When they finally returned, the city was in the midst of repairs. Here and there, construction sites sent up their clouds of dust and noise, the streets faintly rumbling with the hum of machinery. Scaffolding hung precariously from crumbling buildings, and high above everything cranes swung to and fro.

As for the dead...Morrison claimed that there had been far too many to deal with, and with most remains beyond identification, the ashes and bones had been swept into mass graves. The city was finally living up to its name, he told them. Built over dead, the streets stained red with blood. It would never forget what had happened.

At the epicenter of chaos, a memorial had been built. A looming golden tree one thousand feet high, with branches sending shadows for miles. At night, its glass fruit illuminated forgotten corners and burroughs, reminding everyone of what they had survived. Just about.

Vergil stared up at this intricate structure with a pained expression, and then around at the humans bustling past. Standing a few steps ahead, his brother almost pitied him. Almost. After all, he had wrought all of this. It was only right that he now had to live with the guilt in his heart.

Dante, patiently waiting for him to snap out of it, no longer saw a trace of Urizen or even Nelo Angelo. V had seen to that. V, the human side of Vergil, was what it had taken to bring him back to humanity, and humility.

Vergil had never truly been evil, of that he was certain, though his deeds most certainly had. It took decades in his absence for Dante to come to terms with this. To see the anger and hurt that had dictated his entire life. And with that realization, he allowed himself that feeling he had so long denied. The sensation he had always pushed down, every time they fought, every time he so much as saw his face: Love.

He was a bastard, but Dante loved him as only a twin brother could. He would not say it, not just yet. Not when Vergil wallowed in long-deserved misery for his crimes. Perhaps, in future, they could talk about it. Could talk about everything.

Vergil tore his eyes away from his remorse, and appeared lost for a second. When he found Dante waiting for him, he forced a smile.

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah."

They worked well together, that much was undeniable. At first Vergil had been reluctant to join Dante's band of misfits, deeming them immature, uncouth, and downright annoying. But penance is a bitch, and helping people seemed the best way to atone for his sins. Everytime they saved someone from a demon attack, pulled them from the wreckage of tumbled homes, everytime the words "Thank you." were uttered, he felt his heart lighten a little more. He still could not look them in the eye, but he felt he was making a difference, at least.

Further to this, helping his brother and company gave him endless opportunities to spend time with his son. In the beginning, the noted, to his horror, that Nero seemed to have taken more after his uncle than his father. Rough around the edges, uncultured and unpredictable, Vergil often found him lounging about, magazine in one hand, pizza slice in the other, munching loudly as he gawked at images of vehicles and scantily clad women. Vergil wondered if the boy was a lost cause. Until the day he was introduced to Kyrie, and Nero displayed an affection, a softness of character, and the gallantry which surprised him. Perhaps there was more of himself there than he once thought. There was no hope of convincing his son to read Blake, or listen to Mozart, but here was definitely a young man worth being proud of.

As for Dante...Vergil's relationship with his brother had always been strained at best, and he often found him the most boorish of the lot, but, in truth, he did not hate him, nor want him dead. He never did - a truth it took all of their time in the underworld to reconcile. Despite the wrongs committed on both sides, the rivalry thrust upon them from birth, and how very irritating Dante had always been, they were well and truly brothers, and Vergil had come to cherish that. They still fought, of course, and at times near killed each other. But only nearly.

"Jackpot!" Dante whooped, twirling one of his signature pistols back into its holster.

Vergil rolled his eyes, sliding Yamato back into its scabbard.

The last of the Hell Envys infesting these mausoleums crashed into a wall of wooden cubies, sending bits of bone and small artifacts flying. Both brothers watched, well aware of demons' tendency to play possum, until it disintegrated completely. Vergil picked up the twisted metal door and tutted.

"Delicate as always."

Dante scowled. "Oh shut the hell up! That thing would've skewered you if I didn't throw it!"

"Untrue, but I appreciate your concern."

"Oh? So I suppose you knew it was creeping up behind you!"

"I did."

"Bullshit! You were too busy subjecting me to another one of your boring-ass speeches - "

"A distraction."

"Cut the crap!"

With a grunt, Vergil attempted to pull the warped slab of copper back into shape. It did not work. He cast it aside. "Are we done here?"

"You see any more critters?"

Vergil started back up the stone steps, Dante trotting behind him. Once outside, his brother rounded him, grinning.

"You know, I heard of some curious goings-on in one of the churches southside."

"Curious?"

"Icons falling from the walls, wine turning to blood. The whole shebang."

"Tomorrow." Vergil would never admit it, but his shoulder ached where one of the vermin had struck him. He needed rest.

Still with that smug smile, Dante jeered: "Gettin old, huh?"

Vergil scoffed. He could comment on the fact that his brother had aged normally in the time since his 'death', whereas he had not, but that would be stooping to Dante's level. He simply walked away.

His brother danced ahead once more. "Man, I'm hungry. Should we stop somewhere on the way back? I think it's your turn to pick, V. Chinese? Sushi? Pizza?"

V…. Dante had taken to calling him that ever since the unfortunate business with the Qliphoth. At first it had angered him, but he soon came to realize that his idiot brother said it with affection. A way to humanise him, perhaps? Or to remind him of his place? Vergil tried not to overthink it.

"You decide." He mumbled. Even with his mortality now accepted as part of himself, he still found it difficult to understand the very human habits of his brother. His obsession with food being one of them. Of course Vergil occasionally ate - more out of inquisitiveness than anything - but he had yet to garner any pleasure from it. It struck him as a waste of time, when he could simply restore energy in other ways. Sleep, he appreciated more, which he attributed to his introverted nature. As for their nonsensical 'hobbies' -

"Hey! Bonehead! You getting in or what?"

Vergil snapped out of his thoughts to find Nico had arrived already.