Note: "hasaki" is the sharp cutting edge of a katana blade
Chapter II
Vergil felt the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown as he coldly regarded the limp figure in his arms. Truly, he had intended to kill his younger twin; but he had never expected it to be this easy. Something was amiss, and it left a bitter, unsatisfactory taste in his mouth. An angry knot squirmed in his chest and his fingers curled, clenching the smooth material of Dante's red leather coat. A low growl of exasperation escaped him, and he let the limp form of his brother slide from his grasp; he felt a dark satisfaction as Dante's head thudded on the pavement.
The bastard had actually passed out smiling. Vergil balled his fists convulsively, and then in one swift movement, leveled Yamato's tip at his unconscious brother's throat. He allowed the sword to prick the pale skin exposed there; a drop of blood blossomed beneath the glinting blade and slid slowly into the hollow of Dante's clavicle. Vergil watched it with calculating eyes, which then traversed down his brother's chest to the gaping wound between his ribs. Blood was still bubbling there with the rise and fall of faint breathing.
Still? The wound wasn't healing as it normally should have, and Vergil touched a forefinger to it. It was a light touch, but Dante's skin shivered beneath his finger, and though the blood was hot, the flesh was almost ice-cold. Vergil licked the finger tentatively; the expected salty copper, but something else as well, something pungent and bitter. Demonic poison? He spat on the ground.
He was weak, to allow himself to be put in such a state; disgust and disdain crept across Vergil's Apollo-like visage… but then gave way to something else— disappointment? Dante deserved to die a dog's death for his cowardice, his fool-hardy mortal whims… but not from poison. He needed to die fighting, to die on Yamato's keen hasaki.
Vergil sheathed the sword slowly and studied his prone brother's form. His chest was rising and falling a little more evenly, it seemed; blood still oozed slightly, but it was already congealing to the still-open wound. Dante shifted slightly, and Vergil's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He leaned closer over his younger twin and turned an ear toward Dante's parted lips.
While he had been agonizing and deliberating, Dante had slipped from unconsciousness into simple sleep.
In one deft motion, Vergil lifted an arm and struck his brother across the face with enough force to snap the neck of a mortal man. A hoarse breath and bodily shudder told him that Dante had slipped back into blacker dreams, and Vergil slipped an arm beneath his torso.
He hauled him bodily to his feet and draped a limp arm over his own shoulders; as an afterthought, he bent and collected Rebellion from the now-blood-stained sidewalk. If he remembered correctly, Dante's office was only a block from here.
With an agitated sigh, Vergil half-dragged, half-carried his brother toward the neon sign flickering against the deepening gloom of a moonless night.
Chapter II FIN