Chapter IV

Note: a sanchaku is a 3-pronged nunchaku

Why was he just standing there? It was taking all of Dante's little remaining strength just to stay conscious. And Vergil was still just standing there, looming over him, with that unfathomable expression.

Exhaustion was pressing in on him from all sides, and impatience at his unreadable twin brought an irritated scowl to Dante's face.

"Well?" he rasped, the harshness of his own voice startling them both. "You gonna finish this or—?"

"There's no honor in killing a dead man," Vergil drawled, and Dante raised clouded, tired eyes to his brother's face— and met with dull surprise.

Vergil's countenance did not reflect the forced nonchalance in his voice. The unreadable expression was cracking to reveal something else; something that looked familiar but foreign at the same time. It was more unsettling than that indeterminate mask because it was something Dante had never equated to Vergil; it was something he saw in his own reflection now and then.

Something burning and intense (a little voice whispered passion in his ear) was playing across Vergil's features. Still swimming through a fog of agony, Dante allowed himself the brief indulgence of mild curiosity. "Don't… don't get yourself too worked up, Vergil," he panted through the poison fog. "It doesn't… suit you…"

Vergil's chest was heaving now, and realization struck Dante with a pleasurable jolt: somehow, inexplicably, he had gained the mental upper hand. His usually unflappable brother was practically in panic… from what, Dante hadn't the faintest, but he grinned widely at the irony of it.

And then Vergil had lunged at him, was pinning him to the floor, a knee digging painfully into his thigh, the point of an elbow grinding into the open wound between his ribs. His throat was suddenly filled with blood (why did it taste so bitter?) and he choked on it, choked on the involuntary cry of pain that was fighting its way out of him. His eyes watered and his neck could no longer support his head; he let it fall back against the floor with a hollow thud.

The odd expression was gone from his older twin's face now; it had been replaced with a familiar cold fury. Lips curling unattractively, Vergil leaned his full weight on Dante's chest, their faces inches apart. Dante flinched impulsively and tried to turn his head away, but Vergil's other hand was tangled in his hair.

He wasn't afraid (did he even know the meaning of fear?), but a writhing desperation was starting to creep into his gut. The situation was hopeless unless he had a weapon; with his strength sapped by the poison, he had to be resourceful instead. He jerked his head and Vergil, for some reason, let go of his hair; he knew Cerberus had been draped over the desk earlier, and craned his head back to look, maybe to reach…

For a split second, he was vaguely aware of an animal-like motion, and then with a horrified thrill, he felt teeth close on his exposed throat.

- - -

Hot blood spurted into his mouth; Vergil felt his throat constrict to prevent from swallowing the poison. Beneath him, Dante's body spasmed and his back arched.

It was an insane thing to do, really… wild and irrational. He wasn't sure why he did it, but sick satisfaction was flooding his senses as his mouth filled with his brother's warm blood and the body beneath his twisted and convulsed. He bit down harder, and felt the flesh under his tongue vibrate as Dante cried out in affliction.

He unclenched his jaw and drew back, spitting a mouthful of vital fluid on the floor. Dante was staring at him with wide eyes and flared nostrils. "Sick… bastard—" he gasped, choking.

"Panic, Dante. Fear, regret," Vergil whispered. "Human weaknesses. Experience them all."

Blood was streaming from his younger twin's flushed lips; his cheeks were pale, but his eyes were strangely clear, and glittered silver in the caliginous light. He let out a wracking cough and then spit directly into Vergil's face.

The outrageous act he had committed had somewhat subdued the twisting dragon that had been writhing in his chest; Vergil calmly wiped the blood from his face while Dante glared up at him. With great deliberation and something almost akin to tenderness, he ran a cold finger along his brother's clenched jawline, tracing it up to his ear, along his temple… tangling his fingers in Dante's hair, which was clinging with damp sweat to his forehead.

He lifted his brother's head off the floor and allowed himself a slow, malicious smile before yanking his hair and sending Dante's skull smashing into the floor with a force that sent wood splinters flying…

But at the same time, a fist collided with Vergil's ribs, and this time it was a strong enough blow to knock the wind out of him; he grunted as he was thrown off balance and he felt Dante slide out from under him.

Clutching his side, Vergil looked up to see Dante stagger toward the desk and reach for something vicious-looking and icy: the sanchaku Cerberus. His fingers had almost grasped the weapon by the time Vergil had drawn Yamato and closed the distance between them.

Almost.

Vergil drove the blade up to its hilt through the back of his brother's left thigh—as he predicted, Dante fumbled long enough for Vergil to sweep Cerberus off the desk and out of reach.

They were both breathless now, but one from pain and exhaustion and the other from excitement.

Even poisoned and grievously injured, Dante was still managing a struggle.

He still couldn't bring himself to kill him, pride saw to that— but that other itching poison, that pity… that was gone now.

It had been replaced by an even stranger feeling; something stirring in his loins as he watched his younger twin's painstaking efforts to fend him off. Perhaps he could quell some of that defiance; or perhaps he could partake in it...? Innate disdain still struggled against the poison of human weakness, but Vergil couldn't help smiling in spite of himself.

Chapter IV FIN