroying the cage that had held him back since the demons disappeared from earth. He was free again, freed from the office and from the never ringing phone. And he was alive. Every wound he received made him feel that. He needed no well polished, bad- ass weapons, he needed no plans or tactics. All that he really needed was the fight itself. With the power his body held he smashed the bones of his opponent, tore the scales and skin off the demon's body and all of that was never enough. The blue demon got weaker though but Dante didn't notice. Vergil had always been as strong as Dante himself, maybe even a tiny little bit stronger. It only occurred to him that something was off when he saw the other one laying in the giant puddle of blood they had created. When the demon left, Vergil didn't look like his young self anymore. He had aged like Dante had over the years. They were the same. The hunter fell to his knees beside his brother, locking eyes with him as he caged his own demon again, sealing it away deep inside his mind. Those eyes - they were freezing blue with just a hint of the blue flame that always burned inside this man. Somewhere inside this lunatic mind was Vergil. The realization hit deep. There was a difference between them. Although the man didn't look like it anymore it was still a demon with a human man trapped inside. Dante touched his twin's face ever so softly, afraid that he was just an illusion after all. The skin felt warm. Vergil caught his brother's hand but his grip was weak. With his breath heavy and his body exhausted from the fight Dante wanted nothing more than to rest next to his twin. It didn't matter if he was more demonic and less human or the other way around. It didn't matter that he was weaker now. He probably just lacked a good opponent to fight against. And that was what Dante wanted, too. An opponent capable of defeating him if he wasn't fighting with all his power and concentration. And however selfish he might be, he wanted his evil twin and not just anyone. Let him try to open a hell gate. Hell, just let him open one or two. This was a problem Dante thought he could handle. But he couldn't handle his life how it had been over the last years. With his eyes resting on the pale face of his twin, Dante placed a hand next to Vergil's head and leaned in close, so close that he could feel Vergil's breath against his skin and even closer until their noses almost touched, to whisper: "I need you."

That was when time ran out and the amulet around the hunter's neck gleamed forcefully again, reaching back until it found Devil May Cry.