My first uploded fanfic... w007. There's not much to say here, just that there's a little bit of gore and some fighting and that I don't own Devil May Cry, nor the characters. All I got is some random, plotless little peice of writting that I did for fight scene practice. Enjoy ::heart::

::X::x::X::

We fought. That's how it started. Blade against blade, we pushed each other, taunting, snarling insults back and forth. I could tell he was itching to bring his beloved Ivory from 'her' holster and blow my brains out. I could also tell that he knew if he so much as moved his hand a millimeter from its position, he'd be in half. Yamato slid along the length of Alastor; they sang together, metal on metal. Our eyes were locked, blue focused on blue, crimson and teal whipping around us in the wind. We pushed a little harder. We bounced back.

I let out a shuddering breath, nearly exhausted from fending off his half hazarded attacks as well as dealing out my own carefully calculated ones. I noticed his knees shake through the leather of his blood stained pants as he panted, shoulders tense and head down as he glared through the silver of his bangs. It started to rain.

We stayed like that for a long while, staring and planning, resting and healing, readying ourselves for another long bout. The gash across his abdomen slowly stitched itself together as the slice through the inside of my left thigh did the same. Water slid down our necks and dripped off our hair, slicking our coats and washing the sweat off our exposed skin.

Now, we thought in unison. He charged forward, teeth bared and sword in ready position, as I bent my knees in order to spring up a split second later. He swung at empty air before I came down on him, Yamato ready to plunge through his skull. He dodged to the side and rolled. Steel cleaved stone and mortar.

Shots rang through the clouded sky. A bullet clipped one rain sodden spike miraculously still in place. The other three flew by merely a hair's breath away from my face. I knew he wasn't aiming to hit. I dragged my katana out of the rock and pointed it at my brother. He was down on one knee, sliver hair turned grey with wet, twin pistols aimed at my head. His eyes drooped and his breathing was ragged, his sword by his side. I relaxed. He's not going to last much longer. I sheathed Yamato once more and stride to his side.

"You should know better than to pick a fight with me, Dante," I told him, nudging him gently with the toe of my boot. He let his shoulders sag and his guns rest against the ground. He said nothing in reply; he just sighed heavily.

I pushed him over with a soft kick to his shoulder. He splayed out in front of me, in the rain and the bloody mud, practically sleeping. I laughed a little, reminded of training sessions we had together so long ago where he'd collapse where ever we happened to be when he was tired. I could kill him so easily. With my boot pressed against his trachea, slowly crushing it, I thought, theoretically, I could kill him with no more than a shift in weight.

But I can't kill him. I never have been able to get past the extreme harm that would have killed a mortal. Our brotherly bond always restrained me. He wheezed. I pulled away.

Maybe next time. Maybe.

"See ya, Verge," he breathed, still not moving.

I just hummed in annoyance. He will die next time for sure.

Owari