The neon sign outside buzzed quietly, casting a warm red-pink hue over the rain-speckled windows of Fredi's Diner. Inside, the booths were mostly empty, save for the clatter of plates from the short-order cook and the hum of an old jukebox playing slow blues in the background.

The rabbit dabbed at his mouth with a napkin as he finished his third sundae. His coat was slightly dusted with powdered sugar, and he looked unusually at peace considering the magnitude of what he'd just explained.

"…and so I burrowed my way out of the Underworld, right beneath an Angelos guard station, and ended up finidng you. And that's how I met your boys." He flicked his ears upright and pushed the empty glass forward with satisfaction.

"Damn," Nico said, leaning back with her boots propped on the edge of the booth. "That is seriously messed up." She reached for her cigarette pack and lit one, exhaling a slow plume. "You sure it was Mundus's blood?"

"Positive. It smelled like rot, pride, and hellfire." Rabbit's nose wrinkled. "Unmistakable."

Morrison took a slow sip of his black coffee, thinking. "If they're mining his blood… then someone's playing god with something they don't understand."

"Well," Rabbit said with a grin, "That's usually when Dante shows up and breaks their toys."

Nero, who had been quiet up until now, leaned forward. His mechanical arm hummed faintly as he tapped his metal fingers against the table. "So what now? I get the feeling things are gonna get worse before they get better."

"They will," the rabbit replied. "Which is why I suggest we expand our party."

"You mean—?" Nero raised an eyebrow.

"Trish and Lady," Rabbit nodded. "Dante spoke about them—one with a mind like a blade, and the other with enough firepower to level a cathedral."

"Yeah," Nero said, "Speaking of which… where are they

The forest was dense—moonlight barely pierced the thick canopy above. Darkcom searchlights swept through the underbrush, painting fleeting silver beams across twisted trunks and moss-covered stones. The silence of the woods was broken only by the crunch of heavy boots and the low whir of scanners, combing for signs of demonic energy.

Darkcom soldiers moved with purpose, clad in black exo-armor, weapons pulsing with red-tinted energy. Their quarry was a lesser demon that had evaded several squads already—feral, fast, and more cunning than anticipated.

But not all soldiers were what they seemed.

Two operatives flanked the unit, moving in perfect sync. One wore the sleek, elegant uniform of a Fortuna-based command officer, her platinum hair hidden beneath the shimmering dark veil of the Gloria persona. The other, cloaked in a standard-issue Darkcom hood, had her signature rocket launcher strapped around her shoulder.

"You know," Trish said casually, turning her head just slightly, "you look good in that uniform."

Lady snorted, low and sharp, eyes scanning the treeline. "Yeah, well—I might burn it after this. I don't do uniforms."

The two peeled away from the squad, slipping into the dark like phantoms.

"But I gotta admit," Lady added, checking the display on her forearm console, "stealing their gear? Very useful."

She flexed her feet, and with a soft hiss, the hovershoes under her snapped to life. With a barely audible hum, she launched herself up to a low-hanging tree branch and landed in a crouch, surveying the perimeter from above.

"Impressive," Trish said, smiling as she calmly adjusted her gloves. "Next thing I know, you'll be asking for a cape."

"I'd rather die."

The comms fizzled again, static-laced commands bleeding through the background noise of shifting leaves and distant mechanical hums. "Target moving northeast. Squad Delta and Echo, flank from the east. Bring it in alive if possible—"

Lady yanked the earpiece from her ear and crushed it under her boot. "I'm done listening to fascist cosplay."

Trish just smirked and nodded ahead. "Eyes up."

They crested a hill and froze at what loomed below.

A massive clearing opened in the woods, its ground scorched and trees snapped like twigs. In the center slithered something grotesque and towering—an enormous serpent demon, obsidian scales reflecting the moonlight like polished armor. Its long, coiling body was layered in jagged spines, and ancient infernal runes glowed along its sides like molten scars.

"Well," Lady muttered, drawing a sleek, newly-acquired pistol, "that's a new one."

The snake's eyes locked onto them—lids blinking sideways, mouth parting in a grin far too human.

"Glory is today… for Mundus shall rise again."

Lady blinked. "Did he just say—?"

"Thought so," Trish replied, her expression darkening.

The serpent rose higher, coiling in the air like a demonic cobra. Its voice boomed unnaturally, shaking branches from the trees.

"Tremble before me, mortals! The blood tide begins tonight!"

Lady cocked her gun. "You know… I've always wanted to mount a snake on the wall at Devil May Cry."

Trish chuckled and slowly reached behind her. From beneath her dark cloak, she unsheathed something crackling with electric blue arcs. "Good thing I raided the evidence lockup."

In her hand, Nevan shimmered to life—its electric energy buzzing with anticipation, the vampire guitar pulsing as though eager for blood.

"Let's make this pretty," she said.

The snake struck first, lightning-fast—but not faster than the two women. Lady dove forward, hovershoes flaring, using the burst of thrust to propel her sideways, spraying bullets in a clean arc across the serpent's underbelly. Sparks and ichor flew as her rounds found their mark.

Trish danced in next, sliding across the ground in a swirl of dark fabric and electricity. She slammed Nevan down with a sonic boom, waves of lightning exploding outward and ripping through the serpent's scales.

The demon hissed in fury, its tail whipping toward them like a tree trunk. Lady leapt over it, flipped midair, and launched a grenade right into its open maw.

"Choke on that, scales-for-brains!"

Boom.

The serpent reeled back, smoke trailing from its jaws.

Trish's eyes glowed gold. She flipped Nevan into guitar mode and struck a powerful chord—lightning surged across the battlefield, temporarily paralyzing the beast. "This one's for all the dumb things you just said!"

Lady landed next to her, pistols raised. "Ready to shred?"

Trish grinned, eyes glowing with devilish joy.

"In perfect harmony."

They surged forward, side-by-side—two deadly divas painting the forest in electricity, bullets, and demonic blood.

Trish twisted Nevan mid-run. The guitar split and curved with an audible shing, forming its deadly scythe mode. Lightning crackled along the blade, arcs snapping from the hilt to the edges like a live wire barely contained.

She spun forward, slicing through a wave of dark mist the serpent spewed in desperation. With every swing of the scythe, she channeled more of her own demonic energy, her hair briefly lifting in a corona of light as thunder echoed with each strike.

"Let's dance!" Trish yelled, slashing into the serpent's neck, sending sparks and black ichor spraying across the clearing.

Lady was right behind her, sliding into position with a click of steel. She shouldered Kalina Ann—the signature rocket launcher custom-built for causing a scene—and fired.

THWUMP—KA-BOOM!

The rocket detonated against the serpent's flank, blowing away scales the size of dinner plates and making the demon scream in rage.

"Guess he didn't like the encore," Lady smirked, loading another round with a satisfying clack-clack.

The snake reared up one last time, glowing sigils along its body blazing with ominous red light. Its voice was warped now, fraying at the edges like static, a chorus of shrieking echoes layered over a single blasphemous voice.

"You cannot stop the rise… You cannot stop MUNDUS!"

Lady didn't flinch. She just smirked and leveled Kalina Ann again.

"I don't need to stop him," she said coolly. "I just need to shut you up."

THWUMP.

The rocket fired, but this time Trish was already moving.

In a flash of lightning and leather, she leapt—spinning through the air like a thunderbolt in human form—and landed on the rocket mid-flight. Electricity surged from her body into the shell, charging it with demonic energy as the air shimmered around her from the power surge.

"Turn it up to eleven," Trish whispered, eyes blazing as she launched herself off the rocket's back.

The serpent's eyes widened—too late.

BOOOOM.

The rocket detonated against its core, now supercharged by Trish's power. The explosion wasn't just a blast—it was a shockwave of raw elemental force. The sigils along the serpent's body cracked like shattered glass, and the creature let out a final, agonizing scream as it was engulfed in fire and lightning.

Flames and dust rained around them.

Lady and Trish landed side by side, boots hitting the ground with a synchronized thud. Smoke curled behind them. They didn't look back.

Lady holstered her pistols, the barrels still smoking from the final barrage. The air around them sizzled with ozone and heat, the burning forest casting a hellish glow over the battlefield. She turned to Trish with a grin, brushing soot from her cheek.

"Gotta say," she quipped, "you ride rockets better than Dante ever did."

Trish smirked and flipped her golden hair back, the tips still crackling faintly with residual lightning. "Well, I am more aerodynamic," she said coolly.

Together, they turned and began walking through the flaming wreckage, side by side—two silhouettes of destruction framed by scorched trees and demonic ash. The serpent demon's corpse lay twitching in the fire behind them, impaled and torn, yet eerily still glowing with runes.

"Think that thing was one of Mundus' pets?" Lady asked, not breaking stride.

"Definitely," Trish replied. "And a loyal one at that."

But before they could get far, the ground behind them quaked violently. A low rumble, like thunder on the edge of a storm, sent a shiver through the flames. The serpent's body spasmed, sigils flaring a blinding red as it reared up—burned, broken, but not dead. Its head lunged skyward with a final roar, fangs bared and fire pouring from its mouth.

Then—CRUNCH.

A van—their van—sailed off the nearby cliffside and came crashing down on the serpent's skull, crushing it beneath a screech of tires and a cascade of shattered bone. Blood sprayed in every direction as the demon let out a final, gurgled hiss and fell still for good.

Nico's window rolled down, and her voice rang out like a gunshot. "LADY! Trish! Get your asses in—we got a job!"

Rabbit clung to the passenger-side arm bar, ears flat and eyes wide from the stunt. "Who the hell taught you how to drive?!"

"Shut it, bunny boy," Nico snapped, revving the engine for emphasis. "And take that ridiculous shit off already."

With a smirk, Trish's body shimmered, the illusion of her Gloria disguise vanishing in a swirl of demonic light, revealing her usual sleek, black leather attire. Beside her, Lady pulled back her hood and shook out her hair, groaning as she stepped toward the van.

"Thank god. If I had to listen to Baines bark another order, I was going to shoot him."

They climbed into the van, soot-covered and battle-hardened, settling into the familiar scent of oil, leather, and gunpowder.

"Please tell me we've got some good news," Trish said, dusting off her coat.

Nero, seated in the back with a devil arm resting across his lap, looked up and smirked.

"If you count rescuing Dante and Vergil from the underworld as good news… then yeah. We've got some."

Lady and Trish exchanged a look—equal parts relief and concern.

"Well," Trish said, leaning back with a sigh, "guess it's time for a family reunion."

The van rolled steadily down an old, cracked road veiled in creeping vines and broken asphalt—nature and time clawing back what once belonged to man. The glow of Redgrave shimmered in the distance like a dying ember. Inside the vehicle, the air was thick with the scent of smoke, motor oil, and the tension of an impending battle.

Morrison leaned forward in his seat, his voice calm but commanding. "Alright, listen up, people. Dante and Vergil are stuck somewhere deep in the Underworld—and we're gonna get them out."

He unfurled a weathered paper map across the dashboard. Rabbit, perched beside him, tapped a spot with one clawed finger.

"The train they're working on has an exit point," he said. "Right here—beneath the old Arc Tower. There's a forgotten tunnel system underneath, barely maintained since the tower was first built. The moment they get that train running, they'll be barreling through like a rocket."

Nico snorted from the driver's seat, smirking. "Okay, playboy bunny. Sounds fun."

Rabbit turned his head slowly toward her, clearly unimpressed. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that."

"So," Nero interjected, arms crossed, "what's the actual plan?"

Rabbit reached over and flipped the map, revealing another worn sheet—this one showing the archipelago south of the mainland. He pointed to one island outlined in red.

"First, we need the missing shard of Yamato. From what Dante said, it was last seen in Vie de Marli. That shard's the key to stabilizing the portal long enough to bring them back without… well, their heads blowing off."

Trish stepped forward, resting a hand on the edge of the table. "I'll take Nero and head to the island. If Balrog's energy is still there, the shard might not be far behind."

Nero gave a sharp nod. "I've been itching to punch something anyway."

"Next up," Rabbit continued, flipping to a final map—this one of the city. He circled a neighborhood with a flick of his claw. "We need to locate Patty Lowell. She's the best candidate to anchor the gateway from this side."

Morrison leaned back with a grunt. "I've kept tabs on her. Ever since she got on Darkcom's radar, their security has been on her like flies on a corpse. Being Dante's friend and a powerful sorcerer makes her a high-value target—especially with her birthday coming up."

"That mean what I think it means?" Lady asked, cocking her head.

"It means," Morrison said, "they'll be watching her—closely. We'll need finesse to get close."

"Or a really big distraction," Nico chimed in from the driver's seat, drumming her fingers on the wheel with a sly grin. "Which brings me to this—Lady, I believe you've just accepted her RIVP."

Lady arched a brow. "RIVP?"

"Really Important Violent Party," Nico said with a wink. "And I think you should take our fuzzy little wildcard with you."

Rabbit crossed his arms, leaning back in the passenger seat with a deadpan stare. "Oh, sure. Because every party needs a six-foot-tall talking rabbit. We gonna bring balloons too?"

"I mean," Lady shrugged with a smirk, "depends on how explosive the balloons are."

Everyone chuckled, the moment of levity breaking the tension just slightly. But it was short-lived.

"Let's just hope this plan actually works," Nero muttered, arms folded as he stared out the window. The road outside blurred past, the city of Redgrave looming ever closer.

But Nero's mind wasn't on the skyline blurring past the van's windows. It was elsewhere—far beneath the asphalt, through the roots of history and blood, and into the shadows cast by two towering figures.

Dante… and Vergil.

Especially Vergil.

Ever since their last clash, Nero had done his research. Late nights poring through what old archives he could find, whispered stories passed down from Devil May Cry's past jobs, even bits and pieces pulled from ancient demon texts that Morrison had stashed away.

Temen-ni-gru.

Mallet Island.

Nelo Angelo.

The name still echoed in the darker corners of his thoughts. A title forged from torment, twisted under Mundus' control until Vergil had been little more than a puppet—a knight made of fury and pain. Then there was the Qliphoth, a demonic tree fed on human blood and desperation, its roots stretching deep into the Underworld. All of it tied together in the same knotted string of power and obsession.

Power—that was the core of it. The craving, the addiction, the belief that with enough of it, everything could be fixed. Or destroyed.

Nero clenched his fist.

The question had been circling in his head for days now, an echo that refused to fade: Would Vergil ever let it go?

Would he ever truly give up that relentless pursuit of strength? Or was it too woven into his soul, into who he was?

Family, yes. But also a storm barely held in check