Prologue

As much fun as killing demons was, Dante really couldn't hide his contentment when he was greeted by the cool night air of the human world.
He let out a tired sigh and stretched himself from head to toe. He'd gotten old, not outwardly, but he definitely felt it inside.
Trish's magical hands could open up those muscle knots in his neck, that's for sure and-. . . Well, a few other things too.

Hell. Not the final frontier. About as far away from where you wanted to be at virtually all times. That place sure lived up to the name too.
Restless demons, jumping and leaping at them from every corner, he could tolerate it the first few hundred times but one starts to lose patience on attempt number fourteen-million-point-three.

Dante felt trapped at a family reunion, just wasting away listening to his old-ass grandmother discuss the consistency of porridge and yelling 'what!?' every time someone replied.

Well, that didn't mean it was all torture. Dante had his share of 'parties' down there too, both twins did actually.

Whatever leisure time that came their way was used for much more worthy activities, like brotherly taunting, bantering, and deadly battles that never ended.
Occasionally it was accompanied by a side of bickering or multiple stab wounds, but whoever drew blood first technically won the argument.
Dante didn't admit it out loud, or perhaps he didn't care that much to do so, but surely the prideful devil hunter was happy that he got his brother back.
Vergil finally had stopped his quest for power, or at least Dante beat him enough times for the guy to go 'fair enough.' He thought so cause he didn't seem keen to even bring it up.

God, if there was one more day that he had to hear that soul-sucking phrase 'I need more power' Dante might actually just decapitate himself.

Maybe a bullet was the more humane action. Eh, who cares, it wasn't worth the ammo.

Of course, the big-mouthed brother just had to ask Vergil about his fling. Seems like a valid question, considering there was a mini-hothead walkin' around spitting swear words and guzzling beer.
Kids grow up so fast. Nero's mother must have been a special kind of crazy if she wanted to hook up with his brother, but that earned him a hard stab through his right kidney.

Ah, good ole Verge.

It also didn't mean that Vergil was actually angry about it, Dante could tell from the smirk on his face, and it wasn't one of those weird crooked scoffs.
Those damned low-dark chuckles Vergil was so used to giving him during each of their previous battles . . . Don't know why he hovered on em' but god they were obnoxious.
It wasn't like he was any better with his quips. This one was sincere and kind of light-hearted, and it reminded Dante of their childhood.

Well, he could take any damage from brother-dearest if that meant he'd get a front-row seat to see Vergil squirm. Socially-speaking of course.

Dante wouldn't say that aloud, no rational man would, but the principle of moments was to pick your spots wisely. He sure was a sentimental bastard.

At last, though, they were finally out.

Ah, that sky. Polluted. It figures.

Those buildings pinned to the ground way out in the distance proved they were back. From where they were standing, they'd just come from a hollow in a mountain.
He sure lost track of time back in hell but Dante supposed there must have been a year or two since the Qlipoth incident, the ruins still obvious as Redgrave City was healing slowly.
From the distance, the devil hunter caught one particular structure. It was half-destroyed and far older than whatever else remained.

It looked like a gorge into the earth, the remains of what had been jutting out of the ground in a huge V. It seemed to have been damaged by a massive earthquake.

Instantly remembering what it was, Dante held onto the opportunity, wanting nothing than to rub it in his twin's face just a bit more.

He let out a scoff and bumped Vergil's shoulder.

"Hey, check it out," The man in red pointed at the crumbling structure right at the center of the town.

It was a reminder of much darker days when a certain someone wanted so badly to prove he was stronger than daddy.
Sparda possessed tremendous power, and so to claim it, Vergil opened portal to hell. The portal-to-end-all-portals came rife with all the nightmares you ever dream of.
Was it below or above? Dante remembered vividly that he ascended, and yet everyone believes hell is beneath the world.

Humans are stupid. And sexy. But mostly stupid. Of the smart ones, there was like one or two, maybe two-and-a-half.

In the depths of the hell, Vergil sought what he craved beyond mortal imagination, taking the lives of thousands in that process.

Temen-ni-gru.

"There's the other tower you made me kick your ass on. Remember that?" Dante said.

Vergil's brow furrowed, and he gave his sword a twirl, narrowing his eyes forward as he paid no attention to his brother, "I remember your sword sticking out of your chest."

Dante rested his new namesake devil sword on his shoulder, shrugging uncaringly, "Yeah, and then you fell off a cliff and got enslaved. That was some biblical shit, man."

Vergil groaned to himself, bemused, "Yamato didn't split your demonic half from your humanity either. Maybe you were just too thick."

"Oh yeah, I worked out more back then." Dante countered, "Though, did ya know that that old thing's actually become a tourist attraction now?"

Now that was surprising, Vergil asking, "Really?"

"Really, people come here from all over the world. All they do is take a few pictures with that thing . . . Even though it, like, killed a thousand people." Sarcasm drenched that last part.

Vergil shrugged in response, "Humans often tend to appreciate the machines that destroy them."

"'Suppose that's why they elected Trump."

Dante's eyes traveled to the thick gray clouds momentarily, the beginning of a promising storm, threatening to break the calmness of the night.

The hunter shook, replying wryly, "Heh . . . d'ya think they'd elect you?"

Vergil contemplated that for a second, frowning like he was in deep thought, "Hmm, a devil's power would be wasted trying to govern these fools."

"Well, that explains why hell is a shithole."

Silence hung pleasantly above them as the twins watched the thick clouds that blocked out the full red moon, it's radiant glow smothered.
Memories of that stormy night rushed back into Dante's head. He wondered if Vergil thought about it too. It only felt like yesterday but they both knew it had been far longer than that.

Twenty years. Time flies.

"Why the sudden interest in politics, Dante?" Vergil broke the silence first, turning his gaze at his brother.

Dante's attention fluttered whether he liked it or not, though he did manage to pay some of it to the dark slayer.

"Well, ya got me brother," The red devil opened his arms in a dramatic gesture of surrender as he sneered, "I also just kinda wanted you to see what's changed."

He stared at his brother's icy blue eyes, it was like looking in a mirror, only . . . not. The style was really the only thing that differentiated them, and time had destroyed some of their innate similarities.
That was part of the reason Dante grew a beard anyway, he didn't want to look like his brother, whose murderous capacities were not a thing to be envied.
The smile plastered on his face didn't fade though, it grew wider into the shape of a grin that Vergil would surely have enjoyed punching off his face with no remorse.

"But, maybe if ya hadn't done it, you woulda never learned, huh?" The younger brother said.

For a moment, Vergil remained silent, eyes glowing with a mischievous glint Dante had thought that was long gone from him.

Vergil told him, "And you would have never taken anything other than half-measures. One must commit fully to succeed."

Letting a smirk twist up the corner of his mouth, he started to walk past Dante who was now laughing at him.

"So ya admit that I won," Dante put a hand on his hip as he called after his brother smugly, "Just say it, man, it's the truth! Dante's the winner!"

Oh, he missed that . . . his younger brother following him around just to prove something pointless, or worse only to annoy the hell out of him. Not.

Vergil walked on and on, searching for civilization, and the devil hunter kept up after him, poking and prodding him with sarcastic comments.
He could find no peace, that red-trench-coat-wearing buffoon continuing to hassle him over and over again, forgetting that he even had to guide Vergil.

Finally the dark slayer stopped, looking over his shoulder, "I still score one ahead of you."

Dante stopped dead in his tracks, looking legitimately stunned for a moment. Realizing how calmly Vergil continued walking away from him, he followed him down the ledge.

"Hey, that's not true, I beat your ass back in hell." But the eldest never stopped to listen.

He didn't even so much as glance in his direction.

"Hey! Verge!" The man yelled, jumping down the ledge, the silver-haired man muttering to himself ". . . Sweet Black Sabbath, this guy's gonna be the death of me."

A/N: Hey everybody so this chapter is both revised and proofread now!

Thanks to the awesome Angel Wolf, this has improved a lot! I may want to remove chapter two and chapter three as well only to re-upload them after they're edited as well, stick around for more.

Beta Reader Note: Hey there, so I decided to reconcile my disappointment of DMC 5's story by helping someone write a fic set after DMC 5. I figured it would also serve me well to make up for my sin of disliking the game's story, I know I know, I apologize, there's something wrong with me. But hey, it's a free country, so I'm resolved to helping anyone write any story and help make it the best it possibly can be, regardless of personal bias! So, there we go, maybe this way DMC 5 will start to grow on me.