Prologue: The Fall

The two figures faced off, gazes locked on each other. Below their feet, cold water rushed by, flowing towards the edge, where it fell off, leaving the world forever. All around, the ground shook, and the very fabric that comprised space seemed to crack and fall apart, revealing swirling dark nothingness behind it. This was the interstice; the realm between worlds. And it was here, at the edge of worlds, that the two warriors made their stand, neither one backing down. The two looked near-identical, a mere glance at them enough to reveal that they both shared the same blood. Each possessed the same tall stature, the same wide shoulders, the same athletic build. Both faces had the same chiselled features, sharp as though carved from stone. Two pairs of blue eyes glared at each other. While one burned with fire, the other was cold as ice. Different motivations fueled their souls, yet, they surged with the same determination.

"It's time to finish this, Vergil. I have to stop you. Even if it means killing you." His voice was firm and unyielding as he said the words, no hint of doubt in them. Yet, there was sorrow in them. The red-clad warrior did not allow it to cloud his mind and heart. Instead, he gripped his blade tightly in his hand, the gigantic sword's tip nearly touching the water below. Longer than a claymore, wider than a broadsword, it was too heavy a weapon for any human to carry, let alone wield. Yet, the silver-haired fighter held it with ease, as though it were no heavier than a feather.

Across from him stood the man who was his mirror image. Yet, in contrast to him, this swordsman was clad in a blue overcoat. Sheathed at his side was a long, curved blade, a third of a length longer than a usual katana. Despite being in its scabbard rather than in his hand, it felt like an extension of his very body, a part of his very soul. If one were to listen closely, perhaps one would hear a mournful voice from the blade, asking its wielder to believe in it. Yet, the weapon he held was a large broadsword with a skull-shaped pommel.

For a moment, the two stood, eyes scanning each other, searching for the tiniest opening, the smallest hint of weakness, for that would be the opportunity to seize. Then, at the same time, both warriors rushed forward. The distance of twenty feet between them was covered in less than a second, the swing of their blades a mere flash that human eyes could not hope to see. Yet, in that infinitesimal moment, many actions happened. The first to swing was the man in red. Lengthening his step, he slid forward, even as he slashed horizontally in a wide arc. His blue-clad twin swung immediately, but there was a millionth of a second's delay in his response. His blow descended downwards, aiming to cleave his opponent's head. Yet, the delay sealed his fate. His opponent's seizing of the initiative, along with the greater length of the zweihander, meant that the result of the exchange had already been decided. In the end, the soul that remained firm in its determination prevailed.

As the two warriors dashed past each other, the massive claymore-like blade sliced clean through its opponent's torso, cutting through flesh and bone alike. It was a blow that would have spelled the end for a human. Yet, the man stumbled, the broadsword slipping from his grasp, but managed to stay on his feet. A miraculous healing factor was already mending his spine, knitting his damaged organs whole again. He would not die from the blow. Yet, the outcome of the fight was clear. Deep inside, he despaired. The determination and strength he had cultivated his entire life… had proved insufficient. He did not let it show on his face, however. Even in defeat, the Dark Slayer had more dignity than kings. With an unsteady step, he turned to face the one who had bested him, even as one had clasped a gold amulet he wore tightly.

"No one can have this, Dante. It's mine. It belongs to a Son of Sparda."

The result was abundantly clear. He had lost. He had wagered everything, including the fate of the planet, on victory. It was a price he would have gladly paid for power. Now that he had failed, he had nothing to stay behind for. He backed away towards the edge of the interstice. Realizing his intention, his opponent rushed forward. Displaying incredible speed even in his wounded state, the swordsman unsheathed his o katana and held it at the red-clad warrior's throat, keeping him away.

"The portal to the human world is closing. If you don't want to be trapped, leave me and go. As for me, I'm staying. This place was our father's home."

So saying, he leaned backward, and fell off the interstice, away from the world of humans. Even as he fell, the victorious brother rushed to the edge, watching him descend. With alarming speed, he was falling away into the darkness below. Mind and heart racing, the warrior questioned if this was truly the right outcome, if he had truly done the right thing. The world of humans was flawed and imperfect. Yet, it had much that was worth protecting. And so, he had done so, just as his father had done, long ago. He had followed in his footsteps, not out of imitation, but because his own soul had shown him the path he must take. Yet, as he saw his brother disappearing, his soul now whispered something else, with great urgency.

What good is saving the world… if I can't save my own family?

Throwing caution to the wind, Dante dived off the edge in pursuit of his brother.

A long time the twins fell, until after what felt like an eternity, they landed in a pool of blood. Slowly, the two of them rose to their feet. Vergil looked at his brother in surprise, stumbling backwards as he came to grips with what had happened.

"You fool," he said. "What have you done?"

"Could ask you the same thing," replied Dante as he straightened up.

Vergil was about to retort, when a hum of power in the air drew his attention. Looking in the sky, he saw in the distance three glowing red orbs, far above. Even had he not studied demonic lore extensively, read the accounts of unfortunate souls, he would have known instantly from the ominous presence alone, the dark energy that flooded the very world itself, suffocating.

"Mundus," he growled. Turning to face the lights, he prepared to throw his sheath away, when a hand grasped his arm, stopping him.

"There's no need to be dramatic," said Dante. "That's my job."

"Stay back. This is my fight."

"It's our fight. You're forgetting: they were my parents too."

"I remember all too well," said Vergil bitterly.

"No, you don't," said Dante. He hesitated slightly. But having come this far, he couldn't leave this part of the story unsaid. Vergil needed to know it. "Listen, you don't know this. You thought Mother came for me, and left you to fend for yourself. But the truth is, she went back for you. Kept searching and searching… until it killed her."

Vergil shook his head.

"Why tell me this now? After all this time? No matter. We'll settle this later."

He turned towards the lights once more.

"It'll be fun to face the Prince of Darkness. Father was able to do it. I can too."

Without another word, he sprinted forward. Unwilling to be left behind, Dante dashed off too. And so, the two charged towards the false god, the would-be king, the one who ruled the Demon World, Mundus. It was a battle decreed by fate. The vengeful Prince did not think that the sons of his nemesis would willingly enter his domain. Yet, now that they had, he would not let the chance slip. There would be hell to pay for his defeat.

Fire and lightning rained down from the skies, and the heavens themselves were hurled, entire meteors descending from above in response to Mundus' call.

"Cheap tricks."

Yamato flashed, its slender blade moving with godlike speed as it cut through space itself. Thousands of feet away, a falling meteor was sliced through, shattering into pebbles.

"Show off."

Next to the katana wielder, Dante went into a low stance, switching Rebellion into a backhand grip. Taking a moment, he gathered the demonic energy in him, then swung the blade viciously. "DRIVE!" A crimson blast of sheer power arced towards the sky, utterly obliterating a meteor.

Mundus growled in frustration. It was clear that the blood and soul of Sparda ran hot and strong in these twins. Yet, they were wounded, tired, on their last legs. Had this been any other day, the Prince of Darkness could not be certain that he would have beaten the two of them at once. But here and now, with both Dante and Vergil exhausted, victory was possible. Transforming, he revealed his form, a colossal statue-like figure. Beams of energy shot forth from all three of his eyes, forcing the twins to dodge and barely avoid them. Smirking, the demon prince snapped his finger. He had known this would happen, and was counting on it. As Vergil reappeared after teleporting a short distance away, spikes shot out from the ground towards him.

"No!"

Dante had seen the attack. The experience of climbing the Temen-ni-gru, with its many traps, had taught him to be wary and observant in battle. Having no other choice, he activated the power of the Geryon he had slain, slowing down time to a crawl, even as he summoned a circle of crimson demonic energy behind him, launching himself off it. Diving forward, he just barely managed to push Vergil out of the way. However, his demonic energy reserves were at their limit. He could no longer sustain Quicksilver, and thus, had no time to move out of the way himself. He felt the spikes tear through him. Time had resumed its normal movement again, yet, it seemed to have frozen, as Vergil stared at his impaled brother.

He half expected Dante to shrug it off as he had done countless times before. Break off the spikes and continue fighting. Yet, somewhere in his soul, he already knew it wouldn't happen. The brothers both recovered quickly, yet, they had climbed the Temen-ni-gru, defeating its many guardians and overcoming its many traps along the way. And at the end of it all, they had fought each other as well. His own demonic energy was at its limit too. There was no way Dante had much more left either. And without said energy, his body's incredible healing abilities could not function.

There was a look of pain on Dante's face for a brief moment. He tried once to grasp at the spikes and break them, but he couldn't gather the strength to do it. He looked up, and his eyes met Vergil. Dante realized he would never have another chance to say this.

"It's all right, Vergil. You aren't alone."

Slowly, the light faded from his eyes, and his body became still.

Numbly, Vergil walked forward. The spikes were already crumbling away, having achieved their purpose. Far above, he could hear Mundus' echoing laughter, not paying any attention to it as he made his way over to where Dante's body had fallen on the ground. The confident smirk he had detested so much was gone. Reaching over, he slowly closed the silver-haired warrior's eyes. Numbly, he was aware that something was rolling down from his own. He wiped his face, and realized that it had been a teardrop. Along with that realization, he felt a strange sensation filling his very being.

Belatedly, he realized that this was the power he had always sought.

It had never been in Sparda's sword. In the Perfect Amulet. In the Demon World or the Temen-ni-gru.

In the sky, Mundus screamed in rage and fear, as he felt the same energy that he had felt two thousand years ago, the same energy that had haunted his nightmares ever since.

"Son of Sparda… you…"

He never had the chance to finish his words.

In life, Dante and Vergil had been polar opposites, even in battle. While Dante had preferred destroying his enemies with blasts of overwhelming power, this wasn't an approach Vergil could take. Although their physical abilities were identical, their demonic energies took different forms. Perhaps, in another world, another life, an older Dante, fully grown and having mastered his powers, would be able to dispatch even a demon lord with a single shot from his gun. It wasn't something Vergil could do.

The older twin's might did not lie in surges of power. It lay in calculated, flawless precision.

And so, Yamato slashed.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Ten times. A hundred times. A thousand times. A million times. Ten billion times. A quadrillion times.

Slash after slash, all delivered with peerless demonic speed, all delivered in a single instant, such that it looked like a single swing of the blade. Slash after slash, delivered with atomic accuracy.

The Prince of Darkness did not feel pain, even as every last particle of him was sundered, sliced, removed from existence. He did not even realize that he had died.

Vergil's true devil trigger form remained a moment longer before he reverted to his human state, sheathing Yamato as he did so. Still numb, he walked over to his brother's lifeless body.

Dante would have wanted to stay in the human world.

In another life, perhaps they could both have stayed there. But that was no longer possible. He could only move forward. Unsheathing Yamato, he sliced the air, cutting through the demon realm itself, and opening a portal. It was a power he hadn't possessed before. If he had, none of this might have been necessary. Bitterly, Vergil shook his head. No, it hadn't been necessary. It never had. Picking up Dante's body, he walked through the portal, turning his back on the demon world for good.

Chapter 1: Of Substitute Soul Reapers

Kurosaki Ichigo wasn't in the habit of being a quitter. As a matter of fact, he was the exact opposite. Regardless of the task at hand, it was his policy to give it everything he had, until he succeeded. Yet, on this occasion, everything he had was turning out to be insufficient. Lying on the ground, he struggled to move. The cut across his shoulder was deep; it ran all the way into his chest. It was hard to breathe. He wondered if his lung had been pierced. Did the exact nature of physical injuries even matter when he was in spirit form? Wasn't it all damage to his soul anyway?

I couldn't even see him move, he thought. Can't tell if he cut me from the front or the back.

"Ichigo!" screamed a familiar voice. He couldn't raise his head to look, but he knew it came from Rukia. "That's enough! Please, stop here. You're hurt already. If you continue, you'll die, and it'll be for nothing! Even if it's for a little while longer, you must live on."

More than anything, he couldn't stand being pitied, couldn't stand the thought that someone else was having to suffer to protect him. From somewhere above him, he heard the man who had cut him mutter quietly.

"... he does look a little like him, doesn't he?"

Anger surged inside, just enough to give him the strength to move. Reaching out, he grabbed the man's hakama roughly, tugging on it until it forced the shinigami to turn around and look down at him.

"Hey. You better look at me when you're talking," Ichigo said, each word costing him effort to spit out.

The robed figure's hand twitched, a minute movement that Ichigo was in no condition to see. Yet, Rukia saw it, and knew that she must intervene. She began to run forward, having already made her choice. It didn't matter if she was executed. Didn't matter even if Ichigo were to hate her for the rest of his life, as long as he got to live that life. In order to do that, she must make it so that there was no point in him fighting for her. Just as she was about to reach him and kick his hand away, however, the robed figure was knocked backwards.

In shock, all Rukia could do was skid to a stop, barely able to keep her balance, even as her jaw dropped.

Standing over Ichigo was an unfamiliar figure, an individual she had never seen before. Tall and lean, it was clear he nonetheless had a powerful build. His shoulders were wide and despite his relaxed posture, his centre of gravity was low, his stance perfectly balanced and stable. The man wore a simple pair of black trousers and a blue button-up shirt. His swept back hair was an unusual silver colour, almost gleaming in the moonlight.

Rukia gawked at the sight of him.

N-nii sama was pushed back?

It was rare enough to find a human who was spiritually sensitive. To find one who had learned to harness his spiritual strength was even rarer. To find one who could push back a Captain of the 13 Court Guard Squads while still in his physical body… was unheard of.

Kuchiki Byakuya stared at this new arrival, the calm expression on his face darkening slightly for the first time that evening. Silently, he evaluated the man. To be able to reach him and land a blow before he could see or react to it was no mean feat. Within the Gotei 13, there were only a few capable of such a thing. He frowned. This one was different from the Quincy brat and the false shinigami who had taken Rukia's powers. His posture alone told him he was an experienced warrior. Yet, for all his martial skill, a human should not be able to sense a spirit, much less touch one. Byakuya strained his senses, yet, he could not detect any hint of spiritual pressure from him. He could not be a Hollow or a Quincy then. He was some kind of anomaly, something Byakuya had not encountered before. Yet, he was a living being, and this was the world of the living. The rules must be followed.

"I know not who you are, but I will warn you only once. Leave now. This matter has nothing to do with you, human," he said.

Not responding, the silver-haired man crouched down, placing a hand on Ichigo's wound. The teen winced slightly, struggling as he turned his head and managed to get a look at him. "Who the hell are you?" he grunted through the pain. The man did not answer. From several feet away, Renji growled out in anger.

"Oi, human. Did you not hear? Get lost!"

He did not answer, or indeed, even give any indication that he had heard. Instead, he straightened up and looked at Byakuya. Cool blue eyes gazed at the soul reaper captain. In a clear voice, the man spoke.

"Leave. Now."

Byakuya's frown deepened a few degrees. Shinigami were forbidden from interfering in the affairs of the living. Yet, exceptions were made when a living being interfered in the business of Soul Society. Wishing to finish this swiftly and without problems, he blurred forward, utilizing shunpo, the high speed movement technique unique to trained warriors of the Sereitei. Near-instantaneously, he reappeared next to the silver-haired individual, swinging his sword in a blow that would cut but not kill him.

The blow never connected. Byakuya's eyes widened as his attack was halted. The strange man held in one hand a shimmering azure blade. While it had the exact and detailed form of a European longsword, it was not made of metal. Somehow, Byakuya could tell from a single glance that it was composed entirely of energy. Energy that his spiritual awareness could not detect, which was worrying.

There was no time to ponder the issue, however. The man quickly broke the sword lock before slashing downwards with a counter blow. Byakuya stepped neatly to the side even as he parried the strike and retaliated with one of his own. While the man's reflexes were good, his one handed grip and sideways stance were unsuitable for duelling against his own kendo. Much to his surprise, however, his counter was knocked aside mid-path, the response absurdly fast. Caught unprepared, Byakuya's guard was broken. The strange swordsman thrust his blade forward in a piercing blow. Seeing it coming, the shinigami was able to get his own sword up to block it, managing to use the flat of his zanpakuto to stop the point of the energy blade.

What he had not accounted for was the strength behind the attack.

The force knocked him backwards, sending him skidding on his feet, for the second time that evening. His previously calm gaze darkened in anger. As for the others, Rukia, Ichigo and Renji all stared in sheer awe, not believing what they were seeing.

The man lowered his sword by his side, yet, it was clear his guard was not down.

"I will say it one last time. Leave, now. It is not the task of reapers to end lives before their time."

"Why, you bastard!", shouted Renji.

Rukia realized this was the best chance she would get.

Rushing forward, she bowed to her adoptive brother.

"Please, nii sama. I have understood the error of my ways. I will return to Soul Society, as ordered. You need not waste your time and energy with these mortals."

Some anger still remained in Byakuya's gaze, but he considered the matter. They had already removed Rukia's shinigami powers from the human boy. Rukia herself had also submitted to return to Seireitei. Their mission here was done.

"Enough, Renji," he said. "We return. Our work here is over."

The red-haired lieutenant glanced at his captain in surprise, but did not argue. As ordered, he opened a portal and the three shinigami walked through, returning to their world. As the gateway closed, Ichigo looked on helplessly, growling in anger at himself.

"Damn it! I was protected once again."

He felt ashamed, felt angry at himself to be in this position once more, much less to a stranger he had never met before.

As he began to lose consciousness, the last words he uttered were eerily familiar to the silver-haired figure looking down at him.

"I need… more power."