A/N: I put this over on the dmcyaoi lj comm a while back. This originally came out of my unhappy fangirly thoughts at the end of DMC3. We all know that the twins should stick together, shouldn't they? And before I forget- a few dialogue lines here have been taken from the original ending. I own nothing neither the characters nor the setting.
He had lost.
He, son of Sparda and master of Yamato, had lost.
There was no plausible route around it, and however much it irked his pride, he accepted the defeat. The taste was bitter and dry, gnawing away at his concentration even as he bent to retrieve his amulet, shining like a beacon from the murky water.
His amulet, and his alone.
Amusing, really, how such an insignificant trinket could hold such sway. When fitted against the other half, great armies, both demonic and human, had shed rivers of blood to claim the innocent jewel and unlock the Legendary Knight's sealed power.
Without its mate, its mirror image, the memento was merely a useless piece of silver and stone- by all rights, a nostalgic hold serving only as reminder of his weak, mortal heritage... a looming shadow he'd struggled to banish for all his life.
Yet still, despite all that it represented, or perhaps, all it did not, he felt...incomplete without the familiar touch resting against his chest.
The amulet weighed heavy and slick in his gloved palm. Damp cold seeped through smooth leather and bit into the pale skin below before his own heat could warm the metal. The chill did not surprise him. That sensation, that duality, he reflected, was not unlike the swirl of conflict between his brother and himself.
His brother. Speak of the devil and it just might appear…
Dante stood warily just beyond sword's reach, a dark splash of scarlet against the rocky and colorless backdrop. The way his fingers ran over and over the handles of his dual handguns revealed the tension in his frame, and the deceptively casual tilt of the shoulders showed his attempts to conceal it. He had always been so easy to read.
"No one can have this, Dante. It's mine. It belongs to a son a Sparda." And you've got your own echoed unspoken. Pain lancing deep in his gut, sharp and dissipating oh so slowly, brought a grimace to his face and he brought his arm up to relieve some of the pressure. Blood soaked through his coat and dripped steadily down to mix with the flow of water rushing off into oblivion. His injury should have been gone and healed long before.
Vergil almost smiled.
Fitting, then, to meet his defeat at the edge between worlds. Doubly so at the hands of his twin. The step backwards he took then was both the hardest and easiest of his life.
Emotions flashed in Dante's eyes- suspicion, confusion quickly chased away by brief, naked fear. So sentimental, his brother, still clinging to childhood dreams and hopes underneath his loud-mouthed exterior. Vergil lashed Yamato forward before Dante had even started his impulsive lunge.
And so predictable.
"Leave me and go, if you don't want to be trapped in the demon world."
Temen-ni-gru crumbled around them, adding its own sense of urgency and cutting away at their remaining time.
"I'm staying. This place… was our father's home."
He couldn't bring himself to regret his actions. There was no place for him among the humans, their time transient and meaningless as they scurried through their lives- and his brother would never agree to ruling them as Vergil would inevitably try. All he could hope for would be a lull in fighting, perhaps a few weeks or years that would seem like the merest blink to devils such as themselves.
No, his place was in the demonic world, legacy of his father's immortal heritage. Swiping his blade up in a last warning cut to hinder his brother's efforts… and perhaps as a last keepsake for remembrance, he let himself fall back, feeling the cold air rush past his cheek. He closed his eyes with the image of Dante's wounded expression still etched into his thoughts.
The drop alone was enough to bring stars dancing in his vision. Panting in the shallow pool, Vergil lay still for scant pain filled seconds, willing energy into his aching muscles and managing to lever himself up with Yamato after a long struggle.
Broken marble columns and dark, obscuring swirls of mist were all the greeted him when he took in his sparse surroundings. Tendrils of ominous power, like icy needles dragged across his skin, drew his gaze forward and he found only a deep sense of irony when a triage of gleaming eyes appeared. Cruel and mocking, they regarded him with no little amount of interest and the weight of millennia behind them.
Mundus.
Stories his father had told him about the ruler of the demon world were scarce and Vergil's own research yielded few details, only reverent mentions, some torn or scratched away as if in fear, of an age of absolute rule.
Now, he had an opportunity to rectify any gaps in knowledge
"It would be fun to fight with the Prince of Darkness." He straightened without bothering to acknowledge the burning in his abdomen. "If my father did it, I should be able to do it, too."
Odds were heavily slanted against him. He found that he didn't particularly care.
Releasing a battle cry, he tensed, gripping Yamato's bloodied hilt before charging towards his target. A wave of power materialized before him, exuding shards of pulsing matter as it rose unhurriedly and waited for him to attack. Narrowing his eyes, he prepared for the crushing impact and hoped that his death would be clean-
"Fuck off, Cyclops!"
Vergil heard more than saw the blast of twin handguns behind him and checked his lunge in disbelief. Roaring in shock, Mundus' image dissipated instantly as the first bullets tore through, leaving only a faint sinister sensation to mark his presence.
Hands reached around Vergil's chest in a crushing embrace before he'd even turned partway and a familiar face buried itself in his shoulder. He recognized instantly the shuddering figure behind him. It took him much longer to realize that there were tears wetting his coat.
"You stupid stupid asshole…" Dante's voice cracked and he kept on yelling, muffled by the thick fabric. "You just… What the fuck were you… /Never/ do that to me again!"
"…You're crying."
His brother tightened his grip and turned away. "Devils never cry."
Vergil thought of all the tears shed when one of them would fall down the stairs, or hurt each other sparring, and the crying that went on for days when their parents disappeared. Then he thought of the tears Dante had tried so hard to conceal when Vergil had left that last time two years ago.
"Few of them can. You shouldn't have come, Dante." His own voice sounded calm, detached. There was as little for his brother here as what awaited Vergil in the human world.
An edge of stubbornness, that eternal feature always driving him to distraction through every sibling spat and conflict, honed itself to piercing sharpness on his brother's face as Dante released him in favor of retrieving Force Edge from the bloody pool. Easily hefting the blade, he sheathed it with his usual flourish and sent Vergil a rebellious look.
"Whatever we do, we do it together. Got that?"
He waited until Dante's determined expression faded to resigned hesitation before allowing himself to slowly nod in acceptance. The answer grin he received brought back memories of young solidarity he thought long buried and past recognition.
Already, the distant growls and hisses of lesser demons reached them. It wouldn't be long before droves of them attacked, driven both by their master's will and a lust for violence.
The twins shared a pair of identical smirks, wide and arrogant with remembered confidence, as, together, they turned to take on Hell.
I'll probably write more in this scenario later. R/R, please? :D