Brother Never Cry
Summary: My take on how Vergil becomes bad, Dante becomes responsible, how the events of DMC3 transpired. Ignores DMC1 completely due to ignorance of the game.
Disclaimer: Capcom owns everything I'm writing about except the plot, the weird wax demons and assorted OCs.
A Word From the Author: 30/11/05: Sheesh, it really sucks that review responses have been banned. I'll just have to respond individually to you guys via PM (if you're registered members, so please sign in before reviewing). Anyway, thanks to Sutremaine for such a thoughtful review, and yes, you guessed right! Cookies to all reviewers.
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Epilogue: A Crazy Party
3rd March 2000.
The phone rang.
The sounds of water splashing ceased, as did a slightly off-key voice singing. The door at the corner of the somewhat dingy-looking room opened to admit a tall, white-haired man, his gloved fingers raking through his damp hair. He gave the ringing phone a cursory look of curiosity as he sank into his chair, slamming his boots onto the tabletop as he did so, and in an act that totally defied the laws of physics, the receiver flew through the air in a graceful arc towards his waiting hand.
"Sorry, not open for business yet," he drawled into the mouthpiece. Without waiting for a reply, he replaced the receiver and leaned back into a comfortable position. Seemingly to himself, he mused, "I haven't even picked a name for this joint, and already I'm getting calls."
He sighed and sank a little more into the depths of his chair as events of the previous, eventful, year floated to the surface of his mind, as they always did whenever he was alone and his mind unoccupied. Dante did not want to think about it. He had come here to escape, not to remember his less than cheery life.
He had, after all, left his home to kill his brother.
Dante sighed and shifted in his chair, burying the memories back into his brain with a violent shake of his head. It was bad enough that Vergil had done what he had, but did he have to keep haunting his mind too, in daylight and darkness? Sometimes, in his dreams, Dante saw his wayward brother. There was a sense of…depth, of the weight of the earth heavy on his head, the constant drip-drip of water, the scent of iron and earth strong in his nostrils, a vague feeling of time passing. Then he would wake up, leaving the tantalizing images of the dream to fade to a distant, unreachable portion to his mind. No matter how close he came to grasping, it always flitted away, swift and elusive and always brushing the tips of his memory.
Frankly, it was downright frustrating. Connected by the ruins of their bond, Dante knew that Vergil was up to something. But what, he couldn't figure out what, and it was driving him crazy. He sighed again in annoyance and reached for a pizza slice.
The door opened, and the rays of the dying sun threw a long shadow into his office. Dante sensed the change, as a bird will sense the subtle transition of summer into autumn, and flee from the bitter cold it knows, without knowing how, that is on its way. It was then, unconsciously, as the tall, bald man entered his apartment, Dante knew that something had happened. Something big.
Change. He could practically smell it in the air.
"Hey, you need to unload, the toilet's right over there," Dante said calmly enough into the man's rather forbidding expression. As he jerked a thumb, he gave the guy a once-over. Unusually tall, mismatched eyes of red and blue, pole up his ass. Dante was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the heavy gold amulet resting on his bare chest as the man's eyes lingered on the necklace a moment too long. Prickles of anticipation ran down his spine, and he tensed.
"Is your name Dante? Son of Sparda?" the man asked, a slightly mocking edge to his deep voice. Dante saw the corner of the thin lips curl in a brief sneer, and anger, and shock, made his heart thud. Sparda. It was a name he'd not heard for a long time, and it was like being doused in a bucket of ice-cold water—all the unpleasant reminders of his father's legacy, clamoring to be heard. Regaining his composure, the self-styled devil hunter said coldly, "Where did you hear that?" He was unable to keep emotion from his tone, and Bald 'N' Ugly knew it. He produced another mocking smile.
"From your brother," he said, a hint of malice in his tone. "He sent this invitation to you. Please accept it."
Before Dante quite knew what was happening, the man moved. So fast, Dante was only aware that he had moved when he found himself and his desk flying through the air. Reflex kicked in, and he landed in a watchful crouch, poised on the edge of the desk and Ivory in his hand. His eyes slid around the room.
Empty.
Dante remained still for a few more seconds until he was convinced that nothing was going to leap out and attack him. Smiling a little bitterly, he lowered the gun. "Invitation, huh." Always the diplomatic one, Vergil.
Vergil…
Dante stopped himself before he could sink into a self-made abyss of mush and angst, instead turning his attention to the battered, but whole, pizza bix he had snatched out of the air without even looking. His stomach chose that moment to whine pleadingly as the aroma of cheese wafted upwards. Shrugging, he removed a slice and lowered it into his mouth…
Pain! Dante forced a grimace off his face as sharp, stabbing pinpricks of agony suddenly invaded his senses, each screaming to be heard. The pizza slice fell from nerveless fingers as he glanced down to see rusty scythes protruding from his stomach and abdomen. Hey, no fair, he wanted to complain, but if there was one thing he had learnt fighting those wax demons one year ago and various and sundry other minor creatures since, it was that demons and/or devils did not fight fair.
Instead, he smiled wolfishly at the unseen demons, his lips pulling away from his teeth in a way more feral snarl than grin. Bracing himself for the pain that was sure to follow, he seized one of the black-cloaked demons and tossed it casually into the opposite wall, the damned creature wailing as it smashed into the wall and exited via the other side in an impromptu trip. Dante whirled and the unfortunate demons, too stupid to let go of their weapons, blades still embedded in Dante's back, were dragged along with him, clinging stubbornly on with otherworldly shrieks—cries that were abruptly stifled as Dante grabbed Ebony and emptied his clips into the remaining two demons at his back. His lips compressed as his fingers closed around the shattered sickles sticking out of his chest and yanked them out, accompanied by a shower of blood. Dante watched with satisfaction as the wound began to seal quickly. In seconds all that was left was a faint white scar—there were lot of them—and a stubborn dribble of blood.
Not that Dante was looking anymore. Aware that he was still far from safe, he set his feet, and sent the bent sickle whirling like a boomerang towards the ceiling. His aim was perfect. The ceiling fan, freed of its constraints, wavered uncertainly before falling down into an approaching demon with a resounding crash and reducing it into a pile of sand with a whooshing sound. At least, Dante mused as he whirled Ebony and Ivory briefly in his hands, they don't leave behind too huge a mess.
Red portals that materialized out of thin air and more wacky shrieks heralded the arrival of another host of demons that all looked like they wanted to be the Grim Reaper when they grew up. In a wave, they rushed upon him. Dante lifted his hand and Rebellion shot obediently into it. The demons were undaunted. Dante wondered briefly if they were brave or just plain dumb as he cleared out the first line with one swing. More sand lay scattered across his recently vacuumed floor, he noted with annoyance as he ducked beneath a demon's wild swipe and impaled it. Or cannon fodder. Verge can be pretty scary when he wants; I should know. Probably bullied 'em into doing the job. It was a little worrying, Dante thought in concern as he pulled off a perfect roundhouse kick that sent one demon klunking its skull into the side of his desk, causing it to collapse with a loud groan. These nutters were all low-level, Vergil must have known that he could wade through these guys, no matter how many, any time of the week with one hand tied behind his back. From what Baldy had said, Dante could only guess that this was a threat. An opportunity for Vergil to gloat, See what I have accomplished. I have flunkies now! Bwahahahaha!
Dante quickly found that thinking was a dangerous thing to do in battle as a scythe clipped his ribs; he'd only jumped back just in time. So he set aside his contemplations for the moment to fully engage in battle. Another one bit the dust—literally—as Ivory greeted it with several vicious bullets specially dipped in holy water. Dante had spent a long time doing that with a jar and a pair of tongs, since he couldn't touch the stuff himself, but he had to say that it had been worth it when he saw how easily the demons were going down beneath the barrage. A smirk curled his lips as adrenaline pounded through his system.
Several demons looked nervously at each other and slowly began to edge away. When they'd first popped up, their first thought had been, Only human. How hard could it be?
Famous last words.
Dante spotted the shirkers and yelled over the commotion of demon screaming, "Where d'you think you're going? This party's just getting crazy! Let's rock!" More bullets blazed out from E&I and reduced the attacking demons to dust. Shoving one aside, Dante peered at his trusty jukebox, pondering for a moment before jabbing at a button. The machine let out a sound like a dying cow and shuddered. The white-haired devil hunter snorted. Piece of junk. One boot lashed forward, causing the front of the jukebox to cave in. Fingers of electricity danced among the wreckage as the ancient machine coughed to life with a burst of static and crackly music. Dante smiled in satisfaction as he stepped back and continued pounding the life out of the monsters.
In seconds they had either fled through the door (ripping the door off its hinges in the process) or were lying in piles of sand around the room. Dante examined the mess glumly. His pool table was cleaved into half (one of the demons had the bright idea of cowering beneath), his jukebox was smashed in, his drum set had been scattered in miscellaneous pieces on the floor, and gashes from his sword and the demons' scythes decorated the ceiling. All in all, it wasn't exactly the most soothing ambience around.
"The end? Don't bet on it," he muttered to himself. Vergil likely had more stuff planned for him. He wasn't the kind to do things by halves, his brother. He glanced around again and was surprised to see the pizza box lying, miraculously unscathed, by his feet. He stared at it for a few moments, then shrugged and reached for it.
A clawed foot appeared out pf nowhere and slammed down, sending cheese and tomato spurting out of the sides of the box. Dante growled and fired, point-blank, into its leering face, and bits of demon flew in all directions as its visage burst apart like rotten fruit before disintegrating into dust. Dante sneered and spun the gun around one finger.
"…Idiot."
With a whining sound, part of the roof promptly caved in and shattered on the sand-strewn floor. Dante grimaced and grabbed his red coat off the rack. Oh, you're so going to pay for wrecking my new place, Verge, he thought darkly. Draping the material over his shoulder, he stalked out into the last rays of the setting sun.
Here I come, brother.
It's showtime.
END BROTHER NEVER CRY BEGIN DEVIL MAY CRY 3: DANTE' S AWAKENING…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
1/12/05: It's over. My story of nearly five months is over.
Its also my first serious DMC fic, and I'm really glad how it turned out the way it had, though rereading it, I found loads of places where it could have been improved. I had a lot of fun writing this story and reading your reviews. Thanks to you reviewers for all your support. Your positive comments and honest criticism helped me write this story and I really bow down to you guys.
I'll contact everyone by PM soon. Not today; I've still got loads to do. But I'd never overlook the effort you took to review. Kudos to everyone who stuck with story from the beginning to the end.
I'll be taking a break from DMC for a while; I've got two other uncompleted stories that need to be finished, and next year will be the busiest I've ever faced. But I promise that I'll be back sometime next year.
Once again, thank you so much.
Travithian Axile.
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