Chapter II

It had occurred to Dante that he had no idea where to find Vergil, but the thought wasn't a nagging one at the time. He'd been all fire and brimstone when he left, his newly replenished demonic blood pounding in his ears.

He had been confident that his brother would just appear, materialize, if you will, if he simply showed up with Force Edge and the amulet. Such were his thoughts muddled by indignant demonic rage… driven by revenge.

He scowled now though, a blanket of frustration settling over him.

A painful thought sprang spontaneously into his mind's eye: seven years ago, Vergil would have frowned at him and told him his hot-headedness was an affliction, not a virtue. He would have folded his arms and peered imperiously down his nose at his younger twin, and Dante would have grinned sheepishly at his exasperated sibling.

The remembrance felt like needles under his skin and he tried to shake it off. As he stood noncommittally atop the rubble where the Temen-Ni-Gru had crumbled back into the ground months before, he resisted the urge to yell, to scream for Vergil to show himself.

There was nothing for it though, of course… he had no choice but to head back. Perhaps he would stop by Love Planet (reopen now after extensive renovations) and drink himself into oblivion in pleasurable company.

A pang of something resembling guilt prodded him at this; he probably owed it to Lady to return and at least offer her some sort of half-assed explanation.

Although he had known all along that a good sleep was the cure for his poisoning, Lady had bound his wounds and obviously agonized over his condition for a decent time before falling asleep at his side. He derived some brief pleasure from her concern for him, but he had utterly no desire to divulge the events of the night to her; he could barely recall them himself without feeling a bitter, humiliated flush creep up his cheeks.

He was desperate for a stiff drink now; clearing the jagged rubble in a single leap, he landed catlike on the shattered sidewalk below and stalked his way angrily down the street toward the Bullseye.

Bastard, Vergil… whatever sickness was twisting its way through his brother's mind, he would beat it out of him.

Dante remembered the surprise and relief that had washed over him at the realization that his brother wasn't dead, wasn't trapped for eternity in the demonic realm… even through his poisoned haze, even through the sword that had so easily parted his flesh and organs, he had been glad.

But now… his platonic reminiscences were being muscled away by loathing. Had his esteemed elder twin been completely consumed by his own pursuit of power? And just how the hell had he gotten out of that mess?

It wasn't normally in Dante's nature to agonize or dwell on matters; but he couldn't just blast and hack his way out of the maze Vergil was building around him now.

He really needed that drink…

The wind rustled in his hair and swept a cool breath across his cheek. It may not have been a moonless night, but stormclouds were sweeping the sky, and Dante felt a few drops of cold rain on his face. The chilling air did wonders for his turmoil, and he halted and stood for a moment, face titled upward into the night air.

He sensed a slow movement in the shadows, and without turning to look, he smiled up at the sky.

So he had come after all.