AN: If you intend to review, please keep in mind that I am perfectly aware my ability to write fight scenes is appalling. Thank you. VM
Dante held Rebellion over his head. A light breeze ruffled his hair as he swung the sword in a downward arch, slicing the Hell Pride before him from shoulder to hip. He grinned snidely as the demon dissolved into dust and turned his attention to another attacker. Out of the corner of his eye, Dante saw the azure clad form of his brother battling his own foe with detached grace. The older twin's face a discernible mask of unemotional thoughtfulness.
Releasing a wry chuckle, Dante used his free hand to motion for another volunteer to approach. "Come'on!" he taunted the nightmarish creatures.
Breaking from the group, a Hell Pride sauntered toward Dante. The dark skull like face poised in hatred. Dante charged forward meeting the creature and forcing him back. Four of it's companions came to the aid swiping ineffectively at the halfbreed with their mini scythes. Dante grinned and parried the blows. He circled Rebellion around cutting three of the Prides and five more closed in. With a powerful leap Dante back flipped over the heads of two of the attackers, batting their weapons away as before landing with a loud thud behind them. Stabbing and swinging his oversized sword with inhuman speed, the youth took out four of them with ease. The other three fell back a step and squealed in protest. The largest Pride in the middle ambled forward and swooped at Dante's head. He blocked with a smirk.
"Too slow," he related driving Rebellion at the demon's chest.
The Hell Pride parried with unseen strength and speed. Much to Dante's dismay, the counter knocked him back a foot and he had to flail his arms to keep his balance. Unfortunately, the successful attempt to stay on his feet left the half human defenseless. His foe saw this and took advantage, closing the distance with slow steps, scythe held high for a final blow.
Dante's mind quickly analyzed the situation and he held his sword up in a gesture of protection. Before the demon could strike, a blur of blue and the steel wave of vengeance sliced through it. Shock was clearly visible on the creature's face the second before it turned to dust.
Vergil slowly sheathed Yamato as Dante straitened and brushed off his coat, glaring at back of his brother's head.
"That one was mine," he told the elder twin with a disappointed note in his voice.
Vergil turned to Dante with subtle indifference. "Maybe you're the one who's too slow," Vergil chided with a faint sneer.
With a huff, the younger twin rested his weapon's hilt on his shoulder. "I was just getting warmed up."
The other man's sneer broadened. "We didn't have that much time," he said smugly. "Never underestimate your opponent, Dante. Strategy is your most valuable asset in a fight. If you are not careful, your lack of tactic will cost you your life."
Bored with the lecture, Dante twirled Rebellion overhead in visually pleasing display of talent. "Whatever, bro," he sighed. "At least I got style."
The two eyed each other with opposing expressions. Dante's a jeering grin and Vergil's a somber mask of nothingness.
"Your style is reckless," the later said in a harsh whisper.
Dante felt a wave of ire, but let it die as he surveyed the empty construction site with a disappointed countenance. The brothers had fought no less than twenty of the lowly Hell Prides in too short a time to even get to savor their victory fully. It was nothing. Nothing compared to what they wished to go up against. The Prides were the small hand. The baby straits in a game where it was all or nothing. A game where Dante wanted to get a royal flush and finally hit the jackpot.
"I was hoping for more action," he confessed aloud.
Vergil ran a slender hand through his hair, bushing back the lone lock that fell once again as soon as the action was completed. Dante knew that – although not in the same terms – his brother's thoughts were along the same lines as his own.
After a moment's silence, Vergil's head jerked up and he resumed his calm attitude. "We are going about this wrong," he told his twin. Without explanation he strode passed Dante with deliberate steps in the direction of town.
Dante hung back, one hand lightly caressing the medallion that hung on a silver chain about his neck. No one who knew Dante would have recognized the look on his face at that moment. It was a stark contrast to his usual cocky spirit. What paraded on his features at that moment was sadness. A sadness that only occurred when Dante allowed the walled-off memories of his horror filled past the freedom to roam freely. As rare as those occasions were, no one ever saw that side of the hybrid youth. Not even his own twin who shared the burden of said memories.
No matter the depths of his despondent disposition, Dante never allowed himself the release of a single tear. To cry would be to admit defeat. And Dante was not the type of person who could easily be defeated.
Rebuilding the mental barrier, Dante tossed his arms behind him, slapping at the tails of his red leather coat in solid determination. The material floated upward, disengaging from the youths legs as he turned on his heels and followed the footsteps of his brother with the same prideful gait.