Blades clashed like thunder in a forgotten corner of the demon realm. Sparks flew with each devastating strike. A crimson-coated man swung a massive broadsword with practiced recklessness, while his opponent answered with calculated, razor-sharp precision.

One bore a wild grin and a devil-may-care look: a red coat draped over his shoulders, black Henley shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked frame, driving gloves stained from countless brawls. White bandages peeked from his wrists, and his brown boots kicked up dust as he moved. His silver-white hair fell messily across his forehead, a sharp contrast to the grim smirk etched across his face. Dante.

The other, dressed in shadows, moved like a coiled serpent: his long, black coat glowed with ethereal blue serpent patterns, three coattails flickering like dying flames. His silver-white hair was swept back, sharp and controlled, like the man himself. In his hand, a white katana shimmered with power—Yamato. Vergil.

They had been fighting for over a year.

Not for vengeance. Not for hate.

But for the score.

They both stood, swords crossed, breathing heavy. Their beards had grown in—untamed signs of how long this strange brotherly war had gone on.

Dante let out a low chuckle. "How long's it been?"

Vergil narrowed his eyes, then sheathed Yamato for a moment. "At this point… I've lost count."

"The years, the demons we've wasted, or the number of times I kicked your ass?"

"All of the above."

Before either could banter further, the air grew heavy. More demons slithered from the shadows, clawing across stone and bone.

Vergil reached for Yamato. "Tired yet?"

Dante twirled his Devil Sword with a smirk. "Like hell I am."

The sons of Sparda fought side by side—again. Blades danced, bullets sang, and the ground trembled under the force of their attacks. But then—something new arrived.

A chorus of mechanical wings thundered above. Figures in dark armor, with swords and shimmering lances, descended from the sky.

"Angelos?" Dante muttered, stepping back with narrowed eyes.

"They're not mine. I swear on it," Vergil said sharply.

One of the metallic warriors raised its blade and declared, "Priority-one targets located: Dante and Vergil. You will surrender and be escorted to Darkcom custody… or be taken by force."

"Darkcom?" Dante raised a brow. "Why do they sound…"

"…human," Vergil finished coldly. "Artificial demons."

"We are not demons!" one of the Angelos roared.

Sons of Sparda. Surrender or be terminated."

Dante scoffed, flicking his coat behind him as he pulled out Ebony and Ivory. "Real original. You guys got a script?"

Vergil stepped forward, Yamato gleaming at his side. "They don't even understand who they're threatening."

And then they struck.

Three Angelos launched forward, wings flaring as they swung their lances. Dante cartwheeled back, unloading a storm of bullets mid-air. Each shot was a symphony—precise, cocky, unrelenting. Ivory blew the helmet clean off one Angelo, sending it crashing into a pillar. Ebony spun in his hand before Dante popped a shot into another's knee joint, then dashed forward, impaling it with his Devil Sword.

"BANG! That one's going on the highlight reel."

One Angelo tackled him from behind—but Dante twisted, ducked, and flipped the demon over his shoulder, using its momentum to hurl it into a flaming wall of brimstone.

Meanwhile, Vergil was poetry in motion.

Two Angelos rushed him—only to be instantly sliced into ribbons by Yamato. The blade flashed once—clean, elegant—and the air itself split. Vergil didn't even look at them as they collapsed, armor clattering to the ground in smoking pieces.

A third tried to catch him off-guard.

Vergil turned.

"Too slow."

He vanished in a burst of blue shadows—teleporting behind the attacker. Yamato sheathed with a metallic shink… and the Angelo erupted in a clean vertical split, collapsing in perfect symmetry.

Three more Angelos took to the skies, raining blue energy spears from above.

Dante holstered his guns, grinned, and broke out the Devil Sword Dante.

"Let's dance, boys!"

He launched himself up, spiraling through the air with twin stabs, shredding through one flying Angelo. As the second dove at him, he activated Sin Devil Trigger for a beief second mid-air—his coat burst with red demonic energy, his eyes glowing with raw power. He grabbed the second by the throat, smashed it into the third, and shot both point-blank before crashing them down into the earth like meteors.

Vergil meanwhile dashed across the battlefield like a phantom—Summoned Swords forming in orbit, spinning into deadly crescents. He pointed forward and the swords fired in sequence, ripping through two advancing Angelos.

Only one remained.

It was larger than the others. A commander class, maybe. It roared with mechanical fury, wings burning brighter than the rest.

Dante landed beside Vergil, cracking his neck. "You want the honors?"

Vergil stared down the final foe. "I'll soften it up."

He teleported behind the commander, slashing it across the back before appearing in front of it and plunging Yamato through its core. The Angelo let out a mechanical shriek—but didn't fall. It raised its blade.

Dante casually stepped in, cracked his knuckles.

"Showtime."

He unleashed Balrog, his fists and legs igniting with infernal flame. In a flurry of martial arts kicks and flaming jabs, Dante beat the Angelo into the ground, then leapt up and axe-kicked it so hard the crater cracked beneath them.

The commander sparked, short-circuited, then exploded in a flash of blue flame and smoke.

Silence.

Only the echo of footsteps as Dante holstered his weapons, and Vergil wiped Yamato clean on the remnants of a cape.

Dante raised a brow. "Still got it."

Vergil sheathed his blade with a cold, "Hmph."

As they looked over the battlefield, they noticed the fallen Angelos twitching—shifting.

One by one, their forms dissolved from mechanical demon… to human. Their armor faded to reveal pale, unconscious faces. Men and women in blue-white exosuits. Soldiers.

Dante kneeled beside one of the fallen and examined the pistol. His eyes narrowed. "No way…"

He pulled out Ebony. The sidearm matched perfectly.

"Nell Goldstein's craftsmanship," he muttered. "Nico… what the hell happened while I was gone?"

"Dante," Vergil called out. He held a broken weapon from one of the soldiers—a stun baton. Demonic lightning crackled across its frame.

"They're making Devil Arms now," Vergil said, voice dark. "Cheap imitations of ours."

Dante sighed, cracking his neck. "Yeah. That's our cue. I think it's time we went home."

"With pleasure."

Vergil sliced the air with Yamato, attempting to open a portal.

Nothing.

Again, he slashed—this time stepping through. He appeared ten feet away, walking out of the same realm. But every time he tried to reach the human world—nothing.

"Something's wrong," Vergil said.

"You don't say?" Dante replied.

Suddenly, a refined voice cut through the air like a knife.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance!"

Dante instinctively fired Ebony and Ivory, Vergil unleashing a flurry of mirage blades toward the source. Rocks shattered. Dust flew.

But standing there—completely unharmed—was a well-dressed white rabbit in a black Victorian tuxedo, monocle perched on one eye.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" the rabbit shrieked.

Dante blinked, lowering his guns. "Wait a minute… I know you. You're the rabbit who tipped me off about Vergil. You worked for Arkham, right?"

"I did. Once. But since you killed him I am a free rabbit."

Vergil approached cautiously, eyes narrowing. "And last I checked… I killed you. In front of Alice."

The rabbit nodded solemnly. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing deep, twisted scars across his furred chest. A mechanized device pulsed over where his heart should be—metal wires and glowing circuits embedded into his frame.

"She brought me back," the rabbit said. "Alice… performed a ritual in Fortuna. She sacrificed her heart… so I could live. I was rebuilt by Agnus before his demise. My life is not mine—it is hers."

He buttoned his shirt again, composed despite the weight of his words.

"I am here not for vengeance for what vergil did, but to warn you. Darkcom is playing with forces that threaten both realms."

Dante gave him a wary smirk. "You always did know how to make an entrance."

The old manor stood like a forgotten relic—tilted slightly on its foundation, its stone walls cracked from time and upheaval. Thick vines had claimed parts of the exterior, and the iron gate groaned in protest as the white rabbit pushed it open.

Dante squinted at the looming structure. "Okay… how the hell is there a manor down here?"

The rabbit's polished shoes clicked across the stone walkway as he answered with casual indifference. "A lot of buildings were pulled under when someone brought the Qliphoth down on Redgrave." He shot a sideways glance at Vergil, who said nothing.

As they entered, the inside of the manor revealed a ghost of former luxury—faded red carpets, dust-choked chandeliers, and antique furniture too stubborn to rot. Still, it was surprisingly intact. There was even warmth in the air.

"I've restored the essentials," the rabbit said, loosening his collar. "Electricity, plumbing, hot water. You'll find clean towels in the cabinet. Try not to trash the place. I just finished scrubbing the tiles."

He sniffed again, visibly recoiling. "And for the love of all things sacred, bathe. You both smell like a graveyard after a bar fight."

Dante let out a low whistle. "Y'know, for a talking rabbit, you sure give off nanny vibes."

The rabbit didn't smile. "I also cook, sew, and kill when necessary. Upstairs. Now."

With twin shrugs, the Sons of Sparda headed to opposite ends of the hall.

⸻

Steam curled through the cracked ceiling tiles as hot water poured down Dante's scarred back. He stood motionless beneath it, palms pressed against the wall, his eyes closed. For once, there was silence. No demons. No collapsing cities. No smart-ass remarks.

Just the sound of water, steady and constant.

In the other wing, Vergil's shower ran just as hot. He, too, stood still—back straight, head bowed slightly, eyes half-lidded. The Yamato rested nearby, within reach even here.

He hadn't felt clean in months.

⸻

They returned dressed in cleaned and pressed versions of their signature clothes—Dante in red, Vergil in black and blue. The rabbit waited for them in a small parlor lined with dusty bookshelves. A single lamp buzzed softly in the corner, casting warm amber light over the aged barber's chair positioned in the center.

A cloth was laid across a nearby table, lined with gleaming steel tools: straight razors, shears, a shaving brush, clippers. The rabbit rolled up his sleeves.

"Dante. Sit."

Dante raised a brow. "What, spa day now?"

"You want answers, you get in the chair. You're both a disgrace. Look like wandering drunks."

With a smirk, Dante sat. "Fine, but if you cut me, I ain't paying."

The rabbit ignored him and got to work, lathering Dante's jaw and trimming the scruff down with precise strokes. He moved with practiced elegance, not a hand trembled.

"So," Dante mumbled between passes of the razor. "What do you know about Darkcom?"

The rabbit's expression darkened slightly. "More than I wish I did," he said quietly. "They've been coming here—dragging away demons. Lesser demons."

Snip. The shears clicked softly as he trimmed Dante's hair, shaping it back to the iconic shoulder-length mess he'd always worn.

"They're mining ore," the rabbit continued. "Pulling something unnatural from the earth. Feeding it into machines, rituals… hell if I know which. But they're building something. Using tech and demonic essence like it's clay. Many demonic Aristocratic families from the Aenslands to the Maximoffs and a few Umbra witches gave refuge to demons who follow sparda but Darkcom are looking for the worst of the worst."

He brushed off the last strands and stepped back. "Done."

"Not bad," Dante said, admiring himself in the cracked mirror. "Didn't expect a rabbit to have barber skills."

"I've had a long, strange life."

He turned toward Vergil. "Your turn."

Vergil walked forward in silence, Yamato still in hand. When he sat, the sword rested across his lap, and he pointed it subtly toward the rabbit's neck.

"This would be a perfect time to kill you," he said calmly.

The rabbit began mixing the shaving cream. "And yet, here I am."

"I'm allowing you to live."

The rabbit gave him a faint, wry smile. "And I'll sleep so soundly knowing that."

He worked with the same quiet focus, trimming Vergil's beard down to nothing, the razor gliding across his skin like wind over glass.

They've found something," the rabbit said at last, his voice low, like he feared the manor walls might be listening. He swept the straight razor along Vergil's jaw one final time, the blade whispering over skin.

He stepped back, inspecting his work. "Buried deep beneath."

Vergil rose from the chair, wiping away the remaining shaving cream with a flick of his wrist. His silver hair fell perfectly into place as he slid Yamato back into its sheath.

"…What?" he asked simply, but there was an edge to his tone—like a blade honed by suspicion. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment for the rabbit's work.

The rabbit set down his tools and loosened the collar of his coat. "Best if I show you."

⸻

The three made their way up a jagged mountain trail, the path cracked and partially reclaimed by nature, though the scent of sulfur and scorched rock still clung to the air. Broken stones shifted underfoot as wind howled between peaks, carrying distant growls on the breeze.

Demons lunged from the shadows—twisted things with cracked skin and smoldering eyes. Dante grinned and made quick work of them with Rebellion, the sword howling as it cut through flesh and flame. Vergil followed, his movements surgical, Yamato flashing through air like lightning split in two. The rabbit, not to be outdone, summoned a rapier forged from shimmering white energy—its edge elegant but lethal.

They moved like a single force, fluid and unrelenting.

⸻

Soon, the trail curved downward, and the rock gave way to rusted iron.

Train tracks.

Laid like a scar across the earth, the rails stretched toward a yawning tunnel at the base of the mountains. The air grew colder, heavier.

"A train?" Dante muttered, raising an eyebrow. "What, demons using public transport now?"

"Mining train," the rabbit replied, stepping over one of the rails. "Industrial, reinforced. From what I've seen, it moves between this world and the human one. Carries ore. Supplies. And lesser demons by the hundreds. Like cattle."

Vergil's gaze sharpened. "What are they mining?"

Before the rabbit could answer, the rumble of steel echoed through the valley.

A train.

Massive. Black. Its engine hissed smoke laced with glowing embers. Mechanical plates bolted over demonic glyphs. Its cars rattled behind it like a serpent of iron. The trio ducked behind rocks, shadows cloaking them as the train thundered past.

With a blur of motion, Vergil flicked his wrist and vanished—reappearing beside the train. With a clean, precise slash of Yamato, the coupling holding the last few cars split. Sparks flew. The rear cars detached and slowed, screeching as they came to a halt further down the line.

Then, silence… for only a breath.

From the cars, armored shapes emerged—glowing with artificial rage.

Angelos.

Ten of them. Their once-holy armor twisted by technology, blue-white power arcing through the gaps in their plating. Their visors flared with recognition.

"Targets confirmed," one declared. "Dante. Vergil. You are to be detained under Directive-17 by order of Darkcom."

"Directive my ass," Dante spat, cocking Ebony and Ivory with a grin. "How about I give you a directive—drop dead."

The Angelos charged.

Steel clashed against steel as the Sons of Sparda met them head-on. Dante danced through the chaos, flipping over attacks and unloading bullets with perfect rhythm. Each shot rang like thunder, sending shockwaves through armored chestplates.

Vergil moved like a phantom. Blades of pure magic—his Mirage Edge—spiraled around him, slicing through armor with surgical grace. Every strike was deliberate, controlled. Efficient.

And then, the rabbit.

No longer the polite gentleman with scissors in hand—now a whirlwind of white and silver, his rapier glowing with arcane light. He moved with unexpected fury, skewering one Angelo through the visor and pirouetting into a low slash that severed another's legs.

"Not bad for a fuzzy butler," Dante called out between shots.

"Watch your tongue or I'll shave it off next," the rabbit snarled, driving his blade upward into another Angelo's chest.

The last few Angelos faltered, sparks flying as they backed away—but retreat wasn't in their programming. They surged one final time, blades raised—

Vergil crossed his arms.

"Judgement Cut End."

A storm of slashes ignited the field in an instant, light fracturing the air itself. The Angelos froze, suspended in time—and then fell, their armor splitting apart like glass under a hammer.

Silence returned.

The train's detached cars sat still in the distance, their contents unknown. The tracks trembled beneath their feet, the dying echo of engines fading into the dark.

Dante sheathed his devil swordwith a flourish. "That all of 'em?"

"For now," the rabbit said, catching his breath. His rapier dissolved in his grip.

"Hello? Is it safe out there?" a voice called from behind a dented carriage door.

Dante, Vergil, and the rabbit exchanged glances.

Dante stepped forward and yanked the sliding door open. Inside, the carriage revealed a makeshift laboratory—dimly lit, cluttered with machines, specimen jars, and scattered documents. At the center stood a dark-skinned man with round glasses, a trembling hand gripping a scalpel like a last line of defense.

"Stand back!" he warned, his eyes wide behind the lenses. "I know who you are."

The trio stepped inside, weapons lowered but gazes sharp. The stench of blood and chemicals lingered like smoke. On one of the tables, tubes filled with thick red liquid pulsed softly under cold light.

Vergil narrowed his eyes. "This blood. Whose is it?"

The man hesitated. "We found a statue deep in the mountains… wrapped in chains. At first, we thought it was some kind of shrine or tomb. But it bled when we chipped at it."

He took a breath. "That's what led to Project: Angel Trigger."

Dante's expression darkened. "Mundus."

Vergil took a step forward. "You didn't remove the chains, did you?"

"What? No! We're not that stupid," the man said, raising both hands defensively. "Every time we take samples, we sedate the body with custom anesthetics crafted by contracted sorcerers. I promise, we've been careful."

The rabbit paced, arms crossed behind his back. He tilted his head and glanced at the man's ID badge. "Dr. Aiden Fisher," he said aloud. "Well, Doctor, stealing demon blood is like poking the biggest hornet's nest in Hell with a hot needle. And if you're bleeding Mundus… he's going to take that very personally."

"I didn't sign up for this kind of heat," Fisher muttered, setting the scalpel down. "Look, I'll help you any way I can. Honest."

"Start with this." Vergil unsheathed Yamato and handed it to Fisher.

Fisher's hands trembled as he accepted the legendary blade, marveling at its weight and hum of power. "This… is how the train crosses dimensions?"

Vergil nodded. "I've used it to open portals between worlds."

"Yes… Yes!" Fisher exclaimed. "We integrated part of your dimensional cuts into our systems—massive generators keep the portal stable for humans and lesser demons. But anything larger, anything stronger… would overwhelm it. Overlord-class entities like you two?" He glanced between them nervously. "Your mere presence near the threshold could vaporize the system… and yourselves."

He examined Yamato more closely, adjusting his glasses. "Wait. I see the problem."

Vergil frowned and leaned closer. "What is it?"

"There's a chip. Right here." Fisher rotated the blade slightly to show a barely perceptible fracture along the edge.

Vergil's eyes narrowed. "A chip?"

Dante snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah! I remember now. About a year ago, some big brute named Balrog got his hands on a shard of Yamato. Used it to rip open a portal on Vie de Marli. Kicked his ass pretty good, though."

He unbuckled his coat and revealed the Balrog Devil Arm—flaming gauntlets and greaves fused with infernal armor.

"And the shard?" Vergil asked.

"Still on the island, probably," Dante said with a shrug.

Fisher moved to a console, checking readings on the train's damaged systems. "Well, there's more bad news. Your little brawl outside? It wrecked the power core. We're stuck until it's repaired."

"We can fix it, right?" Dante asked.

"With what, exactly?" Fisher snapped.

The rabbit tapped a paw against his chin. "What if… we powered it with a Devil Arm?"

Vergil looked at him sideways. "You want to turn the train into a giant Devil Arm?"

"That could work," Fisher admitted. "But every Devil Arm we recovered from Dante is locked up at Darkcom HQ."

He pulled up a screen showing various sealed weapons: Alastor, Nevan, Beowulf, Ifrit—all contained in cold steel crates marked with Darkcom logos.

The rabbit clapped his hands. "Gentlemen, we are currently in the Underworld. We have two of the best demon hunters in the multiverse. I believe acquiring new arms won't be an issue."

"Very well," Vergil said, turning toward the train's mangled engine. "But the dimensional gate won't hold unless we place the Yamato shard on the other side and amplify the connection."

"I was thinking the same," Fisher nodded. "We'd need someone on the human side to act as a stabilizer. Someone with magical blood, strong enough to anchor the portal."

"Patty," Dante said without hesitation.

Vergil arched an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Patty Lowell," Dante explained. "Comes from a lineage of sorcerers so strong, they once sealed away Abigail himself. She's got the guts and the bloodline to anchor the gate."

"And how do you intend to contact her?" Vergil asked.

The rabbit raised a paw. "I might. I can tunnel between dimensions with enough time and effort… but I can't carry you all. I'm not that strong."

"Then dig," Dante said, turning to him. "Start in a place called Fredi's Diner. You mught find a few friends."

Vergil scoffed. "You expect us to trust your entire plan on some greasy spoon?"

Dante grinned. "Trust me."

As they turned to go, Dante noticed a dusty old Polaroid camera on a nearby crate. He picked it up, blew on it, and held it out to Dr. Fisher.

"For evidence."

"You've got to be joking," Vergil muttered.

"Hey, if we're risking our asses, might as well capture the moment." Dante tossed it to Fisher.

The doctor caught it, hesitated… and then snapped a photo.

The flash lit the cabin.

Dante struck a cocky pose with Devil Sword slung over his shoulder.

Vergil stood stoically, arms crossed, a faint glint in his eyes.

And the rabbit adjusted his coat, deadpan as always.

History, captured in an instant.