The platinum-haired boy swung his toy sword wildly with glowing enthusiasm, his brilliant blue eyes locked onto his imaginary enemy. Driving the sword through the "monster"s chest, the boy shouted in triumph.
"Woohoo! Hey Vergil, another down! Watch me, I'm legendary dark knight Dante, just like dad!" Dante smiled with pure childish glee.
The older twin grinned slightly and raised his own wooden sword, charging at his brother with mock ferocity.
The two swords collided, laughing azure and cool cerulean stared into each other defiantly, teeth gritted in tension of their "battle".
"Better surrender and save yourself the humiliation, Dante, you know I always win!" Vergil said with a smug look on his face.
"Why, getting tired already Verge? Is that all you've got?" Dante taunted with a sneer.
Finally, Vergil forced Dante back, and since he was caught off balanced, gave him a nice shove. Dante landed on his butt, a red blush sweeping across his face as he rubbed at his backside.
"Wow, you actually lasted a minute longer than I've anticipated!" Vergil snickered, hands on his hips. "But don't worry Dante, with my help, you'll become stronger, and when I become a demon prince, I'll make you the general of my armies."
His triumph was short-lived, however, as Dante swiftly charged forward and tackled his twin.
" Oh yeah? How do you like this, your majesty? " Dante chuckled.
Vergil fell to the ground face-first, and shot him an artic glare, then the corners of his lips began to twitch with mirth, laughing with his brother. To his surprise, a strange, forlorn look entered Dante's eyes, banishing the warm cheer from his young face.
"You won't leave me and mum, will you Verge, you know, when you become a devil-prince?" He asked quietly, his voice no more resembling a 10 year old's.
"Of course not, you dummy. We're twins." Vergil replied with amusement, his twin could be so naïve sometimes.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Dante's eyes snapped open to the darkness of his room, lit partially by the cheerless, faded light of the moon filtering through the grimy window. He pulled back the covers and rubbed his face. His snowy white locks were drenched with perspiration.
A quick glance to the digital clock revealed the time; still witching hour. Outside, a semi-truck's horn blared loudly and faded into the distance, the rain drizzled steadily.
He dragged himself into the bathroom, flicking the light on. The cold blue fluorescent light flooded the room instantly, causing Dante to shut his eyes against it before his senses adjusted to the artificial brightness.
He splashed water on his face, and inspected his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Scrubbing his fingers through his ruffled hair, he smoothed it back from his face, frowning slightly. A few wayward locks refused to flatten, standing in random spikes.
The full lips were devoid of his casual smile, the edges drooping down, and a grim austerity masking his face.
The image that stared back from the polished depths seemed distant, cold. The blue eyes were a pale grey, dull and vacant.
A face he recognized as his dead twin brother's.
He shook his head, trying to clear his sleep-addled mind, but the haunting visage would not go away.
The reflection seemed an echo of his murky soul, of a burden too deep.
Frustrated, Dante smashed his fist into the glass; its surface cracked, but somehow did not shatter.
Blood instantly bloomed on his knuckles, slowly running down his hand. Pain was something Dante had gotten used to a long time ago.
Then, another presence tugged at the edges of his awareness. He realized he was being watched.
Trish.
She was a quiet, solitary figure standing in the doorway, her sea-blue eyes filled with concern, moonlight spilling over her slender frame, and the golden veil of her hair.
"I heard the noise, and I just wanted to see if you were okay…" She said softly.
"I'm fine." Dante said stiffly. She was his confidante, a valuable ally, but sometimes she fussed over him like a baby, which he found exceedingly irritating.
Trish fell quiet, her lips tightening as she stifled a sigh. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away.
It was hard to watch your loved one slowly turn into someone else. Since their return from Mallet Island, things rapidly went downhill. The first few months were bliss, Trish cherished his company, finding a great friend in her saviour.
Then, things began to change. It was minor things at first, like suddenly giving up his usual sleek attire of crimson and red leathers, adopting a more severe, blue and black apparel instead. Then he became more aloof, withdrawing into a world she was not a part of, his easy, jovial attitude shadowed by a dark, brooding persona.
Dante saw her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, how vulnerable she looked now, this she-devil, almost as miserable and wretched as a human….
His jaw set firmly, wondering at the unusual course of his thoughts.
"I'm sorry, Trish. I'm just a bit rundown, that's all." He murmured.
"I understand."
No Trish, you can't …You don't have a family; you couldn't possibly claim to know the depths of my pain, my loss…
He drew near, and held her to him, tilting his head to hers, rubbing his hands down her back affectionately. Trish nestled close, sinking into his embrace.
"Never leave me, Trish." He whispered into her hair, his voice hushed, broken.
"I won't, Dante."
Before he surrendered himself to the oblivion of a troubled sleep, Dante thought he heard a vague, omnipresent voice whispering, haunting, and coiling inside his mind.
Like I promised, brother, I will never leave you...