Epilogue
The owners of Devil May Cry's Fortuna Branch kicked back on the grass amidst the crumbling remains of the farmhouse, savoring their beers as they basked in the spectacle of the sun sinking below the horizon, a welcomed respite from Fortuna's scorching blaze.
Several days had passed since the destruction of the Hellgate, and life on the island had settled into its regular rhythm. However, for the two of them, it felt oddly different. Especially for Nero, now that Vergil had returned to the Underworld.
The RV stood nearby, parked beneath a solitary tree that offered meager shade. From inside, a soft rock melody drifted through the air, occasionally faltering despite Nico's determined efforts to revive the aging contraption.
Nico's irritation grew palpable as the melody skipped, rudely interrupting one of her all-time favorite songs. "Seriously? This relic needs to be replaced," she grumbled, taking a substantial gulp from her bottle.
Beside her, Nero had shed his coat and sat comfortably, legs bent and arms resting on his knees, a mischievous chuckle escaping his lips as he stole a fleeting glance at her, his own bottle dangling between his knees. "Oh, come on, Nico. Admit it. You've got a soft spot for that ancient box."
"Wrong, Nero. I have a soft spot for things that can be fixed, but this stubborn piece of junk is just being difficult."
Nero grunted, thoroughly amused, but wisely decided to hold his tongue. Taking a leisurely sip from his beer, his gaze locked onto the horizon, emanating an unusual sense of tranquility and ease—a sight Nico rarely witnessed during their time together.
Nico's guilt gnawed at her as she observed Nero's relaxed demeanor. She was still struggling with the fact that she was hiding something from him. With a sigh, she absentmindedly scratched at the label on her bottle, the tension within her mounting. Unable to contain herself any longer, she blurted out, "I'm giving Kyrie shooting lessons!" She braced herself, shutting her eyes tight, fully prepared for Nero's volcanic eruption of anger.
To her surprise, all she heard was laughter.
Cautiously, Nico cracked open one eye, only to find Nero reclining on his elbows, a teasing smirk dancing on his lips. "I already know," he declared, his voice brimming with amusement.
"You...wait, how?" Nico stammered, her jaw slightly dropping in astonishment.
"I'm not stupid, Nico," Nero scolded lightly. "And you're a terrible liar."
A blend of embarrassment and relief flooded over Nico, caught off guard. She hadn't anticipated him seeing through her so effortlessly.
As Nero's laughter subsided, he sat up, his expression turning gentle. "Listen, Nico, I understand why you both wanted to keep it a secret. But you don't have to hide stuff like that from me. Remember, we're a team?"
Nico nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Yeah, I know. I guess I just expected you to be mad or something."
"I was at first," Nero admitted, sipping his bottle. "But I understand that she needs this, and I can't teach her without being constantly worried. So I'm actually glad you're taking on that job."
At that moment, an unspoken understanding and trust passed between them, deepening their bond as partners and friends. They clinked their bottles together in a silent toast, the fading sunlight casting a warm, orange glow over their surroundings.
As they finished their beers and prepared to make their way back to the RV, Nico couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude. With Nero, her ever-annoying partner, by her side, she knew they could tackle any challenge that crossed their path.
Nero stood up and shrugged his coat back on before bending down and effortlessly hoisting a broken, one-legged training dummy onto his shoulder. It was the sole reason why Nico had dragged him out to the fields.
"Well, I still think you're as dense as a rock," Nico grinned mischievously, her sassy attitude returning as she lit her cigarette. "I remember it like it was yesterday," she reminisced with an old woman's voice. "How your brain leaked out of your ears when I tried explaining Shadowstep to you."
Nero shot her a glare. "Because it was yesterday, and that Devil Breaker makes no fucking sense."
"You make no damn sense either," she retorted, shaking her head in playful disbelief. "With your arm growing back and transforming into a scaly demon whenever you feel like it." The mechanic followed Nero to the car, smacking his arm as he carelessly tossed Hank's remains onto the sofa.
Nero playfully nudged her shoulder, causing her to stumble a bit. "Hey, I've got my own unique style. My demon powers are just one of the perks of being me."
Nico rolled her eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Perks, huh? More like a never-ending source of headaches. But hey, I'll give you this; it definitely keeps things interesting."
Settling into their usual seats, the two partners embarked on their journey back home, their destination being the city. Nico cranked up the music, unable to contain her excitement.
"I love this song!" she exclaimed unnecessarily before belting out the lyrics at the top of her lungs.
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Chapter 0
Vergil took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he attempted to steady his breathing. With a graceful motion, he sheathed Yamato back into its scabbard, the blade disappearing from sight. Behind him, the echoes of battle faded, giving way to the cries of dying demons, their anguished voices fading into nothingness.
Pressing on, Vergil's footsteps echoed through the desolate expanse of the Underworld. The landscape around him twisted and decayed, a manifestation of darkness and malevolence. Jagged rocks and gnarled roots jutted out from the barren ground, creating an oppressive silhouette against the dim light that filtered through the realm.
The air seemed tainted, carrying the unmistakable scent of sulfur and blood, a constant reminder of the sinister forces that roamed this domain.
Time had no meaning in this forsaken place, days and nights blending into an eternal haze. Yet, despite the passage of time, a lingering unease weighed upon Vergil. The solitude was a familiar companion, but it bore down on him differently.
Freedom from the infuriating presence of his brother, Dante, should have brought relief. Their constant clashes and conflicting ideologies had always created a tumultuous dynamic between them. Yet, as Vergil walked alone through the shadowy abyss, a pang of loneliness tugged at his heart. It was a bittersweet liberation, an unexpected consequence of their separation.
Vergil continued his solitary trek through the desolate expanse of the Underworld, his mind filled with contemplation. The encounters with his son, Nero, stirred a mixture of emotions within him. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride witnessing Nero's embrace of his demonic heritage and the strength he displayed in their clashes. It was a testament to the resilience and willpower that Vergil himself had always strived for.
Yet, along with that pride, a nagging unease gnawed at Vergil's thoughts. Seeing Nero's unwavering determination and ability to maintain his humanity in the face of overwhelming power made Vergil question his own path. He had spent his life pursuing absolute control, allowing it to consume him and drive a wedge between himself and those around him. On the other hand, Nero had found a way to balance his demonic abilities with his compassion for others.
Vergil couldn't help but wonder if his single-minded pursuit had blinded him to the true meaning of strength. His encounters with Nero and the glimpses of his own reflection in his son's eyes had shaken him to the core. He realized that Nero possessed a stronger will than he ever had, allowing him to resist the all-consuming nature of power and maintain his humanity.
The demons found him once again, launching relentless assaults as Vergil pressed forward, his gaze fixed on the ultimate goal. The Throne in the Underworld remained hidden, its location unknown to him, but he knew time was not on his side.
With each wave of demonic attackers, Vergil swiftly drew Yamato from its sheath, his movements fluid and precise. His sword danced through the air, carving a path of destruction as he unleashed lightning-fast strikes. Mastery of his demonic powers allowed him to channel his inner strength, enhancing his speed and agility.
As the demons lunged, their grotesque forms and savage instincts were no match for Vergil's honed combat skills. He evaded their attacks with graceful dodges and countered with calculated precision. Every swing of his sword severed limbs and dispersed dark energy, slicing through their ranks.
As Vergil's steps grew heavier, and the thought of rest and recuperation briefly crossed his mind, his gaze was drawn to a figure standing on an elevated point ahead, blocking his path. Their appearance seemed strikingly human from a distance, a stark contrast to the grotesque creatures he had been battling.
With skepticism lingering, Vergil came to a halt, banishing exhaustion from his body and standing tall, gripping the katana firmly. The figure mirrored his movement, unsheathing their own sword.
"Whoever you are, I would advise you to step out of my way," Vergil commanded, his tone as cold as ever.
In response, the figure widened their stance, assuming an attacking position reminiscent of a Fury. Their sword glinted, and the familiar sound of an engine reached Vergil's ears.
A fleeting, foolish thought crossed his mind, causing his heart beat against his ribs.
Vergil narrowed his eyes, his instincts warning him of imminent danger. He recognized the posture and the telltale signs of an impending attack. Gripping Yamato tighter, he prepared to meet the assault head-on.
Without delay, the figure rushed toward him with surprising speed. They swung their saber, its tip scraping against the ground as they striked for an upwards slash, aiming for Vergil's abdomen. But Vergil defended, deflecting the blow with Yamato. His gaze remained fixed on the stranger's face, concealed behind a dark, grotesque mask.
The figure leaped back, creating distance, allowing Vergil to scrutinize the mysterious assailant. Remnants of a white uniform peeked out from beneath a dirty coat, catching his attention.
Once more, Vergil's heartbeat faltered, a flicker of familiarity stirring in the recesses of his memory. He took a measured breath, quelling the rising unease threatening to overtake him. Though the stranger's intentions remained shrouded, Vergil stood firm.
With unwavering determination, the man advanced, his voice resounding with an icy resolve. "You seek a fight. Very well, I shall oblige." His words hung in the air, carrying an unspoken warning of the impending consequences.
The figure confronting him appeared unperturbed, their concealed gaze fixed upon him. The clash of swords and the eruption of sparks filled the silence as their blades met. Vergil's movements were swift and calculated, infused with the power of his demonic heritage. Despite the stranger's agressive and animalistic movements, there was a glimmer of familiarity that eluded Vergil's grasp, a nagging sense of déjà vu.
Their battle intertwined their motions, and in a split second, the stranger deftly evaded Vergil's blade, skillfully sidestepping his strike. During that instant, Vergil's sword grazed the edge of their hood, ripping it away to reveal a cascade of dark, wavy hair that fell just past the chin.
Vergil's breath caught in his throat as a spark of recognition ignited within him. There was something about the stranger, a stirring of a long-buried memory. But amid the chaos of combat, the whole truth eluded him.
"Enough," he growled, launching himself at the stranger, swiftly directing Yamato toward her leg, leaving a deep gash in her thigh. A brief cry of pain slipped through, muffled by the mask—a voice unmistakably feminine.
A voice that nearly caused Vergil to hesitate. Almost. In one fluid motion, he swung Yamato, cleaving the mask in two.
She pressed a hand against her face and sank to one knee, blood seeping through her trembling fingers. Her breaths came heavily, punctuated with pain.
Vergil held his sword, silently aimed at her, keenly observing her every movement.
She growled, the sound resonating with a demonic intensity that surpassed her human guise.
Suddenly, she jerked her head up, fixing her fierce glare upon Vergil. Blood oozed from a gash on her forehead, lending her a wild and untamed appearance.
Vergil's eyes locked with hers, those blazing amber orbs burning with seething hatred. His throat went dry, and his sword slowly lowered as he recognized the figure standing before him. The realization struck him like a thunderbolt, causing his mind to spin. She, the one he had believed to be long gone, stood there wounded yet defiant, her every muscle taunt in anger.
"Impossible," he croaked, his voice strained and hoarse. "You're alive?"
Vergil's thoughts raced, struggling to comprehend the impossible. The face that had once been buried deep within his memories now materialized as a living enigma.
Despite her injuries, the woman fought her way to her feet, a blend of pain and unyielding determination etched upon her features. She brushed aside a strand of blood-soaked hair, her eyes devoid of recognition, wild and almost mad.
"You can't be real," Vergil concluded, pushing aside his swirling thoughts and raising Yamato once more.
She scoffed, sneer twisting her blood-smeared countenance.
Plunging the tip of her saber into the ground, she unleashed a torrent of scorching white flames from its engine.
A manic grin curled on her lips.
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