Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vergil met Dante on a street corner one winter dusk.

“Met” wasn’t really the right word, though. Vergil had run into him too many times for that. After all, you can’t really “meet” the same person over and over on the same street in the same day—it sounds a bit off, even eerie.

Then again, the whole thing was pretty eerie to begin with. Not that an ordinary person would have noticed, given Dante’s skills. But Vergil was no ordinary person. So when he passed an alley and heard a sudden clatter inside, he knew it wasn’t just a stray cat scurrying away.

Or maybe, in a way, it was.

This particular “stray cat” had been following him all the way from his office to his home. He hid in the alleys along the route, rode on top of the approaching subway train, stepped across the glass tiles of skyscrapers, and lurked between shop windows. Vergil had known the whole time. He just pretended not to notice—maybe even found it a little amusing.

And precisely because he had turned such a blind eye, he wasn’t all that surprised when, just steps from his door, he was suddenly yanked into a dark alley, a sharp blade pressed against his neck. Vergil was shoved against the wall with a thud, the force brutally indifferent, making him frown.

He looked up into a pair of blue eyes, wary yet holding a certain warmth. Those icy blue eyes glared at him with intense pressure, as if they wanted to swallow him whole. For a moment, Vergil couldn’t tell if it came from sheer hatred or from the exact opposite.

“You don’t look surprised,” the other said, his voice cold and heavy with menace. Interesting.

Vergil smiled and raised a hand. The man’s body reflexively tensed up. But Vergil simply raised his hand further and pointed to the building behind them—his home.

“Want to come up?” Vergil’s tone was light, tinged with playfulness. “I could pour you a cup of coffee.”

The man was caught completely off guard, and Vergil knew his little act had succeeded perfectly.

***

Clang. When Vergil emerged wrapped in a pale blue blanket and actually set a cup of coffee down in front of Dante, Dante just kept staring at it. Vergil ignored him, settling into the seat opposite. He stirred his own steaming coffee and took a small sip. By all reason, he’d already had too much caffeine today—but Vergil didn’t care.

The other man still hadn’t gathered himself, so it fell to Vergil to speak first. “You’re a Dante from another world, aren’t you?” Vergil drank quietly from his cup a few times before speaking, his tone light. At those words, Dante’s head jerked up, and he narrowed his eyes warily at Vergil.

Vergil studied him. Compared to the others he’d met, this Dante seemed more mature and colder. His brothers always carried an air of charming roguishness, a cynical, breezy confidence tinged with pride. No matter how those visiting Dantes felt about Vergil, they were always like that—it was practically Dante’s hallmark. But this one was different. Rather than try to fit him into any of those descriptions, it was better to discard the words altogether.

“This place is very different from your world, isn’t it?” Vergil waited a moment, but when Dante didn’t speak, he went on. “It seems so… ordinary. But perhaps because it’s so different, all sorts of versions of you end up visiting, curious to take a look.”

“If you really want to look around, I can take you on the weekend. I have work the next couple of days, though, so you’ll need to explore on your own first. It’s fine—you can stay here at my place.”

“What’s different about this world?” Dante finally spoke. He hadn’t touched his coffee. Instead, he sat stiffly, fists clenched, gaze locked on Vergil—as if Vergil might draw a weapon any second and he’d need to counterattack immediately.

Vergil realized this wasn’t a friendly visitor. He’d met all kinds of Dantes: some young and lively, some arriving in pairs. But this Dante seemed closed-off and subdued, his focus that of a lone wolf. He must have been wandering too long, Vergil thought, feeling a faint tinge of melancholy. That there could even be a Dante like this…

What story did you live through? How did you suffer, how did you weep, and how did you walk away in the end?

Still, he was Dante. Vergil knew he wouldn’t strike first, so he didn’t feel weighed down. “Hmm… completely different.” Vergil shifted his blanket. He’d changed into a black turtleneck; the blanket was draped loosely over his shoulders and arms, giving a very homey impression. “For example, your world here… is just a game.”

“My brother wrote it. He was the writer and lead producer.”

After speaking, Vergil lowered his gaze and took another sip of coffee, waiting for Dante to absorb the information. He admitted it wasn’t something easily accepted, so he simply waited. Now and then the coffee was too hot, and he’d blow softly at the white steam rising from the cup. Both slender hands came to rest around the mug, and Vergil looked out at the gloomy sky beyond the window.

It’s going to snow, he thought distantly.

“The Dante who belongs to you,” the man across from him finally spoke. He sounded deliberate. When Dante said it, his eyes seemed to darken further, something like an undercurrent swirling in their depths. Vergil turned back to face him. “Where is he now?”

Vergil raised an eyebrow. That was rare—to ask about his brother’s whereabouts instead of pressing for details about this world. Why the curiosity about him? Was he interested in his parallel self here? What was there to be interested in? Vergil couldn’t read this Dante’s thoughts, but his expression was utterly serious.

Where is he now? The thought made Vergil smile faintly. “He died a long time ago,” he said, his tone light, almost detached, as though stating a simple, impersonal fact.

Once again, Dante was caught completely off guard. He stared at Vergil, blinking slowly.

***

“……I see.” Dante finally replied. He leaned forward to pick up the coffee from the table—the first time since arriving that he’d looked away from Vergil. “My brother is dead, too,” he said, his tone passing over it lightly, as if it hardly mattered.

“Are you sure about that?” Vergil had heard this before; he was used to the looks travelers gave him. “From what I’ve seen, no Vergil ever truly dies. You could wait a little longer. He might still be waiting for you in the future.”

“He’s dead,” Dante said coldly. Vergil could tell he didn’t like the topic, but Dante explained anyway. “Soul scattered, the Yamato ground to dust. I killed him myself. There’s no coming back.”

Ah.

Vergil regarded him with a touch of surprise. But it was at that moment Dante turned his gaze away. Instead, he stirred his coffee, glaring at it as if it had personally wronged him. “…I’m sorry.”

Dante laughed at that—the first time he’d laughed since arriving. “Hearing you say that… feels so strange.” Dante shook his head with a faint, disbelieving smile, then looked back up at Vergil.

“This version of you… is weird.”

They always said that. He was weird, and Vergil was used to it—he understood why. After all, he’d met other versions of himself: some came with their Dante, others ended up here by accident. Those Vergils were haughty, aloof, contemptuous. Elegant, sharp, meticulously composed. By that measure, he really wasn’t like them.

But he hadn’t always been different. “I’m in my forties now,” Vergil tilted his head slightly. “If I still acted like that all the time, people would call me childish.”

He’d been surprised too, back when his brother designed him like that for the game. ‘That’s just how you are, Vergil. Remember all your ‘glorious deeds’ from school? Even the dean was afraid of you. I’d say you’ve earned the villain role.’ His brother had grinned, arm slung around Vergil’s neck as he pointed at the character on the screen. ‘How cool is this? Other than me, you’ll easily be the coolest one in the whole game. You’ll have loyal fans everywhere.’

Thinking of it now felt like flipping through yellowed old photographs. It was all so long ago.

“If you ever come to court to observe, you might recognize the work version of me better,” Vergil added. “My profession is lawyer.”

“Lawyer… huh.” Dante let out a soft sigh, as though he’d never imagined the two things could be connected. His brother—a lawyer. It almost sounded ironic. “The type who debates the whole room?”

“More evidence-focused. You know I don’t like wasting words.”Dante smiled again, nodding in agreement. “Mostly, just me standing there is enough to scare the majority of lawyers.”

Still smiling, Dante leaned back and sank into the sofa. “I can imagine,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. He immediately frowned, stared unhappily at the cup, then set it down heavily on the table.

Still loves sweets. Some things never changed, no matter what else might. Vergil noted it inwardly, a slight curve touching his lips. No matter how many times he’d seen it, that touch of appropriate childishness always felt… endearing.

Then they fell into silence again—though this time, it was the comfortable kind. Dante studied the room while Vergil closed his eyes to rest. He’d been busy all day; he really was tired.

“Well?” Vergil opened his eyes once he felt rested enough—time to get back to work. He stood and carried his coffee cup to the sink. “Decided? Do you want to stay here for a while?”

Dante looked at him, silent for a moment. “Yes,” he finally answered.

Outside the window, snow had begun to fall—the first snow of the winter. With tenderness, delicacy, and a care that held no coldness, it settled quietly over the streets and rooftops.

***

Rather than letting Dante wander on his own, the man had practically become his shadow. Vergil could sense him following at a distance during work hours—never too close, never too far. Whether it was distrust or simply because this Dante had lost his own brother and now sought to stay near him, Vergil didn’t mind either way. He quietly savored the time Dante chose to spend by his side.

On days when he worked in the office, Vergil would even tap on the glass window to signal Dante down—Dante always perched somewhere on the building’s platforms in ways Vergil couldn’t quite grasp, though then again, he wasn’t exactly bound by physics or gravity. Dante would appear almost instantly, head hanging upside down, hair tousled wildly by the wind—a sight that was almost comical.

Vergil offered him coffee, but Dante would shake his head until Vergil handed him chocolate instead. “If you want a sundae later, I can take you to the McDonald’s across the street during my break,” Vergil said. Dante gave him a strange look, silently accepted the chocolate, struggled for a long moment before mumbling a “thank you,” and then darted back so fast Vergil could hardly follow.

What kind of life did he live before coming here? Vergil wondered, putting his glasses back on and returning to work.

When the weekend arrived, Vergil finally had time to spend with his temporary guest. He knocked on the guest room door to call him for breakfast. Dante answered fully dressed, and Vergil glanced inside—the bed was neatly made, everything tidy and spotless. What a well-behaved Dante.

Dante stared at the omelet Vergil had made, then at Vergil himself, looking back and forth several times as though wanting to speak but holding back. Vergil let him be—this wasn’t the first Dante he’d taken in. Travelers were so used to hardship at the hands of their brothers that even simple kindness left them hesitant. Vergil didn’t blame them.

There was only so much he could do, anyway. Even if he wanted to stage some dramatic conflict, who was there to play the other part? Travelers came, and travelers left, returning to their own brothers. Vergil’s house stood empty most of the year, so having a visitor always lifted his spirits.

“…You cook well,” Dante managed, a rather strained compliment. He kept his head down, avoiding Vergil’s eyes, seeming somewhat uneasy.

“Only occasionally,” Vergil replied. For guests—he didn’t usually have the patience. “Then again, you’ve never really had anything good to eat.”

As planned, he would take Dante around today to see how different this world was. Vergil had already mapped out where to go—he was a planner by nature, unlike his brother, who lived on impulse. “You should buy some new clothes,” Vergil remarked. Dante paused. “Walking around like that, you look like you’re in cosplay. You’ll attract attention.”

“And don’t bring any weapons. It’s safe here.” At that, Dante’s eyes narrowed warily. Seeing his expression cool rapidly, Vergil amended, “You can carry a gun if you must, but don’t just take it out.”

“My clothes are fine,” Dante grumbled as Vergil locked the door. “My world’s modern too. I haven’t spent my whole life in the demon realm—most of it was in the human world.”

Vergil took out the car keys and opened the garage. “Modern in a game and modern in real life aren’t the same,” he explained. Dante made an impatient sound. “It’s fine if you don’t want to change. I won’t force you.”

But Dante fell silent then, watching Vergil’s back, looking even more at a loss.

Vergil lived in a big city, so getting to any bustling district was easy, and he was used to ignoring things like traffic jams. Seeing Dante’s impatient expression, Vergil actually smiled. “You know, if you tried riding a motorcycle over all these car roofs here, you’d get arrested.” Another Dante had already suggested that.

“I’d get arrested in my world too,” Dante shot back, still sulking over their earlier exchange. “I just don’t care—and they don’t dare to bother me.”

True enough, Vergil thought, recalling his brother’s game settings. “Sounds rather dashing.”

“You’ve lost all your edge here, Vergil,” Dante remarked coolly after they’d been stuck another ten minutes. “Become just one of the crowd. It doesn’t suit you at all.”

Hearing that, Vergil studied Dante for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. “This world is just thrilling in a different way,” he said. “You haven’t felt it because you haven’t been here long enough.”

“So thrilling it smoothed you right out?”

Vergil narrowed his eyes. Dante was provoking him—now that sounded like his brother. When he glanced over, Dante was watching him intently, waiting for his next move. He seemed to think they might actually fight here, and part of him seemed to expect it.

“…If you say so.” Vergil finally said, restarting the car as the road cleared. “It’s true, my world doesn’t have world-shattering catastrophes. You must find it boring.”

He didn’t want to explain. Vergil was always reluctant to explain, to argue, to waste words. Unless work demanded it, he preferred silence. He didn’t want to spell out this world’s crueler realities to Dante. For a visitor, it was enough to experience its quiet beauty and ordinary peace—even if he couldn’t understand it.

“Then I’ll stay longer,” Dante said suddenly. “Let me see what could make you like this—what kind of ‘thrilling’ you’re really talking about.”

Chapter Text

The snow fell heavier as Christmas drew near. Lights adorned doorways, and shops launched into discount frenzies. Vergil had never held much sentiment for holidays. So he simply read by the window, hear the sound of children laughing and having snowball fights drifting up from below, and drew his blanket a little tighter.

Behind him, Dante emerged in the loungewear he’d just changed into, glancing down repeatedly, still hung up on the clothes. Vergil, on the other hand, thought they suited him well, accentuating his figure. A burgundy fitted sweater paired with dark, tapered trousers—add a hat and a down jacket when going out, and he wouldn’t look quite so conspicuous.

Not that they could ever be entirely inconspicuous. Their family was all tall and striking, and girls on the street often glanced their way twice, sometimes even coming over to flirt. “Since you’ve decided to stay a while, you’ll need to start thinking about work,” Vergil said, deliberately putting him on the spot. “I still have a mortgage to pay.”

“……” Dante wore an expression that said ‘what goes around comes around’ and sighed. “Can’t escape rent no matter where I go, huh.”

“A reminder—there’s no such job as ‘demon hunter’ here. This world has no demons.”

“……”

“And don’t take any work that harms public order. Our family’s suffered enough on that front.”

“……” Dante looked curious but remained cautiously silent.

“If I may ask, what’s your level of education?” Vergil inquired. He was genuinely curious. He’d never asked other travelers this.

Dante’s face stiffened. “……Elementary school?” he said hesitantly, somewhat embarrassed.

“I assume you don’t have any certificates or internship experience either.” Vergil lowered his head in thought, considering possible jobs for Dante. “…If you’re not planning to trade on your looks, your only options now are manual labor or entry-level service work?”

“…?” Are you saying that someone like him—who can tear through the demon realm with a pistol—should go move bricks or carry plates? The words were practically written across Dante’s face.

Welcome to my world, kid, Vergil thought with a trace of retaliatory cold amusement. “Even if you’re handsome, it’s hard to become an idol these days. Killing demons isn’t exactly a talent you can showcase.” Vergil crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the sofa. Seeing Dante so thoroughly discomfited was still a pleasure, no matter how many years had passed. “Oh, and a heads-up. To keep a job, you can’t talk back to your boss. You can’t quit just because you’re bored. And you need to learn new skills so you can earn more later.”

“Don’t squander everything you earn, or you won’t survive an economic crisis. Right now you don’t even have a resident ID, so you couldn’t even claim unemployment benefits. Without an ID or resident card, there’s a lot you can’t do. You really should get one as soon as possible. But then you’ll run into loads of paperwork and red tape, and you still might not get it in the end.”

“Ah, and if you insist on keeping a gun, you’ll need to apply for a firearms license…”

He might not have a demonic weapon like the Yamato that only existed in games, Vergil mused, but every sentence he spoke now probably felt to Dante like a small Summoned Sword stabbing at him—because Dante looked genuinely heartbroken. Seeing him so thoroughly stunned, Vergil finally stopped with a slight smile. Better let him off the hook for now. Otherwise, all this “thrilling” reality might be too much for Dante’s heart to take.

Dante glared at him. “…You’re enjoying torturing me, aren’t you,” he muttered, whether in anger or complaint was unclear.

“In short, the things you’re good at are useless here,” Vergil said, raising an eyebrow with a hint of malice. “Take it slow… brother.”

Vergil only noticed the flicker in Dante’s gaze then, realizing what he had just said. But the words were already out, impossible to retract. An awkward tension spread. Dante avoided his eyes and eventually walked away in silence.

I might have gone a bit too far, Vergil thought, watching Dante’s retreating back, the realization dawning belatedly.

This kind of transferred affection was rather foolish. Vergil was abruptly reminded of the time his own brother left. He hadn’t witnessed it, and even now he didn’t want to feel the pain anymore; he wanted to let go. But it still hurt—a lasting regret. His brother wouldn’t revive from any fatal wound like the characters in his game. When he died, he was gone for good. There was no so-called ‘resurrection magic’ to bring him back.

He… really shouldn’t have mistaken this Dante for his own brother.

He wasn’t.

***

The days that followed were quiet, uneventful.

Vergil carried on as he always did—commanding at work, his performance consistently ahead of his peers. This Dante, meanwhile, unlike some of the younger travelers, wasn’t the type to get easily startled or complain endlessly about every little inconvenience. Vergil could sense when he faced difficulties, but this Dante would find a way to handle them himself, and do so quietly. He was fiercely independent, stubbornly self-reliant, and deeply reserved.

Sometimes Vergil wondered what this Dante must have gone through to become like this.

He’d said his Vergil was dead—that he’d killed him with his own hands. That was likely a big part of it. It probably also explained why things between them always felt so awkward. It wasn’t exactly tension… just an unnameable distance that lingered between them. Vergil had always been a quiet person, and now with Dante being just as silent, the house felt anything but lively—almost devoid of warmth.

Still, something was slowly changing. This Dante had his own way of caring, more attentive than most—a trait Vergil never imagined any Dante could possess. Just like how he used to tail him at the beginning, appearing whenever called. Dante watched him closely at every opportunity, carefully doing things that wouldn’t cross any lines. He was always so cautious, weighing every word, deeply concerned about his relationship with Vergil.

Poor thing, he’s been wandering too long, Vergil thought, laying a soft red blanket over Dante as he slept on the sofa. He’d bought it specially after Dante decided to stay.

Sometimes Vergil felt they were both too mature—mature in a way that ached, too understanding for their own good. Having gone through so much, they treasured certain things all the more. Gone was the fearless boldness of their youth, because now they knew what it meant to be afraid—both of them quietly testing the waters, guarding their secrets, each step forward taken only after long hesitation.

Vergil remembered how defiant his own brother had been in their youth. ‘Since when do they get to decide who I love? It’s not like either of us can have kids. I bet those bastards are dying for our bloodline to end anyway—I’ll give them that gift for free! But don’t worry, I’ll make them pay every cent back. Just wait and see.’

Brother, you were always so sure of yourself. But that was also your strength—that brilliant, youthful defiance.

“I thought you’d make pizza,” Vergil teased when Dante brought over breakfast.

“Pizza’s hard to make,” Dante said, his hair neatly styled as always, long past the messy morning look from years ago. “Besides, downtown’s too expensive. I’d go broke eating pizza every day.”

If he could say that, he must have started to understand the “thrills” of life here. Hearing it, Vergil couldn’t help but feel a little amused.

“What made you decide to make breakfast today?” Vergil rested his chin in his hand, smiling idly.

Dante fell silent at that. He seemed to still be hesitating, weighing his words. Not getting a reply, Vergil started on his meal. Just as he picked up his knife and fork, Dante spoke:

“Would you like to have dinner with me at a restaurant? I’ve already booked a place.”

Clang.

Vergil was caught completely off guard. His fork shook and hit the edge of the plate. He looked up, surprised, meeting Dante’s eyes.

“Or something else is fine, too,” Dante went on, visibly nervous, eyes fixed on his plate. “I asked my coworkers, and they said I should invite you out to dinner. That’s how it’s done here, right? More formal. I’ve never really cared about this kind of thing before, but—”

“—Yes,” Vergil said gently, almost wanting to rescue Dante from his own awkwardness. A slow warmth spread through his chest. “…Whatever it is you want from me…Yes.”

Dante was silent for a long time after that. He looked up, meeting Vergil’s gaze as if searching for confirmation. Vergil felt that warmth linger, a faint smile on his lips. Who would have thought, after all these years, he might still get to have something like this?

Dante laughed awkwardly. “…That was too easy,” he said, rubbing his nose in confusion. “Feels almost unreal.”

“Let’s just say you started with high favorability,” Vergil replied. “And what were you expecting, anyway? For me to resist, resent you, throw you out, become your enemy, and then get tangled up with you over and over?”

“…Sounds like something you’d do,” Dante shrugged, an awkward smile playing on his lips.

“Sounds more like a plot from a novel or a game,” Vergil sighed, already tired just picturing it. “…Besides, I’m too tired. Work is hard enough as it is.”

Dante laughed, the shadow that always hung around him lifting considerably, his eyes regaining some of their light. “So you’re selling yourself off just because it’s easier,” he muttered, shaking his head with something like fond exasperation.

“It makes things simpler.” They weren’t young anymore, and they wouldn’t be young again. Vergil set his fork down. “If we fit, we fit. If we don’t, we don’t. If we’re not sure… we can at least try until Christmas. See if either of us changes our mind by then.”

“…” The light in Dante’s eyes dimmed slightly—he’d misunderstood. “…Alright. But you really make plans even for something like this?”

Vergil needled him lightly. “Now I’m even setting ground rules. That’s the custom here.”

“You can certainly try. But everyone knows I exist to break rules.” Dante grinned slyly, leaning back in his chair. He’d never just back down, of course.

They looked at each other and smiled. Vergil knew—their relationship had just moved another step closer.

***

Another traveler arrived.

Every Dante’s first instinct upon appearing here was to find Vergil, so Vergil had grown keenly attuned to their presence. This one was young—wearing a conspicuous crimson cloak without a trace of self‑awareness, carrying the great sword Rebellion openly in the street, his chest mostly bare. Thank goodness people are more tolerant of cosplay these days, Vergil thought. Twenty years ago, this kid would’ve been reported for public indecency.

“Holy shit,” the young man exclaimed, waiting right outside the company gates as Vergil swiped his keycard. “A Vergil in a suit, holding a briefcase… what kind of weird dream is this?”

Vergil’s workdays often ran late. By now the streetlamps were on, casting a warm orange glow over the deep snow. Stepping out of the heated building, Vergil shivered in the cold—and felt a pang of sympathy for the underdressed youth.

Just like every other Dante he’d come across, Vergil took the young man home. Few had ever refused the offer, and this one was no exception. The young Dante explained that he’d jumped off a cliff with his brother and somehow landed here. Reckless travelers weren’t uncommon; fortunately, Vergil had long since learned how to send them back.

But first, he could at least give them a warm meal and a decent night’s sleep. Time moved faster in Vergil’s world—sometimes a decade here meant only months elsewhere—so there was rarely any urgent need to rush back.

Vergil chatted with the young man as they walked home, then turned on the lights inside. Dante—his Dante—still worked entry‑level jobs and usually came home later.

By the time Dante returned, dinner was ready. Even though the young visitor kept insisting all he wanted was pizza, Vergil had prepared a proper plate for him anyway. Dante walked in just as the young man was going through that classic little routine every younger brother seemed to have—looking at the food, then at Vergil, back and forth several times.

Then Dante saw him.

His body went rigid in an instant, taut as a drawn bow.

“See, I do get travelers from time to time,” Vergil explained, helping Dante unwind the plaid scarf from his neck and shaking off the snow. It was coming down again outside. “But having two of you here at once… that’s unusual.”

Dante didn’t answer. He was glaring at the younger version of himself as if facing a mortal enemy. The young traveler caught the hostility and rolled his eyes in return. Dante narrowed his gaze, said nothing, and silently took the seat beside Vergil, sliding his chair closer.

“Is this the Dante who belongs to you?” the young man asked around a mouthful of food, curious. “You don’t look alike.”

Dante withdrew completely into his shell, his face devoid of expression. Vergil found his reaction somewhat curious—after all, on his own first day here, Dante’s very first question had been about the whereabouts of hisbrother. Vergil had assumed he’d be interested in other versions of himself. “He’s a traveler too,” Vergil clarified. “Probably a little younger than I am.”

“Ohhh,” the young man drawled, studying this older himself. He didn’t say anything more.

When you were young, you always fantasized about the future, brimming with curiosity—and Dante was no exception. Vergil was used to younger travelers clustering around him, pelting him with questions. This one was the same, orbiting Vergil after dinner, buzzing with inquiries. How are things here? What do you do for a living? Is our mother still around? He even asked about their relationship, then coughed awkwardly and lifted his chin, claiming he didn’t care at all. Young people had their own brand of clumsy charm.

To Vergil, these young Dantes were like children—they belonged in the kind of brightly illustrated storybooks he’d loved as a boy. He’d adored those tales once, though looking back now, they felt too naïve, fit only for a child’s eyes. Still, they were fond memories.

Those storybooks still sat in a corner of his bookshelf. Vergil didn’t open them often, but he’d never throw them away.

Vergil settled the young man in the guest room—the same one Dante had stayed in when he first arrived. Since they’d established… whatever this was between them, Dante had taken to slipping into Vergil’s room nearly every night. Before long, the master bedroom wasn’t just Vergil’s anymore. Tonight was no different; Vergil fell asleep beside Dante as naturally as always, noticing nothing amiss apart from Dante’s heavier than usual silence.

Dante held him close, arms wrapped tightly around him. His eyes shifted toward the closed bedroom door, and his gaze narrowed slightly.

Chapter Text

Vergil woke to the smell of blood.

He was acutely sensitive to that scent—it triggered him almost reflexively, jolting him awake. Vergil sat up abruptly. Dante wasn’t beside him, and faint sounds of struggle came from next door. He reached into the bedside drawer, drew his gun, and loaded it with practiced ease, thinking for a moment that his past had finally caught up with him.

But when he opened the door, he saw Dante holding Rebellion high, mid‑thrust, aiming downward—at the younger version of himself.

Blood was everywhere, all of it the young man’s. From Vergil’s angle, he could only see the younger Dante’s head impaled, his body covered in half‑healed wounds. The living room was a mess, though curiously few items were actually broken—the fight had clearly been contained with careful precision.

“Dante?” Vergil spoke up before the blade could descend. Dante’s back stiffened. He turned quickly, and Vergil saw the red, beast-like glow of his half‑demon eyes.

Their eyes met. Dante hesitated. In the end, he released the young man, lowered his head, and stood—looking like a child who knew he’d done wrong.

The young one recovered quickly, regaining consciousness within seconds before scrambling away from Dante, breathing hard. Vergil walked over to Dante, surveyed the wrecked room, then lifted his gaze with a questioning look.

“Well, look at you. Lucky me,” the younger Dante spat, crossing his twin blades in a defensive stance. His voice held that particular youngsters’ sneer. “A demon! I knew it. That’s why I’ve been smelling—”

He never stood a chance. In an instant, Dante had him pinned again, hand clamped around his throat, silencing him. “Dante.” Vergil’s voice turned cold.

Reluctantly, Dante obeyed once more. He released the youth and stepped aside, sullen. The younger Dante coughed violently on the floor, pain clear in his movements as he struggled to rise.

Vergil looked from the older to the younger. Then he walked to Dante, took his face in both hands, and studied him carefully. “What happened?” Vergil asked, his tone now professional—the lawyer coming through. Dante’s eyes widened, surprised that Vergil had come to him first instead of checking the other’s injuries.

“Vergil,” the young man managed between coughs, pressing a hand to his wounds as he sat up. “Don’t… don’t trust—cough—him. He—”

He was gone. Vanished mid‑sentence—the return trip Vergil had arranged for him yesterday, timing set in advance. The living room fell silent. Both of them stared at the empty space where the young Dante had been. After a moment, Vergil lowered his hands.

“…I’ll pay for the damages.” Dante finally broke the silence, long after Vergil had begun moving around, inspecting the wreckage. His voice was awkward. Vergil lifted a fallen picture frame; the glass was shattered. “…I’m sorry.”

Vergil glanced back, a little surprised. Dante stood there with his head down, expression deeply ashamed. He seemed unexpectedly at a loss for words, nothing like the defiant, quick‑talking kid who could talk his way out of anything. It made Vergil wonder again what this Dante had been through, to have changed so completely.

“What happened?” Vergil asked once more, his voice softer now. He knew Dante possessed extraordinary abilities, but to overpower his younger self so thoroughly—and seemingly with intent to kill—was hard to comprehend.

“………” Silence again. No excuses, no deflection. Just as Vergil thought he’d get no answer, Dante spoke, a stubborn edge in his voice. “…He has his own Vergil.”

But I only have you.

Vergil blinked, slowly realizing—Dante was jealous. Only then did it dawn on him: what he’d considered “looking after a kid” last night, Dante had seen as a threat. They were both travelers, both his brothers. The young one clinging to him all evening had set off alarms in Dante’s mind. This Dante had lost his own brother. He felt extremely insecure.

“You are a very, very special Vergil,” Dante said, lifting Vergil’s hand and pressing his cheek against it. “…There was no one before you, and there won’t be anyone after.”

Vergil sighed and patted Dante’s face. “Acting cute won’t get you out of this,” he replied coolly, unmoved by the attempt to please. “Flattery won’t either. I may not look fierce, but that doesn’t mean I’m easy.”

“Mm.” Dante wasn’t intimidated. He lowered his gaze and pressed a kiss to Vergil’s wrist.

***

Dante handed Vergil a balloon.

They ran into each other on the street. Vergil had just finished a client meeting, had lunch, and was now heading toward the courthouse. The two places were close, but traffic was heavy, so despite the snow-covered streets, Vergil had chosen to walk.

A large amusement park stood along the route, and with school winter break in full swing, there were unusually many children. Vergil usually avoided such crowds—he genuinely disliked noise and had little patience for kids. Just as he was about to cross the street to the other side, he spotted a familiar figure in the crowd.

No, not the bear mascot by the entrance, nor the rabbit one—but that somewhat fierce, slightly intimidating “monster” that most girls kept a distance from, while boys squealed with excitement: scales of black and red, surfaces both rough and smooth, a face half-human, half-statue-like, and a pair of dark feathered wings behind it. Even though Vergil had seen his brother’s design sketches in person, witnessing the real thing still gave him pause.

And this “monster” was handing out balloons. Was the park manager out of his mind, or was this a masterstroke of marketing? Vergil watched, amused, as boys clamored around Dante for balloons, circling him. After a moment, he decided to give Dante a brief respite from kid-duty. Not an easy job for someone like him.

Vergil carried a certain natural intensity. Standing there without a word, before long the children automatically made way for him, glancing back nervously as they scattered. “……” Dante kept watching him as Vergil approached.

Then Dante held out a blue balloon.

Still half-smiling, Vergil took it naturally, looped the string into a ring, and hooked it around his little finger. “Tired of holding this form all day?” he asked—not out of genuine concern, but sarcasm.

“I thought you were here to praise my diverse income streams,” Dante replied. In his demon form, his voice was low, resonant, as if vibrating in sync with Vergil’s heartbeat.

This scoundrel. Vergil shook his head, faintly exasperated. “I hope you’re already preparing for some qualifying exams. Otherwise, it’s a waste of your abilities.” He watched as Dante handed another balloon to a passing child. “I won’t give you much advice, though.”

“From what I recall, I rarely take your advice anyway. We’ve never agreed on anything.”

“True.” Vergil let out a soft, humorless laugh. Perhaps that was for the best—they shouldn’t interfere too much in each other’s lives. Once everything got tangled together, a single crack could bring the whole thing down. They both needed the ability to survive whatever the other might bring. “Still, I’d suggest trying the circus in this amusement park. At least it’s quick money you can earn right now.”

“Speaking of which,” Dante said, “let me show you a magic trick, Vergil.” Without waiting for a reply, he shifted in a flare of crimson light—wings multiplying from two to four, his form growing even more imposing. As the children gasped in awe, he cycled through each of his devil forms, just as Vergil remembered from the games. Finally, he returned to himself—handsome features, silver hair like snow—and smiled at Vergil.

So silly, Vergil thought, shaking his head with a smile. That warmth rose in his chest again. He didn’t realize his own smile had turned genuine.

The lunch break was over; they both had work. Vergil said goodbye to Dante and continued toward his afternoon obligations. On the way, Dante’s face kept floating in his mind. Only when the receptionist in the courthouse lobby glanced pointedly at his hand did Vergil remember—the blue balloon was still looped around his finger.

He looked back at it. When he realized he felt no embarrassment at all, he knew—his heart had finally been brought back to life.

***

Vergil had time off for Christmas.

The snow hadn’t melted—instead, fresh falls kept covering the ground. A tall Christmas tree stood decorated with baubles in the community square, carols echoed from house to house, and children knocked on Vergil’s door to sing hymns. Dante listened with curiosity, following Vergil’s example to hand out candy and coins, watching the kids leave satisfied.

Even though Vergil had long stopped observing the holiday after he was left alone, seeing Dante—who seemed to be genuinely experiencing Christmas for the first time as an adult—he still prepared some eggnog. It was low in alcohol, just for the mood. Dante hadn’t tasted it since childhood and found it novel, drinking quite a bit without showing the slightest sign of tipsiness.

“If it were before, I probably wouldn’t have liked your world,” Dante said idly, sitting on the carpet and leaning against Vergil’s leg. They’d ordered several kinds of pizza that evening, nearly all eaten by Dante, leaving him looking full and lazily content. “Too peaceful. Not exciting enough.”

“Believe me, when it stops being peaceful, you’ll wish it were,” Vergil replied from the sofa, absently running his hand through Dante’s tousled hair. Dante didn’t pull away. “Things always crash into your life when you least expect them, then go ahead and change everything.”

Vergil realized he was steering the conversation toward heavier ground, but on a day like this, he couldn’t help thinking of his brother. The last real Christmas he’d celebrated was with him, and now, with him gone, Vergil had found a new life and a new chance. It really was a time for reflection.

He thought—hoped—his brother would forgive him. Vergil held the thought at a distance. Dante didn’t speak, just nuzzled against Vergil’s leg. Unlike those carefree, straightforward youths, this Dante was sensitive and cautious. He would never pry, and for that Vergil was grateful.

“…Is this all people usually do at Christmas?” Dante changed the subject, yawning. “I’m about to fall asleep.”

Vergil was pulled back to the moment. He looked down at Dante’s sharply defined profile. “……” He made a decision. “………We play games.”

Vergil stood, rummaged through an old box, and pulled out magnetic cards and discs—five in total. The third was his brother’s final work. The fourth was only a rough concept and character designs, left unfinished when he passed. The fifth was the development team’s tribute to him; he’d heard the ending was beautiful, but Vergil had only bought it—never opened it. His memories with his brother ended with the third. He wanted to leave them there.

Dante took the game controller skeptically as Vergil brought up the interface. He saw his own and his brother’s save files, still there after all these years, bearing witness to what once was. Vergil stared at them for a long moment, then resolutely scrolled down. It was time for a new start.

“He made a versus mode specifically to play with me,” Vergil explained while teaching Dante the controls. “I haven’t played in over a decade, so we’re evenly matched. Just for fun.”

Even so, once they started, Vergil didn’t hold back—muscle memory returned fast. Dante didn’t master many combos at first, but he quickly learned to teleport frantically, getting chased all over the stage and thoroughly beaten in the first few rounds. Still, he was a fast learner; combat always brought out his instincts, even in a game. Soon he began to fight back.

Dante loved the game. Even when Vergil tired, he kept exploring on his own, circling Vergil’s character. His eyes kept returning to that blue figure. “…So my world really is a game,” Dante finally said. “Why didn’t I think of trying to beat it before?”

“Can you really do all those moves in the game?” Vergil asked casually, returning with a cup of coffee.

Dante thought for a moment. “Stronger than this. This is from when I was younger.” Vergil nodded, though he couldn’t really picture it. He’d seen plenty of guns and blades in his earlier years, but the more fantastical stuff remained just game mechanics to him.

After a while, Dante spoke again. “You and your brother,” he asked, glancing back at Vergil. “Who won more?”

Vergil frowned at that, pausing before answering reluctantly. “Him.” Then he quickly added, “Only because he cheated. He modified the game to make it harder for me to win.”

“Oh?” Dante grew even more curious. “What did he change?”

“………My character couldn’t double jump.”

The frustration in Vergil’s voice held a distinctly youthful tone, as if he’d complained about it countless times in some other lifetime, to some other person. But some things remained the same—because Dante stared at him for a few seconds, then burst into wild, uncontrollable laughter.

He laughed hard, genuinely happy, pounding the sofa until it shook. The sound made something tremble inside Vergil. God, it’s been so long since I heard that laugh. For a moment Vergil just stared at Dante’s smiling face, stunned. It was the first time since arriving here that this Dante had smiled so openly, so sincerely.

“God, Vergil,” Dante said, wiping the corner of his eye—he’d nearly laughed himself to tears. “You almost killed me.”

Vergil kept his expression blank, pretending his heart wasn’t overflowing with warmth. “I never considered laughter as a viable way to get rid of you.”

“Not like that,” Dante murmured, leaning closer. Gently, he turned Vergil’s face toward him, closed his eyes, and leaned in for a kiss.

Vergil didn’t refuse. Instead, he cradled Dante’s face in his hands and closed his eyes too.

Outside, Christmas bells rang through the carols. It seemed this year, they’d both been good enough for approval.

Chapter Text

The morning after the snow was cold. Where the indoor warmth met the frosted windowpanes, intricate patterns of ice bloomed like delicate flowers.

The bedroom was quiet. A light sleeper and an early riser by habit, Vergil woke first, lingering in that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness. The body beside him was warm—their naked forms tangled beneath the white duvet, rising and falling with each breath, wrapped in a gentle, shared heat.

Dante was still asleep. He was the clingy type in bed, holding Vergil tightly against him without any intention of letting go. That might become a problem in summer, but for now, Vergil wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. So he watched the pale grey overcast sky through the window, half-lidded eyes savoring the peace.

After a while, Dante stirred. His breathing pattern changed gradually, his warm breath ghosting over Vergil’s cheek and neck, ticklish. Vergil turned to look. Dante’s white eyelashes fluttered, revealing clear blue eyes. He gazed at Vergil, dazed for a few seconds, as if not convinced this was real.

Then, Dante smiled. He nuzzled against Vergil, reminding him of a large, tail-wagging dog. Vergil, finding it ticklish, pressed a hand against Dante’s head and ruffled his hair. Dante only leaned into the touch further, as if he wished every part of him could press close to Vergil, even burrow inside him.

Finally done nuzzling, Dante shifted to kiss him. Vergil, still in a good mood, let out a lazy hum. Dante pressed closer, always impatient and full of fervor during intimacy. Vergil didn’t exactly dislike it, though sometimes it was a bit overwhelming. What’s the hurry? I’m not going anywhere.

A sharp sting. Vergil was fully awake now.

Dante had cut the inside of his mouth again—it happened almost every time they kissed. Of course, Vergil had plenty of other marks on his body, but his lips were his main concern. He didn’t want to face a courtroom battle with a mouth ulcer; in a legal war, any hint of hesitation or discomfort could tilt the scales.

With that thought, Vergil pulled back, gently pushing Dante away. “Don’t hurt me,” he frowned, though his tone remained lazy. He licked his lip and swallowed a trace of blood.

Dante flinched, eyes wide, as if he hadn’t even realized. Caught off guard, he looked innocently guilty, like a big dog who’d done wrong without knowing how. Vergil sighed, reached out, and pried Dante’s mouth open to look. Dante’s canines were sharp, tipped with a faint tinge of red.

So this is a half-demon. An amusing little difference. Vergil released him and wiped his own lip again. The cut hadn’t stopped bleeding; a swipe of his thumb came away smeared red.

Dante stared at it, dumbfounded. “You don’t heal,” he said, as if just realizing this could be a problem.

“I do. Just not that fast.” Vergil had played the games; he knew about their inhuman recovery. “A gunshot would cripple me. A stab would kill me. If I fell from a height, I’d at least end up with shattered bones.”

He thought of the superhuman fights from yesterday’s game. “Put that way, if we ever fought, you could kill me pretty easily.”

He’d meant it as a casual remark, nothing serious, and even chuckled softly after saying it. But Dante froze as if struck by lightning. His face went pale, and he leaned back instinctively. That dark shadow returned, clouding his eyes and then his entire demeanor.

Remembering this Dante’s past, Vergil knew he’d made a bad joke. “But I’m middle-aged now. I gave up fighting long ago,” he offered, trying to mend it. Dante remained tense, expression strained. “That’s kid stuff.”

Dante smiled at him—he knew Vergil was comforting him. But he fell silent, his gaze drifting over the marks on Vergil’s body: the reds, the fine scratches, the scarred bite marks. It was as if he was truly seeing them for the first time. He reached out, his hands covering Vergil’s arms over the marred skin, his touch gentle.

Then he pulled back, his fingers elongating into red-tipped claws. He studied them thoughtfully.

“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,” Vergil said, as if reading his mind. The implication irritated him. “Among humans, I’m exceptional. You can’t compare me to you. You’re a monster.”

It should have been an insult, but after he said it, the tension noticeably eased. Dante laughed at that, a mix of pride and showmanship, deliberately raising an eyebrow and brandishing his claws playfully as if to scratch him. Vergil easily caught his hand, observing the claws, toying with their sharp tips.

“If you really feel sorry, give me a massage. My lower back,” Vergil said, eyeing Dante’s thick, battle-worn palms, then glancing up at his biceps. A good idea occurred to him. “No—a full-body massage. And you don’t stop until I’m satisfied.”

Hearing that, Dante laughed even more, a low, snickering sound like a teenage boy with a dirty mind. “I’ll be gentler next time,” he promised, clearly feeling he’d gotten the better end of the deal. That arrogance never changed. Vergil shot him a look, then turned over, ready to enjoy the free service.

Dante started out clumsy, too rough, but gradually found the right pressure. Vergil felt content. The pillow was soft, faintly scented with the shampoo from their shared bath the night before—a subtle, sleep-inducing fragrance. He felt himself drifting off again.

“It’s Christmas now,” Dante said, a thread of tension in his voice. Vergil roused slowly. “…Have you changed your mind?”

Vergil remembered their agreement: if uncertain about this relationship, they’d try until Christmas and see if their feelings shifted. Asking when I’m most relaxed—how cunning. “Hmm. Not yet,” Vergil murmured, eyes half-closed like a pampered cat purring in contentment. “You?”

“No,” Dante answered instantly.

“Good,” Vergil said, his voice softening. He was nearly asleep again. “Let’s see… if we can make it to New Year’s, then.”

***

On New Year’s Day, they welcomed a “distinguished guest.”

Another Vergil had arrived. He looked younger, draped in an elegant, spotless cloak, wearing an aristocratic-style cravat. His speech was measured, precise, and cutting—never wasteful. Proud and aloof, he carried the long-hilted Yamato at his side, his cat-like blue eyes sweeping the room as he moved, his leather shoes clicking softly against the floor.

Visits from versions of himself happened occasionally. Unlike with the Dantes, whom he guided and accommodated, Vergil understood his own temperament well. If they didn’t seek him out, he wouldn’t reach out first—their comings and goings were entirely their own choice.

The young man didn’t speak at first. After entering, he gracefully brushed a dusting of snow from his shoulders, his expression cool, eyes holding a haughty curiosity. Vergil closed the door and let him explore. Younger versions of himself always spoke when they felt ready and comfortable—no matter, Vergil had time.

Dante had been dozing on the sofa and was now awake. The young Vergil looked toward him, narrowing his eyes, his gaze circling over Dante’s form. Dante’s whole body stiffened; he clearly didn’t like being observed like this, his expression retreating to blankness. Vergil noticed that Dante reacted with resistance toward every traveler, no matter who they were.

The young Vergil glanced back at Vergil, chuckled coldly, and walked away as if he’d understood something. Dante’s eyes followed him, posture tight, defensive. Vergil recognized that stance—it was combat-ready.

Why did he always assume others would attack him?

Even with his back turned, the young man kept a hand resting on Yamato’s sheath. This mutual wariness lasted more than ten minutes, until Dante stood and walked over to Vergil. “I just remembered I have something else to do,” was all Dante said, offering no real excuse before hurrying out of the house into the dark night outside.

By the time Vergil finished brewing coffee, the young man had been lingering by the bookshelf for a while. Travelers might hold many prejudices about this world or criticisms about him, but books always connected Vergils. The study was the room Vergil cared for most, filled with his personal taste—comfortable, intelligent.

Vergil set the coffee on the table; the sound drew the young man’s attention. “Thank you,” the young Vergil said, turning to glance at the cup before speaking. Vergil understood—for their kind, this was a gesture of acknowledgment.

“You’re welcome to browse, if you have time.” Vergil permitted. The young man nodded, selected a volume, and settled into an armchair. Vergil took a sip of his own freshly ground coffee, watching as the young Vergil lifted his cup, tasted it, and nodded in quiet approval.

The room stayed quiet for a while, then the two Vergils began to talk in fits and starts. At first, the conversation was restrained—pleasantries, updates on their respective situations—then they gradually exchanged details about their worlds. The younger Vergil explained he was preparing to break the seal on the demon world and claim their father’s power. He was still in the planning stages; today’s arrival was likely due to a misfired ritual.

“When I decide it’s time to return, I will. Don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Vergils were usually like this: they had their own ideas, plans, and principles. Equal exchange was enough—no need for excessive warmth, nor deliberate distance. Vergil knew exactly how to coexist with himself; this was the most suitable dynamic, comfortable for both.

Inevitably, they talked about Dante. The younger Vergil’s story with his own brother hadn’t truly begun yet, so his understanding was vague and held little interest. At that self-absorbed age, a Vergil’s world had room only for the past and the future, nothing else. “That Dante is a traveler too?” the young man asked, tilting his head toward outside.

“Yes,” Vergil replied. “He prefers to stay here for now.”

The young Vergil smiled again. Vergil felt a faint irritation at the implications in that smile. “This is where humans are flawed—even when it’s myself,” the young man said in his distinct, measured tone. “I rarely meddle, but I’ll tell you what that one is hiding. Consider it repayment for the coffee.”

“He’d killed us. I can sense the lingering aura of Yamato on him.”

Vergil took another sip of his coffee; it had cooled. “He mentioned it to me,” he said evenly. “He killed the Vergil of his own world.”

The young man’s eyes narrowed. He leaned back into the sofa and continued. “Then did he tell you…?”

Outside, it had begun to snow again. Under the streetlights, the flakes looked pale and cold, drifting in lazy spirals through the air. Dante sat on the front steps, leaning against a porch column, gazing thoughtfully at the passing traffic. He reached out to catch falling snow, watched it melt in his palm. His breath formed hazy white clouds in the wind, dissolving into nowhere.

He stayed like that for a long time, until a scarf was wrapped around his neck, startling him. “So your ‘something else to do’ was sitting here catching snowflakes?” The voice was calm, tinged with amusement.

Dante turned. Vergil stood behind him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Dante sprang to his feet, facing Vergil, then glanced toward the door. Before he could speak, Vergil added, “He’s gone.” As if reading his mind.

Dante exhaled in relief. Vergil adjusted the scarf around him. “Ran off in such a hurry,  even froze your nose red.” Vergil tapped Dante’s cold-tipped nose; Dante rubbed it self-consciously. “What were you afraid of? That I’d be upset if you talked to him too much?”

Dante fumbled for a moment, then settled on a stance with hands on his hips, salvaging his pride. “Maybe,” he argued stubbornly. “I’m too charming. Didn’t want to complicate things.”

Avoiding danger—that really didn’t sound like a Dante. Vergil looked at his silly posture and let out a soft snort, then gave the scarf a sharp tug. Dante choked and coughed several times.

“I’m the best Vergil you’ll ever get—I’m confident of that,” Vergil replied, raising an eyebrow. Then he took Dante’s arm, pushed open the door, and pulled him inside. The warm air made Dante shiver as the chill left his bones. “Let’s go home, Dante.”

Dante let himself be drawn inside. He left the darkness behind, step by step.

Chapter Text

Time passed quickly after that.

Vergil and Dante maintained their partnership, honoring their mutual agreement—an agreement that kept extending. It lasted through Presidents’ Day, then Easter, followed by Independence Day. By the time Vergil took notice, their relationship had already persisted for half a year.

In his memory, his dynamic with his own brother had always been dramatic. Arguments, clashing values—even during calm periods, every step felt calculated. They were young, full of energy, and stubborn to the bone, baring fangs even while kissing, always keeping blades and guns within reach, ready to strike.

Vergil wasn’t one to dwell on the past, but sometimes, watching Dante’s sleeping face, he would think of his own brother and of certain moments long gone. Perhaps because the young had plenty of room for mistakes, a future to squander, they never truly understood what it meant to cherish the fact that some chances come only once. Just as the younger Vergil had spat venomous words, he had never truly considered the possibility that his brother might one day really be gone.

Restraint and maturity always seemed to be bought with blood and tears. What a wretched irony.

Still, it was summer now. Vergil kept to his nine-to-five routine, sometimes busy, sometimes less so. On weekends he went out, socialized occasionally, or simply stayed in to read. Dante wasn’t always around, but he always appeared at just the right time. Life flowed on, calm and undisturbed.

It felt as though it could continue like this forever. But as Vergil had said, things always crash into your life when you least expect them, shattering the routine you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

Someone was following him—not Dante. Years of counter-surveillance experience made Vergil realize it instantly. Just off work, he narrowed his eyes slightly, calmly opened his black umbrella, and stepped into the rain.

His pursuer only struck once they reached a deserted area. Vergil had been waiting. The first silenced bullet grazed past; Vergil sidestepped it, then swept into the alley like a sharpened blade.

It didn’t take long. The lackeys in the alley were hardly enough to test him. Using the silenced gun he’d taken, Vergil dispassionately finished them off—all but one. He needed a messenger.

“Tell Mundus,” Vergil crouched, gripping the last man’s hair, his voice chillingly calm, “even if I die, I’ll make sure he rots in prison. I keep my word.”

No matter how many resources you had, how deep your connections ran, even as you chased me across continents and sent your thugs after me again and again—it was all a final, futile struggle. Your entire family, your whole operation, has fallen. One by one. As offerings for mine.

Vergil had killed everyone but Mundus, leaving him to life in prison. It was the justice his brother had wanted to deliver. He was gone; Vergil would see it done.

“The boss told me to tell you,” the lackey coughed up blood, grinning viciously, “you seem to be living well. Thought you might’ve forgotten the good old days. Just a little reminder.”

A photo was held up shakily, stained with blood. Vergil didn’t look. He knew what it showed.

“The boss has plenty more where that came from. A whole collection,” the man waved the picture. “He’s even thinking about publishing. We’ll send you a special edition—after all, it’s your family’s glorious moment, Sparda’s eldest son.”

Vergil didn’t react much. Mundus only had these pathetic provocations left, like a beaten dog barking. “Thank him for his kindness,” Vergil said, taking the photo and snapping the man’s arm. As the howl of pain filled the alley, he added flatly, “In return, I’ll sponsor next year’s prison TV screens. A curated loop of his family’s greatest hits. I hope he enjoys it.”

When Vergil left the alley, a familiar wave of nausea rose. He ran a hand through his hair. He wouldn’t let Mundus have that satisfaction.

In the end, Vergil still didn’t look at the photo. After all these years, they were all the same—blood, bodies, death. He knew how his brother had died. So he tore it to pieces, let the wind take them, and walked firmly onward.

His umbrella had broken during the fight. Vergil tossed it into the alley without a second glance, leaving him to walk in the rain. His hair grew wet and fell loosely around his face.

He had to survive himself.

[“I shouldn’t tell you this, my son, but you’re too clever—I can’t hide it anymore… Yes, I have many roles to play, and in the end, I will pay the price.”]

[“To be honest, I don’t remember you at all, brother. After our parents split, I hardly ever saw you—just kept hearing about your… exploits. And yeah, I’m here to stop you. Because you’re clearly go too far.”]

[“Don’t take my love for granted, Vergil. One day you’ll disappoint me for good. Not that I’ll do anything—just write you out of my game, that’s all. Wait… I already killed you off? Well, that’s awkward. I’m already disappointed, and yet there’s still room for more. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”]

Vergil sat on a park bench. The rain continued, tracing paths down his hair and cheeks. He closed his eyes, expression still composed, letting the memories rise and fall inside him. It would pass. He would survive. Like always.

[This should be my last transmission, Vergil. Once you have these core files, do what you must. Then leave. Take care of yourself. —D]

Vergil didn’t know how long he sat there. The rain had stopped. Yet he could still hear it—which made him open his eyes and look up, checking the sky.

He saw Dante.

***

Dante was holding an umbrella over him—the dark blue one from home, quite large, yet still not quite enough to cover them both. Before long, Dante was soaked through as well, his unruly silver hair plastered down, making him look younger.

Memory and reality overlapped. Vergil closed his eyes briefly, not bothering to ask how Dante had found him. “Why did you follow me?” he asked, his voice quiet and detached.

“You were late getting off work. I wondered if you might need something,” Dante replied. He must have smelled the blood on Vergil, but he didn’t mention it.

Vergil didn’t respond, so Dante stayed silent too. The rain continued, pattering softly against the umbrella before sliding off in steady drips. Vergil didn’t look at Dante, but Dante kept watching Vergil.

Finally, Vergil had to sigh. No matter how much time passed, he still struggled to adjust to this uncharacteristic silence and maturity from Dante. “Don’t you have anything you want to ask?” Vergil lifted his gaze, his ice-blue eyes calm yet holding a trace of resistance.

“………” Dante was quiet for another moment, cautious. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

That was the nature of this bond—restrained, mature, giving each other space. Vergil relaxed a little, studying Dante quietly. Dante didn’t rush him, as if all that fiery temper from his young age had vanished, waiting beside him in stillness.

It made Vergil feel at ease and yet also restless. “You’re not even giving me a chance to yell at you.” Being too well-behaved wasn’t always a good thing. Vergil almost wished Dante would argue with him—better yet, fight him.

“Oh, that.” Dante’s eyes shifted thoughtfully, then put on an exaggerated look of dumb concern. “Vergil, what happened? Are you okay? I can help! Just say the word, and I’ll make sure they’re buried in pieces.”

“Foolishness, Dante.” Vergil responded coolly, playing along. “Worry about your own business. Nobody needs your help.”

They looked at each other, and after a pause, both smiled.

That was when the mood slowly lifted, and so did Vergil’s spirits. He watched this Dante before him—a Dante from another world who knew nothing of this place. So many travelers had come and gone; only this one had stayed. He didn’t know Vergil’s past, yet he wanted to walk into the future with him. In a way, perhaps this was his second chance.

“…Seeing you like this reminds me of my own brother,” Dante said. Vergil raised a brow—this was the first time since arriving that this Dante had mentioned anything about himself. “A long time ago. We were at the top of the tower, raining just like this. His hair was loose like yours, too.”

Vergil thought for a moment and hummed softly; the scene sounded familiar. “Similar to the game?”

“Pretty much,” Dante nodded. “But after that, it wasn’t quite the same. But from the fourth game onward, the story started to feel… brighter. More like a good dream.”

“You finished all the series?” Vergil hadn’t seen Dante play, so he was surprised.

“Mhm,” Dante said. “Checked out the art books, too. Pretty interesting.”

Vergil thought of his own brother. He remembered how much heart he’d poured into those works since childhood—the late nights drawing and coding. Vergil had been too wrapped up in revenge to pay much attention back then, but looking back now, he realized he’d remembered more than he thought.

His brother had left something behind after all, and it had converged here, with this Dante. Strangely, the thought warmed Vergil’s heart.

“Let’s go,” Vergil said at last. The rain was still falling. He took the umbrella from Dante’s hand and tilted it slightly, shielding Dante from the rain. Side by side, they walked in silence through the quiet, rainy night.

They kept walking down that road until Dante spoke again. “…Do you believe in that kind of ending?” He looked at Vergil thoughtfully. “I mean… after everything that happens, that it can still end well.”

Vergil paused, hearing what lay beneath the question. Dante’s tone was light, yet like the man himself, it carried an undercurrent of shadow and solitude. Vergil didn’t know what Dante was thinking of—maybe something from his past—and he didn’t want to guess.

It wasn’t that Vergil didn’t know how fragile, how precarious this thing between them was. But they were both trying their best. “…It’s not about what I believe,” Vergil finally said, looking ahead. “I just keep moving forward.”

Leave. Take care of yourself. That was what his brother had said.

***

That day arrived without warning.

“I really don’t like clothes like this…”Vergil and Dante were still at the tailor’s. As the tailor took his measurements, the younger man kept up a steady stream of complaints. Vergil had long since learned to tune out the grumbling—all versions of Dante shared certain habits—and went on arranging things as he saw fit.

It was autumn, and the weather had turned noticeably cooler. Vergil, wrapped in his blue scarf, stood with his arms crossed, watching. “You need to attend formal occasions with me. What you wear now won’t do,” he said mildly. “I’m paying. I know you can’t afford it.”

“Give me a break…” Dante mumbled, but he obediently let the tailor measure his arm length. When the tailor reached his chest, he cracked a joke; Vergil watched as Dante handled it with easy charm. His brother had a natural talent for certain situations, and Vergil found it quietly amusing. If he were in a particularly good mood, he might have added a dry remark of his own.

As he paid the deposit, Vergil added, “You should be pleased. Taking you to meet my colleagues means I acknowledge you.” He raised an eyebrow. Dante sighed.

“Don’t you think we look a bit too alike? You’re bolder than I thought.”

“I don’t know where you got your impression of me,” Vergil said, watching Dante put his own clothes back on and pick up his red scarf, “but making assumptions about me comes with a price.”

“Should’ve known,” Dante replied as they left the shop. He looped the scarf around his neck and, true to form, made a mess of it—some everyday tasks were still too much for his impatient hands. “But don’t expect me to tie a tie properly. You’ll pay for that, too.”

Vergil pulled him closer and fixed the scarf properly. At Dante’s words, he lifted a brow. “Now I’m curious,” he said, half-smiling, savoring the slow weekend moment. “What price?”

Dante’s lips curved. He tugged gently on Vergil’s scarf, drawing him near. His breath was warm against Vergil’s face. Vergil watched as Dante’s eyes dropped meaningfully to his lips, then back up. “The price is…” Dante murmured softly.

That was when it happened.

Dante’s head snapped around—so fast it startled Vergil. His whole body tensed, his eyes widening as if he’d sensed something, staring intently in a direction Vergil couldn’t pinpoint, as though he could see straight through the entire mall.

The sudden shift put Vergil on edge. “What is it?” he asked.

“……It’s nothing,” Dante’s voice grew distant. He released Vergil, already stepping away while keeping his gaze fixed in that direction. “…You go ahead. I’ve got something to take care of. I’ll be back.”

He tossed the scarf to Vergil, offered no further explanation, and hurried off, leaving Vergil frowning in his wake. Dante’s reaction was too strange—nothing like this had happened before. But their relationship was built on giving each other space, so Vergil wouldn’t pry or worry himself sick. That wasn’t his style.

Dante could handle his own affairs, just as Vergil could handle his. I’ll ask him tonight, Vergil thought, tucking the scarf into a shopping bag. He still needed to pick up some daily essentials on the way home.

Vergil never imagined it could be anything serious—until the first tremor hit.

Then the second. People in the mall began to panic. Vergil steadied himself and immediately switched into emergency mode, scanning his surroundings. The tremors were too irregular for an earthquake; they felt more like impacts. This was a major city, the idea of a sudden attack seemed surreal… With that thought, Vergil moved with the crowd out of the mall.

The streets were no better. People stared open-mouthed at the sky, filming with their phones. The sky was stained crimson on one side. Following their gaze, Vergil looked up—and for a moment, froze.

A dark rift tore through the air. Countless red summoned swords shot toward their target at blinding speed. Flames wreathed a six-winged monstrous form as it teleported rapidly across the sky. In the next instant, blue-red magical projectiles streaked like energized fireballs, crashing into the ground with deafening booms.

“Invincible?” the beast roared, its voice piercing, the sonic wave making people on the street stagger. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The scene felt eerily familiar to Vergil. As he was still processing it, another figure shot out from the smoke—black, four wings spread—and fired without hesitation.

Wait. Vergil’s mind caught up, and the conclusion startled even him. Dante was fighting… another Dante? Staring at the demon forms he recognized from two different games in the series, Vergil’s thoughts stalled briefly.

“Living the good life, aren’t you? Every universe is your playground,” came the taunt. Red-yellow homing shots chased the other figure and exploded. “Looks like the party’s over. I’m done playing with you. You’re nothing but a filthy player.”

“Take your sins to hell.”

Judgment.

Red demonic energy detonated across the sky. With each teleport, slashes landed on another greatsword, every impact like a missile strike. Ordinary people were sent flying by the shockwaves, screaming. Vergil braced himself against a doorframe to stay upright.

The response to the beast’s fury was silence—always that same silence, cautious and heavy—and that was how Vergil recognized his Dante. The same man who had just been walking beside him in the mall, grumbling about a suit, was now soaring on dark wings, meeting the assault head-on. He gave little reaction, using barely any flashy moves in comparison, yet he intercepted every attack, handling it all with grim ease.

In the midst of the clash, Vergil saw his Dante raise a gun—Ebony.

A bullet infused with demonic energy spiraled through the air and tore through the other’s chest. Blood sprayed.

Vergil heard his voice clearly—cold, steady, matching the abyssal darkness in his eyes: “To chase me all the way here… you must really want to die by the same gun as your Vergil.”

“Fine. I’ll grant that wish.”

In the next second, the bullet pierced the skull, erupting into a burst of crimson. The image burned itself into Vergil’s eyes.

Chapter Text

“Enough. That’s enough.”

Another Dante had said that to him once—the first traveler Vergil ever met. That Dante had shoulder-length hair, a beard, a voice both relaxed and self-assured, dressed in a style unmistakably Dante. Vergil recognized him instantly, because he looked so much like his own brother. Vergil believed that if his brother had lived to that age, this was exactly how he would have appeared.

But his brother would never live to see those years—the thought circled in Vergil’s mind back then. His brother was gone, frozen in his prime. He had died because of Vergil’s negligence and stubbornness.

That Dante had fallen here by accident, something about failing to control his brother’s Yamato. Vergil didn't bother asking the exact reason and ended up forgetting it completely. Because he was the first traveler, neither of them knew how to send him back, so he stayed—for a long time.

He witnessed the darkest chapter of Vergil’s life: cold, and ruthless. His brother had been the only one holding Vergil to some line of conscience, and without him, Vergil became pure demon. He would make them pay—the shadow that had loomed over the Sparda name. One by one, they would pay.

That Dante didn’t help him, didn’t stop him, and Vergil never invited him into the fray. Dante was a man with his own lines he wouldn’t cross; Vergil understood that, no matter which universe he came from, he would despise what was unfolding.

But Vergil was different. In his view, the world had never been about good and evil, only winning and losing. Pointless righteousness had already cost them too much—a father undercover in the mob, a mother in narcotics enforcement, a brother who held to his principles. Vergil would make those guys repay, seizing control of this territory in the most painful way possible, leaving those worms to die without meaning.

Vergil had moved in underworld circles since adulthood, climbing high in the organization before being recruited as one of Mundus’s top enforcers. The wrongs he’d committed were beyond counting. He became Mundus’s right hand, waiting only for the right moment to strike.

If only he had acted sooner.

That period was madness. The bodies Vergil left behind could have formed mountains. He killed the lackeys, the overseers, and more innocent people than he could count. He dismantled Mundus’s network, blew apart his core interests, peeled him apart layer by layer until Mundus knelt before him.

He didn’t let Mundus die. Some people didn’t deserve death—they deserved to live, tormented for the rest of their lives by what had happened. Mundus was one. Vergil was another. Living was the longest punishment of all.

Covered in blood, Vergil turned—and met that Dante’s gaze.

Only now did Vergil fully understand what that gaze had meant, because he realized it was the same. No matter how different the circumstances, the reasons, the faces—in essence, it was all the same. And now, standing on the other side, he could see it clearly: the tragic cycle of fate that bound the twins.

Enough. That’s enough.

The battlefield was enclosed by an unnatural barrier of demonic energy. People were fleeing in panic; only Vergil moved against the flow, walking steadily toward the center. The fight was nearing its end—the intruder could only struggle in his final moments. By the time Vergil arrived, he saw the quieter Dante—his Dante—reverse the shattered Rebellion and drive it through the other’s skull.

“Vergil… run…” The intruder had seen him. Barely conscious, recognizing only Vergil’s face, he cried out instinctively, voice ragged with desperation. A hand stretched toward Vergil. “Get away…”

His Dante whirled around at the words—and their eyes met.

Dante’s pupils were vertical slits of red-gold, making him look more beast than man. His demon form hadn’t fully receded, and the aura he radiated now was that of Death itself. In that moment, Vergil finally saw the whole of him—the caution, the restraint Dante usually showed were nothing but suppression of this side of him.

Dante stared at him, unblinking. The intruder’s hand went limp and dissolved into ash.

In the next instant, the world spun. Vergil was slammed into the ground, the impact far from gentle. The threat of death closed in around him.

Thud!

A greatsword buried itself in the earth beside Vergil’s face, the force shaking the ground. The blade’s wind cut his cheek, but Vergil didn’t even flinch, meeting the eyes of the Dante who now pinned him down. Those eyes still glowed crimson; both of Dante’s hands pressed down on Rebellion, silver-white hair falling around his face like a vengeful ghost returned from hell.

Dark demon wings arched downward, as if to envelop Vergil completely.

***

“Thought we could play a little longer. Guess the make‑believe ends here.”

Plip. Plip. Drops of Dante’s blood fell onto Vergil’s face. Dante’s expression had turned blank again—cold, detached, just as it had been when they first met. His voice was eerily steady. As he spoke, his demon form receded, revealing the face Vergil had lived alongside for nearly a year—the familiar features, now stripped of all warmth.

Vergil’s own expression remained unmoved, studied the man above him. The world seemed to have gone silent, as if nothing existed but the two of them.

They held that standoff until Vergil finally spoke. “…After you kill me, where will you go?” He didn’t struggle. As he’d said himself, Dante could kill him easily—Vergil wasn’t even half‑demon. “To another universe? Find another Vergil?”

Dante didn’t answer. That was how this Dante was—taciturn, closed‑off, inward. When he didn’t use words as weapons, he seemed more like a villain than the hero from any game. But then, Vergil thought, this Dante had committed too many wrongs to earn the favor of any story or player.

He’d been wandering too long, burdened with debt and drenched in blood, his hands stained with the blood of the righteous—just like Vergil.

“Killing me would be simple.” That was the truth. If he died by Dante’s hand, it would be a fitting irony. “Spare me the drama.”

His brother probably would have loved this kind of story. Or perhaps all of this was his brother’s design—a final mockery of the brother who’d gone too far. That sounded like the kind of revenge he would write: depict perfection and happiness, then tear it all apart. Atonement for your sins, brother. You deserve this.

Dante leaned down. The closeness that once meant intimacy now felt like a threat. “For a human, you’re laughably slow,” Dante said coolly, though there was no humor in his voice. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Then Vergil saw it.

Yamatos. Many of them, to be precise. They materialized out of nowhere, circling Dante before driving point‑first into the ground around Vergil with shuddering force. A dozen or more—each had once belonged to someone. Now they were all imprisoned here, beside him.

“Every time I arrive in a new universe, I find myself first,” Dante stated coldly, as if determined to shred the last bit of the good memory. “I kill that version of me. Take his place. Find his Vergil. Stay with him. Become his brother.”

“You should consider yourself lucky that yours was already dead. Saved me the trouble.” Dante’s gaze locked onto Vergil’s, his demonic eyes full of pressure. “Do you understand? If he were alive, I would have killed him—just like I’ve killed countless versions of myself—and taken his place.”

So that was why his first question had been about the whereabouts of Vergil’s brother. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“If you resist me, I’ll kill you too. It’s that simple.”

Vergil kept his eyes on Dante, noticing how tense he was. He held every advantage, yet he seemed like a wounded lion—baring fangs, threatening, but unwilling to strike first. Vergil knew what Dante was waiting for: for Vergil to attack, to shatter this fragile balance, as every other Vergil had done.

If that was what Dante wanted, he had failed. “…But you never succeeded,” Vergil replied flatly. “You went to each universe, schemed, manipulated, tried to make them accept you—and every Vergil refused. You killed them and moved on. But the more universes you visited, the more you killed, the heavier the violence clinging to you became. Any half‑demon could smell what you’d done.”

“You can’t go anywhere. You can’t gain anything. All you can do is keep wandering, repeating the cycle, hoping the next universe will be different. Until finally, you found a Vergil who accepted you.”

“That was me.”

Dante’s eyes widened—clearly caught off guard again. He’s still too easy to read, Vergil thought. No matter how silent he became, Dante was still his brother.

“…Yes, I knew.” Watching Dante’s stunned expression, Vergil continued evenly. “The travelers warned me many times. You know how to silence Dantes, but you never learned how to coexist with a Vergil. You never have.”

Dante stared at him, once more at a loss. He was silent for a long moment, then frowned, his voice tight with defensiveness. “Then what are you waiting for?” His eyes still glowed faintly. “You can’t possibly defeat me. You’re only human.”

“Why would I need to defeat you? If you kill me, it’s a release.” Vergil’s tone was dismissive. “I was just thinking—if you kill me, you’ll just return to that cycle. Hoping the next Vergil will accept you. Hoping your secret stays hidden next time. Hoping you’ll finally get that perfect ending.”

“I’ll be dead. But what about you? When will you finally stop punishing yourself?”

This Dante was too mature to show any obvious vulnerability. Still, he clenched his jaw, lips pressed tightly together, his whole body radiating a pained, defiant resistance.

The first traveler had spoken to Vergil like this once. Vergil had responded by firing a bullet through that Dante’s heart. The man had staggered, but kept smiling—making Vergil feel like he was the one who’d been struck, not the other way around.

[“Let yourself go, Vergil,” that Dante had murmured, blood trailing from his slowly healing heart. “Don’t keep going. Enough is enough.”]

***

Yamato blades surrounded Vergil, all pointed toward him—a threat, a warning.

Vergil looked at them, then at Dante, who had retreated to a distance. Dante had flinched back the moment Vergil reached out, like a stray animal unwilling to trust. Yet he still hadn’t attacked. No Dante ever struck first against Vergil—not even now, when everything had changed. Some things never did.

Vergil studied the Yamatos. Each one varied slightly from the next. They glowed with a faint blue light, silent accusations hanging in the air. Dante had been carrying them all this time—a walking grave, burying every past within himself.

He’d gone too far, strayed too deep. There was no turning back. Just as with all these blades: no matter how many more Dante collected, the first one was gone forever.

Vergil stood up. The circle of blades tightened instantly. “Don’t move,” Dante warned.

But Vergil only looked at him, then took a firm step forward. As he expected, the Yamato aimed at his throat withdrew slightly. “Don’t move!” Dante’s voice hardened, teeth gritted. Vergil ignored him and took another step. The blade at his throat retreated again.

Step by step, Vergil advanced; step by step, Dante retreated. Judging by their expressions alone, it was hard to tell who held the power and who was cornered. “You killed your Vergil,” he said, still advancing. “Made sure he could never return, in the cruelest way possible. Only you know why.”

[“To be honest, I’m not interested. I don’t care,” that Dante had said, walking toward him. Vergil fired several more shots, yet felt like the trapped animal, driven into a corner. “Whatever happened, it must have made perfect sense in your world. Because I am him. I’m certain of that.”]

[“Because I am him, I understand him. And if he ever found out you did all this for him… he would tell you—”]

“—I forgive you, brother.” Vergil spoke into the gale of Dante’s demonic energy, his voice cool, unflinching, firm.

“If it wasn’t your fault, I forgive you. If it was your fault, I forgive you.”

Dante spoke again, his voice beginning to tremble. “You have no idea what happened,” he snarled, raising his gun, baring his teeth. “You have no right to say that.”

“Then why are you here?” Vergil asked. It was all so familiar. He remembered every word, every expression from that day—the words that had once saved him, now returned to his brother. “If I’m not Vergil, if I’m not fit to say these things, then why did you stay with me?”

[“Every version of me is me. Every version of you is you. Given the same circumstances, we’d make the same choices. None of us is nobler, none more wicked.” That Dante had reached out while Vergil stood gripping his gun, jaw clenched. “I am your dead brother, Vergil. Do you hear me? I am him. And I’m telling you now—I’ve already forgiven you.”]

“Now it’s your turn to let go, Dante.” Vergil extended his hand toward him, clothes billowing in the turbulent air. “Release these blades. Send them back to their own universes. You don’t need to carry them anymore.”

Dante stood rigid, gun still raised, retreating step by step, lips trembling.

Vergil kept his hand outstretched. When Dante couldn’t decide, Vergil shifted his gaze to the Yamato before him. He’d only ever seen it in games and sketches, but his own brother really had designed a fine weapon for him—suited his demeanor well. With that thought, Vergil turned his hand and deliberately reached for the blade closest to his throat.

They said Yamato was a powerful demonic weapon; an ordinary human touching it would be torn apart by its energy. What about him, then? Vergil was no gambler, but if necessary, he wasn’t afraid to risk it all.

Seeing the movement, Dante’s eyes widened in panic. He lunged forward. “Vergil! Don’t—!”

Too late. A surge of raw power sliced a long gash across Vergil’s hand and threw him backward. But Vergil wasn’t worried—he could already feel the warmth, the solid chest that caught him, wrapping tightly around him, shielding him at the center.

Yamato blades drove into Dante’s body, one after another. He coughed up blood, trembling as he held Vergil close, a muffled sob escaping him. Finally, Vergil had backed him into a corner with no way out.

I won, Vergil thought.

***

Dante broke.

Tears spilled from his eyes, falling without end. He clenched his jaw, but couldn’t stop them—holding Vergil so tightly it hurt, as if afraid he might vanish. Every wall, every defense crumbled. He wept like the child Vergil remembered from long ago. Dante had always cried easily as a boy—clingy, unreasonable, full of life. That was just how he was.

Dante loved Vergil in his own twisted way, just as Vergil loved Dante in his. When they were young, they spoke in riddles, each hoping the other would understand, would follow their lead. So love easily curdled into hate—over stubbornness, over refusal to yield.

And when mistakes became irreversible, they each mourned the lost past in their own manner. It made Vergil think of his own brother—how he’d written a story where the hero killed his erring elder brother, then shut himself away in a silent, empty agency. Back then, Vergil had turned a deaf ear, believing it was just a story, that Dante would one day concede, admit defeat, and stand by his side again.

After that, different versions of Dante and Vergil walked diverging paths. It was just a shame that neither of them here had been among the fortunate ones. They never became the heroes. They never became the best versions of themselves. They couldn’t stop the tragedy in time, nor could they open the door to a bright future.

They had made mistakes—mistakes that would remain their eternal shame. People would point, judge, criticize their immorality, their injustice. But the harshest critics would always be themselves. They punished themselves and everything around them in the most extreme ways, until they were unrecognizable, trapped beyond return.

Where could the irredeemable like them possibly go?

“I’m sorry, Vergil,” Dante trembled, tears flowing freely now, as if releasing years of wandering and repression all at once. “I’m sorry, brother. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry…”

Vergil listened quietly. Dante was apologizing—not to him, but to someone no longer here. Even in tears, this Dante was careful, almost timid, letting the tears wash over his face between quiet sobs. Vergil smoothed his hair, watching his brother’s tear-streaked face, his own eyes growing wet.

Vergil pressed his forehead to Dante’s. “You fool, Dante,” he whispered, closing his eyes as his own tears fell silently. “…Crying like an idiot.”

I lost my way because of this and that. I disappointed you, and could do nothing but rage and hate to make up for it. I’m truly sorry, brother.

Amidst the tears, the Yamatos were finally released. One by one, they turned, gleaming blue, and scattered back to their own universes. Perhaps it was connected—snow began to fall soon after, the first snow of the year. It settled on their shoulders, between tears and fragile smiles, over the memories of this past year, muffling the earlier chaos.

One day, they would pay for the mistakes they’d made.

In the end, through his tears, Dante smiled at Vergil and nuzzled his nose. “Crying in middle age—you’re the one who looks stupid,” he teased. When Vergil retaliated with a kick, Dante caught his leg and laughed—a laugh that sounded young again.

They would pay, but not today.

And tomorrow, they would keep living—because they didn’t deserve to die yet. They would go on, carrying their regrets and failures, until the day of judgment came. And they would face whatever followed, without flinching.

Because it was enough.

Finally, enough.

Chapter Text

Nero sneezed.

Cold! That was his first thought upon arriving in this universe. A few seconds later,  he sneezed again. Hey, don’t look at him like that—it was still summer where he came from! Nero rubbed his nose and habitually revved Red Queen a few times, trying to warm himself up.

It’s snowing. That was Vergil’s first observation. He released his right hand from Yamato’s hilt and lifted his palm, watching snowflakes drift slowly onto his black-gloved hand.

It was late. Outside the alley, warm yellow streetlights lit the sidewalk, giving the night a quiet, empty feel. Dante stretched lazily. “Christmas, huh. Haven’t seen one in centuries,” he remarked casually, eyeing the typical holiday decorations in shop windows, his voice trailing off with idle amusement. “…Wait, why are we here again?”

Nero let out an annoyed grumble. “Hey, you guys were the ones who wanted to come, and now you’ve forgotten already? Weren’t we supposed to deal with some kind of… cross-dimensional criminal or something?”

“Ahh, right, something like that.” Truth was, he’d just followed Vergil. Honestly, Dante had zero interest in unpaid work—he’d much rather be lounging on a sofa with pizza. But his older brother was the restless type. “Guy who’s torn through a bunch of dimensions, messed up the universes—”

Vergil cut him off, clearly tired of the rambling. “He’s killed over a dozen Vergils. More than twenty Dantes.” Vergil’s tone was cold, but his eyes held a keen, eager light. What power. I can’t wait to test myself against it.“Destroyed at least two worlds.”

Dante whistled, hefting Rebellion over his shoulder as he shook his head with a grin. “Naughty, very naughty. Must be the unloved type—the ‘destroy the world’ kind usually are.” He raised an eyebrow at Vergil. “See, brother? You’d better love me more, or I might end up destroying the world someday too.”

His answer came in the form of an attack—Yamato’s hilt driving straight into his stomach. Dante, caught off guard, stumbled back several steps, coughing out a laugh.

Always so careless, never taking things seriously. Nero rolled his eyes at the two old men flirting through violence, scanning their surroundings. Ever since arriving, he’d caught the scent—demon. He didn’t need to think hard; his instincts were already on edge. This demon was strong. Extremely dangerous.

“But, speaking of that smell…” Dante’s tone shifted once he’d caught his breath. He looked thoughtfully toward the direction, eyes narrowing slightly. “…Guess slacking off isn’t an option after all.”

“Only you would adopt such an irresponsible attitude, Dante,” Vergil said, stepping forward. His right hand never left Yamato’s hilt as he moved ahead, Dante falling in beside him. “If you die here, I won’t even collect your body.”

“Who dies faster remains to be seen,” Dante shot back, head tilted. Vergil glanced at him but didn’t bother continuing the pointless banter, so Dante shifted targets. “Ah, but the one who’ll probably die first is Nero, right? Really shouldn’t have brought the kid.”

“Stop talking like I’m not here!” Nero bristled instantly, striding ahead to bare his teeth at Dante. “If I hear one more word implying I’m a child, I swear to—”

Dante let out a derisive snort, dragging out his words. “Teenagers. So scary—”

“Dante!!” Nero swung his sword straight at him. Dante blocked, and the two continued brawling their way toward their destination. Vergil couldn’t be bothered to react. But Dante wouldn’t let him stay idle for long—soon all three were tangled in the scuffle, red and blue energy flashing wildly through the night. From a distance, it might’ve looked like some bizarre family outing.

“If we screw this up because of your stupid stunt back there, remember, Dante—it’s your damn fault.”

They’d reached their destination now, all three breathing a little heavier from the earlier tussle. Nero was still seething, his tone sharp as he checked Blue Rose’s ammunition before shooting another glare at Dante.

“Whew! Good warm-up,” Dante said, finally somewhat serious. He planted Rebellion in the ground and studied the building before them. Compared to the grand palaces and ruins he’d adventured through over the years, this house was… ordinary. Hard to believe a dimensional menace lived in such a plain place. The sheer demonic energy radiating from within was enough to level the place ten thousand times over.

Dante and Vergil exchanged a glance. Vergil gave a slight nod. As Dante walked up to the front door, Nero and Vergil shifted into ready stances, watching as Dante pressed the doorbell.

The door opened quickly. A wave of dense, potent demonic power rolled out, making all three immediately grip their weapons, braced for whatever formidable enemy might appear—

Dante peeked out from behind the door, wearing a red apron decorated with Santa trim.

“……”

***

“I caught your scent a while ago, but you were moving so slowly I thought I’d have time to finish the steak,” Dante said, ushering the three inside before hurrying back toward the kitchen. “Make yourselves at home.”

The sound and smell of sizzling meat came from the inner room—he was clearly making dinner. Making dinner? Nero and Vergil both turned to look at Dante with the same unnervingly knowing expression, making Dante squirm inwardly.

“What? Could be human meat,” Dante muttered under his breath, though they could all tell from the scent that it wasn’t. It was lean cut, practically fat-free—health-conscious choice. God, this is like a horror story.

Dante’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Feel free to look around, but not the study.” His tone was even, almost friendly. “That room needs his permission.”

The house itself was ordinary but meticulously arranged, decorated in cool, restrained tones that made Dante’s red apron stand out all the more. The three exchanged another glance before fanning out to explore. Aside from Dante himself, nothing in the house radiated demonic energy.

“He’ll be back soon,” Dante said after a moment, emerging from the kitchen. He removed the apron and set a bowl of green salad on the table. Nero stared at the vegetables as if they were alien. “…Honestly, he is one usually handles this. I’m not sure how to host guests.”

“He,” Vergil repeated, his blue cat-like eyes scanning Dante up and down. “Who is ‘he’?”

At that, Dante’s eyes warmed slightly. “…The Vergil of this world,” he explained, taking a seat at the table. “He’s been busy lately—right before the Christmas break—so he’s running late.”

“Hmm…?” Dante leaned against the windowsill, making a thoughtful sound as he raised an eyebrow at Dante, his voice dripping with sarcasm. When Dante looked back, Dante spoke up. “So what’s this, then? Wait, let me guess—keeping a pet? Get bored, swap for a new one, then move on to the next? Pretty wild, bro.”

The atmosphere around Dante shifted instantly. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by cold blue as his gaze swept over the three visitors. The living room grew tense; though they stood apart, everyone knew a fight would draw them all in at once.

“…You’re not just travelers passing through,” Dante said, his voice now flat and detached.

“No, we are. We’re just here to witness your death,” Nero shot back, closest to him. He planted his sword on the floor with a metallic clang and revved the engine. “Hey, I’ve always wanted to kill a Dante. You seem like a good place to start.”

Dante didn’t move. Even he had to be cautious facing three powerful devil hunters. But what seemed to concern him more wasn’t the threat itself—his eyes kept drifting to Nero’s sword, staring with visible distress at the scratches left on the floor.

“………” Dante was silent for a moment. “I can’t fight you.”

“We just paid off the mortgage on this place. Getting another would be too expensive. And… he’d be really upset.”

…Huh? Nero exchanged a bewildered look with Dante. Dante shrugged back, expression saying ‘Don’t ask me, I don’t get it either.’ A demon of this power, acting completely harmless, worried about… home finances? Was this some new kind of trick?

“A pathetic excuse,” Vergil stated coldly. He drew Yamato and leveled it at Dante, the blade’s energy making Dante’s hair flutter. “How laughable. You’ve even lost the will to fight. You continue to disappoint me, Dante.”

What’s that got to do with me? Why am I getting dragged into this? Dante rolled his eyes hard behind him. But Dante simply looked at the blade, then at Vergil, his expression unchanged.

“It seems you’ve lived well in your world. I’m glad for you,” Dante said finally. Vergil narrowed his eyes. “But I really can’t fight you. Or… wait until he gets home. He can discuss it with you.”

“What are you? Letting your Vergil make all the decisions?” Dante burst out laughing. “Or have you killed so many you’ve finally grown afraid? You don’t actually think playing nice will save you, do you? But then, if you had any sense, you wouldn’t have started cross-dimensional killing sprees in the first place.”

Dante fell silent again, just watching them, unusually subdued and calm. That surprised Nero—after all, Dantewas always loud and sharp-tongued, especially in a fight. He’d expected two Dantes would mean twice the bickering, but this was nothing like that.

Instead, Dante started studying Nero—observing him like some curious specimen, making Nerouncomfortable. Nero glared back, about to retort, when the other spoke. “Your hair looked better in the fourth game,” Dante remarked casually, cutting Nero off mid-thought.

What? What fourth? His hair? Nero stared blankly.

Just as the awkwardness peaked, the sound of a key turning in the lock broke the tension. Dante practically sprang up, covering the distance to the door in quick strides, his face suddenly animated, eyes bright.

Another figure with silver hair stepped inside, bringing a chill from outside. The three visitors watched as Dantebrushed snow from his coat and gently unwound a blue scarf from his neck. The man who looked identical to Vergil changed his shoes, exchanging quiet words with Dante before they leaned in and shared a brief, familiar kiss.

“.…………”

While the three stood frozen, Dante followed behind this world’s Vergil, a hand on his shoulder, whispering into his ear as they walked into the living room—glancing meaningfully toward Vergil and Dante. Vergil listened, frowned slightly, and turned his gaze toward the visitors, thoughtful.

Dante headed to the kitchen to bring out the food. Vergil hung his coat by the door, revealing a tailored navy blue suit underneath. All three sets of eyes followed him until he stopped in the center of the room, and then extended a hand toward Vergil.

“Welcome,” Vergil said, eyes half-lidded, a confident smile touching his lips. “I’m the Vergil of this world.”

You’re definitely the scariest one here! Nero inwardly gasped.

***

“You’re human,” Vergil observed, his expression unchanging aside from a slight lift of his brow.

“Yes. As you can see, I am human,” Vergil replied. It was surreal—standing face‑to‑face with someone of his own height and features, yet dressed and carrying himself so differently. “I also haven’t lived through most of your stories. My profession is lawyer.”

Before Vergil could respond, Vergil continued. “My Dante just told me you came here with a demand—a fight to the death with him.” He crossed his arms. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried an authority that felt quietly intimidating. “I’d like to hear your reasons in detail.”

This guy… Vergil didn’t answer immediately, choosing to study him instead. Even the usually talkative Dantestayed quiet.

It was Nero who spoke up first. “Reasons? Isn’t it obvious?” Nero pointed at Dante, who was just bringing dinner to the table. “This guy has jumped through countless universes, killed who knows how many Vergils and Dantes, even caused entire worlds to collapse. You can’t seriously be planning to protect a criminal like this, Vergil. Where’s your sense of right and wrong?”

Vergil listened, then lowered his head with a thoughtful hum. Dante moved worriedly to his side. “…True. The charges are extremely serious. By any measure, he deserves the harshest punishment,” Vergil agreed mildly. Just as Nero began to relax, he pivoted. “However, since you wish to settle this matter in here, you’ll need to follow this world’s procedures.”

“If you can provide any witnesses or material evidence, things will proceed much faster. We could convict him properly.”

What?! Nero’s eyes widened. “Wha—what witnesses? Evidence? You mean you still aren’t convinced he’s guilty?”

“Allegations without evidence are just empty words. If you’re accusing him of intentional homicide across universes, you naturally need to produce corresponding proof. Isn’t that the most basic principle in any world?” Vergil stated matter‑of‑factly, casting a cool glance at Nero.

Tch. Knew it was a trap, Dante thought irritably, crossing his arms behind them. Half‑demons turned to ash when they died—no bodies left behind. Even if there were, where would they find security footage from other universes? And how could they prove it was this particular Dante, not some other one? And the destroyed worlds—if a world was gone, what evidence could possibly remain?

“Just smell him! His aura! Can’t you sense it?” Nero argued, frustration rising. This was beyond ridiculous—having to argue in legal terms here! “That dark energy only comes from a killer! And his power level is way too high for a Dante from just one universe. We tracked him here through the resonance of the Yamato—”

“Provide quantifiable standards,” Vergil replied flatly. “We’d need a reference scale. How do you define ‘dark energy’? What power level qualifies as ‘too high’? The so‑called Yamato resonance would also require precise, detailed documentation. Otherwise, it cannot be admitted as evidence.”

“This Dante doesn’t belong to your world,” Vergil cut in coldly, meeting Vergil’s gaze head‑on. “Your world’s laws don’t apply to him.”

“Then we would need multi-universes law—let a cross‑dimensional authority decide the proper sentencing,” Vergil countered smoothly, raising a hand. “Frequent world‑hopping inevitably leads to such issues. Since you’re so concerned with justice across universes, perhaps you should establish an multi-universes council first. Once the laws are ratified, we can proceed with a trial.”

“Ridiculous.” Vergil’s eyes flashed with anger. In the next instant, Yamato swept horizontally toward Vergil. “A mere human—”

Clang!

Before the blow could land, several weapons intercepted the attacks simultaneously, their collision blasting the framed pictures off the walls. Blades ground against each other right in front of Vergil, letting out a metallic screech. Four sets of demonic eyes locked in a standoff, red and blue energy flaring in the cramped space.

Nero flinched at the look on Dante’s face. The man was holding off all three of them at once. His expression, previously unmoved by their taunts, now looked genuinely terrifying—gold‑red slit pupils glowing, thick dark energy rolling off him along the clashing blades, carrying a clear, chilling message:

—Touch him, and you all die.

“Hey now, bro. Isn’t this a bit unfair?” Dante drawled. “The two Vergils were having a debate, and you attack mine first? Not cool.” He pushed off, deflecting the locked weapons. “Come on. Fight me.”

“Dante.” Vergil’s voice cut through, several degrees colder. Dante halted mid‑movement and glanced back at him, almost sheepishly. Meeting Vergil’s gaze, he reluctantly recalled Rebellion and stepped back to stand behind him.

“The crime you accuse him of is cross‑dimensional murder,” Vergil said, turning his icy, unyielding attention back to the visitors. “Then my question is: how does what you just attempted differ from the actions of the criminal you describe?”

The room fell into a charged silence. Everyone stood poised, eyes locked, breaths the only sound in the tense air.

“……The way you clutch him so desperately is both foolish and pathetic.” Vergil said at last, disdainfully sheathing Yamato. “I can’t believe there’s a version of ‘me’ as repulsive as you.”

Vergil raised a brow, replying coolly, “I’m flattered. Though I’d say a version of ‘me’ who goes around dragging innocents into his fights and somehow ends up with an unplanned son is far more foolish—and laughable.”

Dante choked back a cough. Damn, he went straight for the throat. He exchanged a stunned look with Dante, both watching the verbal battlefield unfold. You really don’t hold back even when insulting yourself, huh? The two Vergils stared each other down, neither backing an inch, sparks practically visible in the air between them.

Just when everyone expected a full‑blown “Vergil vs. Vergil” spectacle, Vergil suddenly smiled. He let out a soft, knowing chuckle and turned away. “…The study is this way?”

“Feel free to browse,” Vergil replied, a faint smile touching his own lips as he addressed Vergil’s back. “Enjoy your time.”

What just happened? The remaining visitors stared at each other, baffled, as Vergil disappeared into the study. Vergil turned back to them, his demeanor shifting back to something almost hospitable.

“Stay for dinner,” he offered, gesturing toward the table. “If we wait any longer, it’ll get cold.”

***

Vergil lost this round, Dante mused from a distance. Seeing Vergil back down really wasn’t something that happened every day.

What had passed between the two Vergils in those few seconds? Dante would never know. But knowing his brother as he did, Vergil’s retreat didn’t signal surrender—it meant understanding. Like the time he’d finally stopped chasing power, not because he admitted defeat, but because he’d gradually come to grasp Dante’s perspective. Similarly, Vergil choosing to step back now meant only that he’d understood something.

What exactly had he understood? Shielding a criminal, twisting logic, playing word games? Dante chewed a piece of steak, watching Dante and Vergil discuss the evening’s meal and the cost of repairing the room, his thoughts drifting. No one else spoke; the others simply listened as the two talked about domestic matters, the atmosphere not awkward but calm and steady as still water.

They stayed a while longer. Vergil remained hidden in the study, while Dante chatted with them, even sharing a few jokes and light conversation. Nero, driven by a strong sense of justice, couldn’t just let things go—he sat curled on the sofa, watching their exchanges with a cold eye.

“You should know,” Vergil said as they were leaving, turning to Vergil once more, “if he does anything again, we’ll be back. And next time, I won’t listen to another word you say.”

Vergil leaned against the doorframe and waved them off. “By then, I’ll be dead long before any of you, so don’t trouble yourself,” he replied mildly. “Still, you’re welcome to visit anytime.”

That exchange gave Dante a flicker of insight. Watching Vergil turn to leave, something suddenly clicked. Dante followed behind him, gaze fixed on his back, thoughts sinking into the haze of memory.

Letting him go… was like letting go of yourself… maybe.

Dante pondered it a moment longer—then suddenly pounced, shouting at Vergil. “You made me come all this way for nothing—I’m exhausted!” Dante hooked an arm around Vergil’s waist. “You’d better make it up to me tonight!”

“Ugh! I’m still right here! Damn it!” Nero yelled from behind, making Dante burst out laughing.

Naturally, he was promptly kicked away by Vergil, and the two resumed their chase through the snowy streets, painting red and blue streaks across the white like fireworks. The sounds of their bickering and laughter gradually faded into the distance.

Upstairs, Vergil watched them leave. He took a slow sip of the light hot cocoa in his cup, having finally changed out of his suit into a black sweater. The winter chill still lingered on him, leaving his slender fingers slightly cold.

Dante embraced him from behind, gently holding Vergil’s hands. “Sorry,” Dante mumbled. Vergil turned one hand to stroke his hair. “Making you work on Christmas Eve.”

“It was rather interesting,” Vergil replied softly, leaning back into Dante’s embrace. “We rarely get three visitors at once. I haven’t seen that boy Nero often. It was… refreshing.”

“…Watching him earlier, I was thinking,” Dante said quietly, rubbing Vergil’s hands as they both looked out at the snow. “Maybe we could raise a Nero of our own. A child, maybe.” He paused. “Or a dog.”

Vergil let out a soft snort. “You just compared Nero to a dog.” He shook his head and took another sip of cocoa. “If he heard that, he’d definitely pick a fight with you.”

“Then a child. Boy or girl, either’s fine.” Dante’s voice grew softer. He kissed Vergil’s neck. “When they’re older, I could give them all my power, turn myself human. That way I could grow old with you and…”

Dante didn’t finish, but Vergil understood. He always thought too far ahead—a bad habit left from having lost a home once, one neither of them could ever fully shake. Vergil didn’t answer. He turned and cupped Dante’s face; Dante closed his eyes, savoring the touch.

“…You’ve ruined my Christmas mood,” Vergil said at last. Dante opened his eyes and smiled at him. “Still as terrible at choosing your moments as ever.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be like this my whole life. You’ll have to put up with it,” Dante teased. Vergil began lightly patting his cheek. “And the clinginess—I’ve been like this since I was a kid. I plan to keep up the good tradition.”

Vergil placed his half‑finished cocoa in Dante’s hands—a signal he was done drinking. “You would.” Downstairs, a knock sounded—children coming to sing carols. Vergil went down to answer the door.

Dante drained the rest of the cocoa from Vergil’s cup.

They turned in early that night, everything as usual. Sometimes tender and lingering, sometimes passionate and fierce—always filled with more feeling and love than could be measured. They accepted each other completely, sharing wounds and joys, and when the next day came, they would continue trying their best to survive in this world.

“Another Christmas,” Dante said finally, his eyes gleaming like the sea in the dark. “…Didn’t we have some kind of Christmas promise once?”

“If you can’t remember, let it be,” Vergil murmured with a soft yawn as Dante curled around him. “That kind of promise… it’s best when forgotten.”

Only by forgetting could it last forever.

Outside, snow dressed the whole world in pure white. It fell gently, covering everything, melting into everyone’s dreams.

May it always cover your wounds and soften your dreams, my dear

(Fin)

Chapter Text

No matter how you looked at it, summer was the season Vergil hated most.

Vergil preferred things cool, quiet, and austere—much like himself. If he could have his way, it would always be winter, or night; rainy days were barely acceptable. Cool temperatures, subdued colors, and a peaceful atmosphere—no wonder his study remained that way year-round. It was where he felt most at ease.

But helplessly, the turn of the seasons was like time itself—it circled relentlessly, never pausing. After winter came summer; after summer, winter would return. The world was occasionally cold, occasionally blazing—a simple, unchangeable truth. Even Vergil had to accept it, as one accepts any fact of fate.

Yet there were things Vergil couldn’t quite comprehend. Like why that guy seemed to haunt him like a ghost he couldn’t shake, always appearing at the height of summer.

Vergil narrowed his eyes, stepping out of the company building into the glaring sunlight and deafening cicada drone. No matter how prepared he was, the temperature difference between indoors and outdoors always left him uncomfortable. He frowned, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the harsh white light outside.

Then, a flash of red entered his vision. Blazing, intense, dazzling as the Sahara sun—and unavoidably edged with danger. Vergil looked up to see a man with one hand on his hip, the other resting casually on the greatsword Rebellion. When their eyes met, the man gave him a wink.

“Hey,” the man greeted him with a familiar gesture, announcing his arrival.

At first, Vergil thought he was just another ordinary traveler—after all, so many had passed through, each similar yet distinct, hard to tell apart after only brief encounters. But soon he realized this one was different. Some Dantes left a special impression on Vergil, and this one—well, what could he say? He almost wished he could forget him faster.

The summer breeze stirred the man’s red coat, his silver hair gleaming under the sun. Vergil stopped and studied him intently. How to describe this feeling? If some younger Dantes were like illustrated storybooks—things Vergil would keep but no longer truly feel passionate—then this one was like a beloved game from his youth, a bad-influence friend you meet again after years apart, reminding Vergil of a past that was once turbulent and vivid.

Remembering them, Vergil allowed a smile to surface—one that hadn’t touched his face in many years: half mocking, half venomous, and carrying traces of the arrogance he’d worn in his youth. He walked toward the man, their eyes locked the whole time. The man’s smile was as lazy and bright as ever.

“You came crawling back from the dead,” Vergil said with haughty amusement.

A faint breeze brushed their hair and clothes. For a moment, Vergil felt as if the sunlight had carried them back decades—to a time he never willingly revisited, yet now came surging back, vivid and unbidden.

***

The First Dante—that was how Vergil usually referred to him.

Though in the beginning, that wasn’t the man’s designation. Vergil would just call him “hey” or “you,” summoning him around like some sort of mascot. Back then, Vergil was still trapped in his own shadows, unwilling to attach his own brother’s name to anyone—not even to another version of him who’d crossed into this world.

“But I really am Dante,” the man said with a troubled look, tilting his head at Vergil. He was mature in years, yet everything about him carried a hint of unseriousness that never failed to irritate the younger Vergil.

“Not anymore, starting today,” Vergil replied coldly. The man drew out a complaining sigh, though no real anger could be heard in it. Vergil couldn’t quite pin down his temper, so he just went on, “You’ll learn your new name in time.”

“Mhm, how about Tony? That alias never gets old,” the man answered lazily, seemingly unbothered by Vergil’s commanding tone. If anything, he looked amused. “Though I wouldn’t mind ‘sir’ either, if you’re offering.”

Vergil swept a leg toward him. The man hopped back lightly, grinning like a sunflower.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he said, smiling, blue eyes narrowed like a cat’s. There was something unreadable in his gaze, something Vergil didn’t bother to decipher.

This man’s eyes were always complex, deep—out of sync with the rest of his demeanor. Vergil never asked what he’d been through, what had shaped him. Not that he was particularly interested, either. There were thousands of universes, hundreds of Dantes and Vergils, each with their own story. Vergil had never been much of a listener.

Just like now. They walked side by side under the fierce afternoon sun, its heat burning against their skin. Vergil carried his briefcase in one hand, watching with detached interest as this Dante looked around. More than a decade had passed; Vergil was now in his forties, yet this man seemed frozen at the age Vergil remembered him.

“So much has changed,” he remarked, his tone still annoyingly breezy. “You’ve grown up quite a bit, too. In my memory you were still a hissing kitten.”

Vergil smiled instead of taking offense. “Saying things like that… it almost sounds like you wish I’d still treat you the way I did when I was young. That way you could hide your own unease,” he drawled. “You’re not older than me anymore, Dante.”

The man narrowed his eyes. Once Vergil had needed to look up to meet his gaze; now their eyes were level. “You were cuter back then, Vergil. Now you’re just a boring old man,” he said finally, in a tone that reminded Vergil of his own brother. And that usually meant Vergil had hit the mark.

“Thank you,” Vergil replied, taking the insult as praise.

Then they fell silent—a comfortable silence. Vergil and this Dante knew each other well. Even after more than ten years apart, Vergil quickly found their old rhythm again. Years ago, they’d often spent nights and rainy days in similar quiet. At first it had felt like torture; gradually, it became a kind of solace.

A bad‑influence friend—that was how Vergil thought of this Dante, because the man always showed up alongside the things Vergil hated most, like a walking bad omen. And then, somehow, this Dante would become the brightest thing in that heap of worst‑case scenarios, as if by design.

But Vergil knew no Dante had that kind of foresight; his brother was, after all, a collection of foolish impulses. “……” Just like now—mid‑stride, the older man suddenly stopped and frowned, looking toward Vergil’s home as if sensing something. “You have a little lover?”

“……” That mouth never spares a decent word. Time had passed, yet Vergil still wanted to hit him. “You may refer to him as ‘my Dante,’” Vergil said, his expression softening slightly at the mention.

The man turned and stared blankly at Vergil for a long moment, that deep, inscrutable emotion swirling in his eyes again. No hostility, no anger, no joy—just… an abyss. You could read anything you wanted into an abyss, and in return, it would never give you an answer.

“Good god, Vergil,” the man said after a pause, his voice dipping into sarcasm. “I didn’t know you’d started collecting garbage. The toxic kind, at that.”

Vergil had had enough. Out of all the Dantes and Vergils, this one was still the most infuriating—the type you had to put in his place or he’d tear the roof off. So Vergil drove an elbow hard into his stomach, and as the man doubled over coughing, followed up with a sharp chop to the back of his neck. Smooth, instinctive—muscle memory.

“One more chance,” Vergil said coldly, the familiarity of it all rushing back. “Think carefully before you speak again.”

The Dante clutched his head and retreated several steps, head bowed. And Vergil realized—he was laughing.

***

He had once been locked by Vergil in the attic of a private club.

This Dante was… lazy, that was the only word Vergil could find. He seemed to care little about anything, and Vergil had never seen him actually step in to solve a problem. He never explained why he’d come, nor did he show much interest in returning. He simply existed there, interacting with Vergil occasionally, but more often staying silent, sharing the same tainted, dimly lit fate within those spacious, oppressive walls.

Their conflict was one‑sided. “I don’t interfere with other universes,” Dante had explained with a shrug back then, irritating Vergil for no clear reason. How ironic—Vergil had once tried so hard to keep his own brother out of his affairs, yet when this Dante truly stepped back, it felt even worse.

A cold, sharp fire burned in Vergil’s chest. Staring at that face so like his brother’s, he was forced to accept once more that the one who belonged to him was never coming back—no matter how similar this Dante appeared, the soul within would always be different. Perhaps that was what the other was thinking, too: if Vergil wanted anything from him, all he’d receive was emptiness.

He was wrong. Vergil didn’t want anything. “Lock him up,” Vergil ordered finally, and the lackeys nearby complied. “Nail the windows shut, too. No one enters or leaves that room without my permission.”

“You don’t really think you can keep me locked up, do you?” Dante raised an eyebrow, slouching lazily in the office chair with his legs propped up. “Just saying—in the games, I’m the kind who beats everyone.”

No. This is a warning to myself. Vergil didn’t answer. He turned and walked away, the sound of his leather shoes fading with him around the corner of the attic stairs.

The rainy season never truly passed; the sky always hung heavy, as if ready to collapse.

Dante was rebellious by nature—always, in every world. The more you tried to control him, the more he’d defy you. That was probably why they ended up meeting more often later on. Fortunately, the man never truly disturbed him. Though he could be annoyingly persistent, when Vergil was busy, Dante would just watch from a distance, never actually intervening.

Back then, Vergil didn’t want to know what it meant, nor did he have time for other people’s thoughts. Looking back now, those busy, shadowed days have mostly blurred. What Vergil still remembers clearly is the sight of this man asleep by the door late at night: brows furrowed, hair tousled across his forehead. In the deep silence, Dante was the only one waiting there.

Vergil raised an eyebrow at him, watching as Dante casually smoothed his hair, still grinning. “A bar? Take your pick,” the man said once he’d finished laughing. “But I’m not going back with you. Meeting another version of myself isn’t exactly fun.”

True. Given how sensitive the Dante at home could be, it was better to avoid complications. “A café,” Vergil said, changing direction, pleased to hear a frustrated groan behind him.

“Seriously,” Dante began as they entered the café—drawing several glances, though he paid them no mind—and leaned his sword against the table. He could have easily stored it away. Vergil watched his ambiguous gestures with a raised brow. “That Dante of yours is no good. You know that, right?”

“I know my own business better than you do.” He’d heard enough warnings to be thoroughly tired of them. “I believe he deserves a second chance. That’s enough.”

“Hmm…” Dante propped his chin on his hand, staring intently at Vergil, completely ignoring the server. Vergil ordered for himself and added some desserts for the older man. After so many years apart, there was no need to make things unpleasant over small things. “…Hearing that from you is something new. What happened?”

“It’s a long story. Want to hear it?”

“No.” Dante answered without hesitation, just as Vergil expected. Dante wasn’t a listener, and Vergil was no storyteller. In any world, the two brothers were more inclined to bury the truth in their hearts.

Another stretch of quiet followed. Vergil opened his phone and began handling work matters. Dante just kept watching him, lost in thoughts. The gaze didn’t make Vergil uncomfortable; instead, it felt familiar, as if it were meant to be this way. The man could be unbearably noisy, but whenever Vergil had to focus, he’d grow completely still, just watching—Vergil would probably never understand the point of it.

“Time really flows differently between universes,” Dante said at last. “Feels like no time has passed to me, but over a decade has gone by for you.”

Vergil’s fingers paused over his screen. He caught the implication. He had to admit—the relationship between him and this Dante had always been like this: violent, vivid, dark, yet threaded with a peculiar intimacy, like a summer that could kill. Suddenly, he understood the meaning behind all of Dante’s actions from the very beginning.

“………” Vergil took a sip of his coffee. Iced, cool and bitter. “Devil May Cry 5 has been out for a while. I’ve read about the ending—it really is as they say. You just need a little patience.”

Dante shrugged and took a bite of strawberry cake. Vergil knew he wasn’t listening at all.

***

The closest he and this Dante ever came was after the final showdown. Once the dust had settled, when Vergil had finally dismantled Mundus’s entire organization at the cost of his family, his love, and the first half of his own life.

His vision swam red. Lost in vengeance, he had lost his direction, his sense of self, until the man who was always by his side—and always provoking him—spoke up. Those words sounded both long‑prepared and utterly spur‑of‑the‑moment. With Dante, you could never tell whether it was premeditated or a whim.

But that was just how he was. Quiet and sharp, like an arrow piercing straight through Vergil’s chest. Until that moment, Vergil had never truly connected this older man with his own brother. Yet right then, it felt as if his brother had returned—as if all of this were some poorly written, tedious story his brother had concocted. And now, he intended to write the final chapter.

Vergil didn’t cry. He was exhausted. The gun slipped from his blood‑slicked hand and clattered to the floor, the sound swallowed by the silence. In that moment, he was utterly undone—and utterly redeemed.

The older man caught him in his arms. His chest was broad, warm, like a harbor abandoned long ago. Vergil trembled faintly. He closed his eyes and allowed himself this moment.

The older man’s hand moved gently over Vergil’s back, then his neck, finally cupping his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw over and over. Vergil permitted the intimacy. He even thought that if he hadn’t opened his eyes just then, he might have allowed whatever came next.

But Vergil did open his eyes. He saw Dante’s gaze up close. This man was different from the lively, bright‑eyed youth in Vergil’s memory—he was mature, edged with a roguish weariness. Those eyes no longer shone with untamed light; instead, they were scored with scars. And in them now was a silent question.

Fingers brushed Vergil’s lips. Dante’s thumb stroked the curve of his mouth, expectation plain in his eyes. Vergil neither consented nor refused—so Dante leaned in, intending to kiss him.

No. At the last second, Vergil turned his head away, fists clenched tight.

No, it was too soon. His brother’s body was still not yet cold. No, there was still too much left undone. No, if this was one of his brother’s stories, Vergil would never play the compliant role.

Vergil expected Dante to take what he wanted regardless—after all, Dante had always been like that, his brother had always been like that. They hurt each other, pierced each other’s hearts; what one wanted, the other would withhold. Vergil thought that would never change.

But the older man simply drew back. He settled for kissing the corner of Vergil’s mouth instead. This time, Vergil just sank into his embrace. He was too tired, so just this once, he decided to let himself have this. Besides, Dante really was warm.

Back then, Vergil truly believed this older man would stay with him until the very end.

Then another traveler arrived and told them that the older man’s brother wasn’t dead after all. At the end of that story, he would return to his side. Dante should be ready.

“Don’t keep him waiting too long,” the traveler said before leaving. The man’s expression turned thoughtful as he stared at the younger Vergil. An awkward silence hung between them, as if neither had seen this coming.

“……Get lost.” That was the last thing Vergil said to the older man, gun still in hand.

“—Once I go back, I’ll seal off the passage between our universes from my end.”

The man’s voice pulled Vergil back to the present. Vergil paused, surprised, and looked at him. The older man showed no particular expression as he said it; his tone was steady, as though he hadn’t just made a big decision on the spur of the moment.

Why bother? It’s not like I can go to your side anyway. But Vergil didn’t say it aloud. He understood what it meant. Just like when he’d locked him in the attic, the gesture carried the same meaning. The two of them always circled each other this way—like summer and winter.

“You and your Vergil can come visit later. I’d welcome you,” Vergil said evenly.

The older man snorted. “By then you’ll probably be long gone, ashes and all. Let’s hope your Dante doesn’t get emotional and start trying to destroy worlds again—I’d be more than happy to put him in his place.”

Vergil narrowed his eyes, glaring at him with clear displeasure. The man seemed to realize he’d overstepped; he turned away and stuffed another forkful of strawberry cake into his mouth.

***

“Don’t get me wrong. What I really meant to say is…” As the portal shimmered open, the man turned back to Vergil. “I’m glad you found a new life.”

The wind from the passageway stirred his clothes and caught his silver hair, scattering flecks of blue light around him. Vergil’s chest tightened at the words. He met Dante’s gaze, taking in the weary lines on that lazy, mature face. For a moment, Vergil almost changed his mind—he wanted to hear this Dante’s story, if the man was willing to tell it.

“When I first came here, I thought there was no one in any world more broken than you.” The Yamato in Dante’s hand dissolved into the air. “Back then I figured putting you back together was probably impossible. But you always find a way, don’t you, Vergil? Of course you would.”

It was you. Vergil couldn’t tell him that—Dante would get unbearably smug. But that didn’t make it any less true.

“Don’t get me wrong, either.” Since this was likely goodbye, Vergil spoke anyway. He had little to give in return, only words. “By all logic, there was no reason for you to return.”

The older man let out a soft, amused snort. “Wow, Vergil. Not much experience with relationship, huh?” He planted his sword beside him and raised an eyebrow. “You should avoid saying vague things like that—didn’t think you’d turn out to be such a heartbreaker.”

Here we go again. Vergil sighed. “According to game lore, you’re still a virgin,” He said flatly.

“Not everyone can handle my kind of passion,” Dante retorted, puffing out his chest theatrically. The man really was as stubborn as all his brothers when it came to pride. Vergil watched him, expression unchanging. “Alright then—farewell hug!”

Dante grinned like a sunflower again, arms spread wide in invitation. Vergil wrinkled his nose in distaste, yet somehow didn’t refuse. One last embrace—fine, let him have it. He allowed Dante to pull him close, enveloped in a warmth that felt exactly as he remembered.

The man kissed Vergil’s forehead. Vergil didn’t protest—but he hadn’t expected Dante to press further. This time, Dante didn’t ask permission. He simply captured Vergil’s mouth, one hand cradling the back of his head, and kissed him deeply. Vergil’s eyes widened.

Vergil fought back fiercely, but Dante used his demonic power to hold him in place. The kiss wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either—it carried that uniquely Dante blend of willfulness, as if collecting on a debt Vergil had owed him for years. As though he’d always thought there would be more time, and now decided the debt had come due.

“Tell your Dante,” the man murmured against Vergil’s lips as he finally drew back, “no matter what he thinks he’s won, I’m the one who keeps the darkest, most precious parts of you. He’ll never have them. Not in this lifetime.”

“Get lost.” Vergil shoved him away, teeth clenched, already drawing his gun and loading it. He fired several rounds toward the man’s head and heart. Why did he always manage to stir up this rage? Vergil wiped his mouth, hand trembling faintly around the weapon.

The man staggered back, hand pressed to his chest, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “You always say that.” Dante stepped one foot into the glowing portal. “I won’t seal the passage,” he added, while Vergil still burned with fury at his own lapse. “That one of yours really is dangerous. If anything urgent happens… I’ll be able to get here in time.”

Then the older man was gone, leaving Vergil alone, glaring fiercely at the empty space where he’d stood. Dusk was approaching; the sunset painted streaks of red and gold across the sky like wildfire, burning into the blue.

I really do hate summer the most, Vergil thought bitterly.

***

Vergil returned home in a foul mood. He kept rubbing his mouth, his heart beating in an uncomfortable, unsteady rhythm. Foolishness. It had been a long time since he’d lost composure like that. Vergil bit his lip, restless and unsettled, as if walking on shifting clouds—a feeling he detested.

As soon as he stepped inside, he saw his Dante. Dante always came to greet him at the door, and today was no exception. Seeing the light in Dante’s eyes, Vergil calmed almost immediately. He was home. His heart knew it.

“Did a traveler come today? I caught his scent with you all afternoon,” Dante said. Of course he would know. “You should have brought him home.”

“Next time, I will.” Vergil meant it—he had no desire to be alone with any other Dante for a while.

Then, as usual, Dante leaned in for the light kiss they exchanged each time Vergil returned. It was their way of greeting, a reassurance both of them needed after everything they’d been through—a way to confirm the other was still there. Today, however, it became a disaster.

Dante stopped short, his brow furrowing instantly. Even Vergil, who couldn’t sense demonic energy, felt the atmosphere shift sharply. When Dante chose to, he could radiate an oppressive, almost infernal pressure. He withdrew into himself at once, pupils slitting like a beast’s as he stared at Vergil, his expression growing distant and cold.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Vergil said, still irritated himself. Dante wouldn’t want to pick a fight with him now. “I wanted to kill him too.”

“Dante.” Dante turned and moved toward the door, but Vergil caught his arm, knowing exactly what his partner intended. When Vergil said things like that, it was often just a turn of phrase—but Dante could make it literal. Vergil didn’t want this to escalate; it was foolish, and besides, he preferred to handle his own problems.

“Dante,” he warned again.

Dante looked back, meeting Vergil’s eyes. Lately, Vergil had seldom seen this side of him—the hidden, dark, violent side that made others wary. Dante had been gentle recently, resolving daily issues calmly, but clearly, he had a breaking point.

Finally, Dante slammed the door shut with a force that cracked the frame. Before Vergil could even relax, he was pinned against the door, the impact sharp enough to make him gasp and struggle instinctively.

Dante gave him no chance. He captured Vergil’s lips and kissed him deeply—unyielding, commanding, like a general claiming conquered ground. He tasted every part of Vergil’s mouth, reclaiming each inch, covering another’s trace with his own. Dante’s anger and possessiveness burned through the kiss, and when blood welled between them, it felt more like he wanted to devour Vergil whole.

Vergil didn’t mind the roughness so much, but he was running out of air. He didn’t have Dante’s stamina; kissed with such intensity, his body began to protest. He couldn’t push Dante away, trapped in the narrow space with nowhere to escape. Having a partner this energetic and overpowering came with its own challenges… In the end, Vergil had to slam his hand against the back of Dante’s neck with all his strength, just to make him stop.

But Dante didn’t stop. He gripped Vergil’s waist and drove the kiss deeper, ruthless, until Vergil’s mouth was bruised and bleeding. Vergil was choking—for how long, he couldn’t tell—until his vision began to darken at the edges. He didn’t even know when Dante finally released him.

Coughing, Vergil steadied himself, blood trickling from his lips. He gasped for air, taking a long moment before the world came back into focus.

Dante had returned to his usual self—he looked horrified, holding Vergil like a dog that knew it had done wrong. He fumbled helplessly, unsure what to do. After all, his talents lay in destruction, not repair.

“I’m sorry,” Dante apologized. His Dante was, as always, awkward, unable to find better words.

They really were two of a kind… Exhausted, Vergil pushed Dante aside and walked to the living room, still breathing unevenly as he sank onto the sofa. He was forty; he couldn’t handle too much strain. While he could manage ordinary human affairs with ease, a half‑demon was like a problem outside the syllabus. For a moment, he wished he had a real Yamato of his own.

Dante followed. While Vergil recovered, he sat by his feet, leaning against him—a silent apology. Vergil was grateful he didn’t offer endless excuses or explanations; that was one of his Dante’s best traits. Vergil focused on steadying his breath, settling his thoughts. The two of them stayed like that, quiet together, waiting for night to fall.

The sun vanished. No lights were on inside, and the deepening darkness gradually soothed Vergil. He could still feel warmth against his leg—a different kind of warmth, but one that reminded him why he’d chosen this man.

“You almost killed me,” Vergil said finally, his tone no longer angry, but not warm either—just stating a fact.

Hearing his voice, Dante sat up and touched Vergil’s cheek. Vergil allowed it, understanding that Dante just needed reassurance. Still, his reaction had been too extreme.

“I was just trying to hold on to you,” Dante said, his voice careful, tinged with remorse. Vergil could tell he was truly reflecting. “…I didn’t know how.”

“Have a little more confidence in yourself,” Vergil replied, a trace of impatience cooling his words. “Or in me.”

Dante fell silent. He combed his fingers through Vergil’s hair, slow and gentle, full of feeling—just like the care he poured into this relationship. Giving everything, yet handling it with caution, because this was his last chance. Vergil admired that effort; it was why, despite all the warnings, he’d chosen to stay.

No, enough of noble justifications. Vergil stayed because he wanted to. Because Dante had saved him, too. Along the way, some had shattered him, others had pieced him back together—and this one, this one had brought him back to life.

So Vergil took Dante’s hand, leaned down, and murmured close to him. “One more chance,” Vergil said at last, his voice softening. “Think twice. Make sure you know what you're doing.”

Dante smiled. In the moonlight, he cradled Vergil’s face, and they drew close again.

Chapter Text

What right do you have to forgive me?

>>>>>> 

At first, everything was simple.

Dante’s wishes were simple too. No—looking back, they were actually many and heavy, though he hadn’t realized it at the time. Like a child daydreaming, he believed that with a wave of his hand, every wish would be granted, every mistake mended. After all, he was Dante, wasn’t he? Nothing was beyond him; his shitty brother’s curse wouldn’t come true.

Just fix the mistake, right? He’d lived through it; he knew where things had gone wrong. So Dante, full of confidence, told the truth to another version of himself in another world, and together they figured out how to stop the tragedy from unfolding. Dante worked hard, bustling back and forth. He wanted a happy ending. He wanted to prove his brother wrong—that bastard had it coming.

“Thank you,” the other version of himself told him. The ending was perfect: lovers reunited, no lingering pain or torment in sight. See, brother? It could have been this beautiful. You lost.

But as Dante looked at that familiar face, after the satisfaction of winning faded, a hollow sense of loss settled in.

Naively, Dante thought he could stay. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” The other Dante leveled Rebellion at him, shielding Vergil behind him. “I’m not the sharing type, you know? Back off. It’d be pretty ridiculous if we ended up fighting.”

Dante stared, wide‑eyed. “Don’t call me ungrateful—there are plenty of ways I could repay you,” the other continued, voice dripping with a proprietor’s pride. “But not this one.”

The wedding gown he’d painstakingly woven was for someone else, Dante realized—and in that moment, the distance between them yawned wide. The two before him were fated, belonging to each other, while he was just an outsider, a miscalculation that shouldn’t exist.

Vergil watched him, expressionless. He was just another Dante—and not the one who belonged to Vergil.

You got the happy ending you wanted. Now, it’s time for you to leave. Dante could almost hear them whispering it in their hearts.

>>>>>> 

What am I doing? What’s the point of all this? Dante watched another pair reconcile and unite, his own face numb. He had helped them—same process, same story, even the same words, the same expressions. Dante could recite it all by heart now.

Another Dante and Vergil had made peace, accepted each other. But what did that have to do with him?

Yet Dante still clung to a sliver of hope—he always did (back then, it drove him forward; later, it became the only reason he hadn’t ended this farce of a life). He began hinting, or stating outright in each new universe that he wanted to stay—a wanderer seeking a new home.

Hint too subtly, and they didn’t understand; state it too plainly, and they resented it. Dante kept searching for the right balance.

Some versions of himself were all bravado at first. “You want Vergil? Jesus, are you out of your mind? Ha! Take him then—I don’t care who he screws around with, as long as he doesn’t start trouble.” Dante heard that line too many times. At that age, they were all like that—proud, untamed, youthful, bound by nothing and no one.

Without exception, every one of them later denied ever saying it.

Some Vergils were indifferent. “Do as you please. I don’t care.” More demon than human, they had little regard for human ethics. One Dante or two—what did it matter? They were all his brothers, or so the Vergils claimed. How hard could it be to let a wanderer stay?

But it turned out to be immensely hard. They lived, they coexisted, and then conflict arose. Dante was never the one favored—how could he be? He was the wanderer, the outsider, the refugee. He should be grateful just to be allowed to stay, not ask for anything more. To do so would be pushing his luck.

“Know your place, outsider,” Vergil would warn when clashes broke out between the Dantes. “This fighting between the two of you is absurd. If you disrupt my peace again, you’ll be the first to go.”

He never bothered figuring out who started it or who was to blame. Vergil’s answer was always the same.

Why should he endure such humiliation? The young, hot-blooded Dante couldn't stand such discrimination and exclusion. He didn't have to be here; he didn't need them. He would leave without a second thought, cold hatred simmering within, thinking those two would live to regret it. After all, without him, how could they have come together so easily in the first place?

Until across too many universes, too many failures and too much emptiness, Dante's ambition shrank to just wanting a place to sleep where Vergil rested. When edges are ground down by reality, boundaries are crossed accordingly, until there are no boundaries left. He swallowed his pride, avoided all conflict with the other self, and resigned himself to second place.

'Know your place'—just like Vergil said. In the end, Dante truly did.

But did that get him what he wanted? The other self would never let it go. Dante understood—he'd have done the same. The Dantes lived for the game, for the sharp, hostile banter, never shying from a fight. And he was always facing the young ones, the ones who'd never agree to share.

How pathetic. He was being suffocated by his own reflection.

And Vergil never chose him, never sided with him. No matter how low Dante bowed, how perfectly he tried to mold himself into something Vergil might want, Vergil never moved him up the ranks.

["Remember that fire, little brother? Remember? I died, and then…" His brother smiled as life left him—a smile full of vengeance.]

Blood spray. Dante snapped back. He saw the body.

Vergil held Yamato toward him.

["Your turn."]

"You said… it didn't matter. One Dante or two." Dante finally said it one day, clutching that last, foolish hope, shaking head to toe. Soaked in his own blood, his mind crumbling. "I'm a Dante too, Vergil? So keeping just me… wouldn't matter either, right?"

Vergil ran him through like he meant to kill him. And given the chance, he would have. No hesitation. What a lie—that it didn’t matter which Dante. How stupid he'd been to believe Vergil's words. How could I have been so naive?

He saw his brother—demonic sigils swarming across his skin, devil's eyes burning back at him. This brother, resurrected time after time, Yamato singing in response to his will, tearing the world to shreds. Madness was a blade that pierced the soul. It had claimed his brother once. Now, it claimed Dante, too.

Dante held the corpse, his fingers moving numbly over Vergil’s cold cheek. That’s two, he counted in the silence of his mind. It was just a number now.

The understanding dawned on Dante then—the curse his brother had breathed with his last smile was not for another tale, nor another soul. It was forged for one Dante. His own.

Your turn, brother. Welcome to the hell made just for you.

>>>>>> 

This was where the descent into darkness began. It was as if Dante had bought a one-way ticket straight to hell—express, non-stop, past the point of no return.

Dante had lost all trust—in himself, in Vergil. None of them could be believed. They spoke pretty words, but each one was selfish to the core. Generosity and kindness had never been in their nature, and Dante was done helping any of them.

But he had to prove his own brother wrong. On this, he would never compromise. The image of his brother’s dying smile, that taunting curve of the lips, spun relentlessly in Dante’s mind. Your turn, he heard his brother say again and again. Your turn, Dante. You killed me, and now that fire will burn you to ash.

Didn’t you deserve to die? Dante screamed back at him in his head. Didn’t you deserve judgment? You committed every sin, and now you dare demand justice from me? Force me to take the punishment? No, Vergil. You’re wrong. I killed you, and I was right to do it.

I wasn’t wrong. You were. Not me.

Dante had to succeed, if only to shame his brother. He would find a Vergil, win his devotion, and claim everything that was his. Dante knew the stories inside out now; he understood Vergil better than Vergil understood himself. How hard could it be? Just watch from hell, Vergil. Let’s see which of us turns to ash first.

So in the next world, he started by killing his own reflection. Less trouble this way, Dante thought coldly, wiping blood from his cheek. He knew his own nature too well—even kindness would only be repaid with betrayal.

“He… was killed. I didn’t make it in time.” He lied to Vergil, voice earnest and pained. “I came to this universe specifically to prevent this. But I still failed.”

He led Vergil to the scene. The body had already turned to dust, leaving only a dark stain of blood. Vergil’s expression was solemn. He crouched down, stretched out a slender hand, and spread his fingers over the bloodied earth. His face was unreadable, eyes half-lidded, but Dante recognized it—this was how Vergil grieved.

“Fool,” Vergil murmured, his voice cold and sorrowful. “Killed by some nameless demon, a meaningless death. How fitting for you.”

“I’ll keep investigating this,” Dante said from beside him. “This thing has been jumping through universes. If we don’t stop it, more will get hurt.”

Vergil looked up at him, his expression inscrutable. Dante thought of what Vergil should have been doing instead and spoke again. “I’d advise against unsealing Father’s power. Nothing good will come of it.” Vergil glanced at him once more. “Believe me. I’ve seen how it ends.”

Kill the original one, take his place. Simple logic. Whether Vergil chose to hunt his brother’s killer or stubbornly raise the tower again, it’s still under Dante’s control. It should be easy. Winning Vergil over should be easy—a game of emotion. Watching Vergil’s retreating back, a deep, rolling darkness churned in Dante’s chest.

If that was so, then the pain he felt—was it just because he hated losing? At the story’s end, when Vergil raised Yamato toward him once more, even before the blade struck, Dante felt wounded. Lacerated. Flayed.

They had kissed just the day before. Vergil’s lips had been cool, carrying the cold tang of blood.

“Whatever your purpose,” Vergil’s body was tensed, on the edge of transformation, fury making his blue aura burn like flame, “this meaningless charade is exactly something you would do.”

Dante spread his hands, unaware how twisted his smile had become. “Don’t want to play anymore, Vergil?” He laughed, spinning his Rebellion. “Come on! It’s not like you ever cared how I felt. Why should it matter whether I’m this world’s Dante or not?”

Vergil leveled summoned swords at him. “You disgust me,” he said, the last words before he attacked. “As always.”

Ah, I forgot to ask how he figured it out. When the fight was over, Dante looked down at Vergil's lifeless face on the ground. The thought came to him, distant and blank.

It was raining. Dante stared for a long time at the blue coat on the wet earth, wondering which step had given him away. It didn’t matter. Next time, I would be more careful. Next time would be better.

It was fine. It would be all fine.

The rain kept falling. Dante bent down, and picked up the broken Yamato.

>>>>>> 

Vergils always found out what he had done. It might have been a kind of gift.

They never told Dante how they knew, so he could only keep trying, treading carefully, every step a struggle. It didn’t matter. He had all the time and chances in the worlds.

Was it because he wasn’t sincere enough? Because they could sense his love was a template—say certain words, make certain moves, get certain reactions? Probably. This was a game, after all, and Dante had no intention of giving his heart away anymore. That was the only part of him that didn’t heal instantly, and it hurt like hell every single time.

You never deserved my love anyway, Vergil, Dante thought. Maybe those Vergils had sensed that distrust, that distance, and that was how they knew.

So in the next world, Dante arrived a little earlier. The brothers had been separated for years, only reuniting on one specific day. What if the original one simply vanished before then? If Vergil simply believed Dante was his brother from the start, things would be much simpler.

Dante stood before a mirror, studying his hair, trimming it. Over the years, he’d changed his style and clothes so many times he’d almost forgotten what he used to look like. Luckily, the Dante of this universe was still breathing beside him. Dante had kept him alive for reference, striving for a perfect match.

Age had left its mark on Dante’s face, but it didn’t matter. A half-demon’s healing was strong—it just took more energy. He worked at it for a long time until the two were nearly identical. Satisfied, Dante pulled on the younger man’s coat, giving the gun strap a final, familiar tug. Snap. Now he was officially his former self.

Dante grabbed the youth by the hair, lifting his bloodied face to the mirror for a final check. They looked almost the same, but Dante noticed their eyes and bearing were completely different. The young one’s gaze still held a fiery light, while his own blue eyes were frighteningly dull. This unchangeable difference unsettled him. He let go, and the young man slumped like a discarded doll.

“Whoever you’re trying to please,” the youth said with a weak, bloody smile, “it won’t work.”

Dante hated people who talked more than he did. He delivered the final blow, watched coldly as the body turned to ash, then turned back to the mirror to finish adjusting his appearance.

Alright. A fresh start. Complete immersion. This Vergil is your brother now. It will work if everything goes smoothly. Dante patted his own cheeks, a last pep talk before the show.

At first, it was perfect. Dante mended every rift, corrected every mistake. He even offered the amulet to Vergil willingly. “I want revenge for Mother too,” Dante said sweetly, urging his brother on. “When you fight Mundus, I’ll be right there with you. Wouldn’t want to miss a battle like that.”

Vergil was clearly encouraged. Even if he didn’t show it, Dante could read the satisfaction in his moves. “I’m glad we agree,” Vergil said, taking the amulet and cradling it like a treasure. “It seems all those years on your own have made you a little wiser.”

“Hey, why not call it twin intuition?” Dante tilted his head, beaming at Vergil. “I knew you couldn’t be dead. I’m really glad you came for me.”

Dante got his wish. They were a perfectly happy pair. Dante could almost see Vergil, day by day, holding his heart a little closer, until it was right there in front of him. I am yours, that heart seemed to whisper. Now give me yours.

What surprised Dante was that when he won this game, he didn’t feel like he had beaten Vergil. Instead, he found himself opening his own heart, giving it to Vergil after all. Because this would be his new home. He would stay by this Vergil’s side forever. That was enough. His journey was over.

The victory was meaningless. Having Vergil with him was enough.

But it wasn’t. Because what is built on lies must one day fall apart. And the truth was, Dante didn’t agree with Vergil’s beliefs, didn’t like his values, and didn’t understand his obsessions. He was just an actor, layering on makeup and costumes, playing the perfect brother on stage for Vergil. That was fine, if all he wanted was to please Vergil. But it wasn’t fine, if he wanted more.

One problem led to another, one friction to the next, until Vergil discovered the truth. Discovered how violent and cold Dante was, and the fact that he had killed his own brother.

Before the final conflict, Dante still clung to hope, because they had loved each other so much. Maybe Vergil would forgive him, and he would devote everything he had to making it right. Wasn’t Vergil the reason he had done all this in the first place?

“No.” Vergil’s voice was cold. Dante saw the hurt in this Vergil’s eyes. “You did it for yourself.”

Dante’s blood ran cold.

“Jumping through worlds, disrupting the order of other universes,” Vergil drew his blade, his voice icy and sharp. “You can go on hating any one of us. But remember this—the most selfish one here is you.”

“Go to hell, you filthy scum.” The fight began. Dante didn’t dodge the first strike. Yamato pierced his heart, and blood spilled freely.

If he just took it, silently, would this Vergil finally soften? Dante would never know. Because when love turns to disappointment and hate, it burns fiercer and destroys more completely than any other feeling. Dante knelt on the ground, gathering Vergil’s corpse into his arms once more. Yamato clattered to the ground, the sound of broken metal.

Dante didn’t cry. He felt nothing. Instead, he just looked at Vergil’s face, feeling that familiar blankness. It was as if someone had ripped his emotions right out of him, simply because he could no longer bear them.

[“Your turn, brother.”]

Dante bent forward, his whole body beginning to shake. Because he had realized a fact, raw and bloody: his brother had been right, and Dante had to pay the price. He had killed his own brother, and no matter how hard he tried, he would always return to this moment, sooner or later.

The weight in his arms dissolved into the wind. Dante curled in on himself, feeling hollow, utterly unmoored.

>>>>>> 

He was an outcast in every world, a criminal whose sins were too many to name.

Dante had killed too many. The scent of blood clung to him, inseparable, mingled with the traces of aura from countless Vergils and Dantes. And from absorbing so much power, he had become a behemoth whose mere presence rang like an alarm. Even mindless lesser demons knew better than to cross his path, falling silent and scattering at his approach.

What followed was endless silence. Dante noticed the world around him growing still and lonely, and he himself grew quiet. No opponent, whoever they were, could come close to matching him anymore. His very blood was heavy with countless crimes—a weight no one else could bear.

He was also an outcast in Vergils’ eyes. There would be no more Vergils left to deceive, not even for a moment. He didn’t need to speak or even approach—Yamato was already waiting for him. Every time, without fail, the hostility and unfamiliarity in Vergil’s gaze still made his heart tremble.

“I’ll stay right here,” Dante would explain quickly. He stood his ground; worlds and broken bonds lay between them. “I won’t come closer.”

“Get lost, intruder.” Vergil’s voice was ice, all his power gathered at the tip of his blade in a cold, glowing blue.

“……Alright.” Dante lowered his eyes, accepting the accusation. He had no right to argue. “I just wanted to see you. I won’t do anything.”

Vergil glanced at him strangely, as if he were some kind of monster. On the other hand, the weight of so much death was crushing Dante’s sanity. He knew how pitiful he looked, but he needed to know Vergil was still alive, to see him just a few more times—even if it was all a pathetic lie.

Vergil chose to attack first. Dante retreated again and again, refusing to fight back. Without lifting a hand, he fled like a beaten dog, running until he could no longer sense Vergil’s presence. Huddled in some corner, he trembled, breath shaking, fear gripping him so completely he could barely think straight.

He could feel himself slipping.

Every Vergil rejected him, until Dante arrived in a new universe. “I know you. Your reputation precedes you.” This Vergil sat upon a throne, looking down at him with a cold smile. “You’ve become quite infamous lately. I must admit, I’m surprised. To think there could be a Dante so… demonic. Your brother must be proud to have you.”

“My pathetic brother refuses my kingdom,” the Demon King said bluntly, extending a clawed hand toward Dante. “Kill him, and I am yours. What do you say?”

Dante agreed. He felt something inside him grow brittle—the spirited youth he had once been was long gone. The moment he killed the other Dante, he looked back at Vergil. The Demon King stood above him, clad in a regal mantle, smiling down. That smile chilled Dante to the bone.

If all Dante wanted was companionship in bed, this King would have granted every desire. This wicked Vergil cared for nothing, and in fact, he praised Dante’s history, calling him the perfect brother. With nowhere else to go, Dante followed the Demon King from battle to battle, like a shadow or a servant.

The dragon-slayer had become the dragon itself. There was no more bitter irony than that.

If only that was all Dante wanted. “What do you think you’re doing?” Dante’s voice was low and cold, his eyes narrowed. Before him, Vergil lay half-dressed with a stranger—a demon of considerable power, but still no match for Dante. A cold, sharp fury smoldered in Dante’s chest, tightening his throat.

Vergil looked over, then raised a brow. “What an unpleasant expression, brother.” The word sent a wave of nausea through Dante. “You were always the one seeking novelty when we were young. You’re free to do the same. It makes no difference to me.”

“What does any of this mean to you?” Dante asked coldly, storm clouds gathering in his blue eyes.

Vergil let out a low laugh and sat up. “…You ask for so much. To be loved, and to be the only one.” He walked over to Dante, a clawed finger dragging down his cheek, opening a thin line of blood. “You aim so high. Won't you shatter when you fall?”

“When you’re nothing but unwanted… trash.”

Their eyes met. Dante saw the faint glow of a beast’s pupils in Vergil’s gaze—a warning. Dante’s demon side understood the King’s meaning. He had overstepped. He was asking for something Vergil would not, and could not, give him.

“Power is the only truth that matters, brother. You let yourself be distracted by trivial things.” Vergil turned and walked back to the bed. “Now. Get out of my chambers.”

Their final battle shook the world and ultimately led to its ruin. Vergil died without a word, but the Demon King was smiling, as though the one left behind was the true loser. Dante stared down at him, expressionless, wiping blood from his face, fighting back the overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He knew this scene far too well.

That fire has already burned you to ash, hasn’t it? He could almost hear his own brother whispering, laughing.

>>>>>> 

The years that followed blurred into a hazy, montage-like obscurity for Dante.

It wasn’t that he had gone mad or lost his memory—he was lucid, painfully so. Dante was crazy with a chilling clarity, as if rotting slowly from the inside out, and after all this time, the decay had finally reached his heart.

No Vergil would take him in. Lesser demons kept their distance. Other Dantes looked at him with scorn, as though he were the black sheep, the stain on their name. He’d been hunted, attacked without cause, pursued by more enemies than he could count. Overconfident challengers came one after another, and with each one Dante killed, he grew stronger, until battle lost almost all meaning.

Since Vergil would not accept him willingly, Dante would no longer leave it to choice. In the end, he seized Vergil’s hand and pulled him close, his own expression blank, holding his brother prisoner in the palm of his hand.

What any of it meant, what Dante wanted—none of it mattered anymore. Why was he doing this? To prove himself right? Out of love for Vergil? As revenge against his own brother? It didn’t matter. Why did there need to be a reason? Had all his careful planning, all his grief in the past, ever achieved anything? No. So why should Dante have to justify himself now?

He did it because he wanted to. Because it felt good. Because it staved off the boredom. That was reason enough.

Dante was perfectly lucid, yet his mind remained utterly blank. He acted without thinking. He simply leveraged the vast gap in their power to force Vergil’s compliance, imposing on him whatever Dante decided to give—anything and everything: the routine of days, the demand for emotional access, the taking of the bed…What Vergil felt about it, Dante didn’t truly care. Let him hate. Let him despise him. See if Dante gave a damn.

If Vergil fled, he would be caught. If he refused, he would be forced. If he grew distant, pain would break through. If he sought death? Dante could always find another Vergil. If you want to reunite with your own brother, I won’t stop you.

But Dante could not control his nightmares. None of those other Vergils ever appeared in his dreams. He only dreamed of the one he had truly loved, and of his own brother. He kept dreaming of his brother—whole, in those dreams, but always walking away, his back turned. Dante would reach out, but the distance between them only grew, until Dante fell to the ground.

Please Look back at me. I’m starting to forget your face. That was Dante’s desperate plea in the dream, but his own brother remained as cold as in reality—never stopping, never turning, never answering his longing.

When he woke, Dante’s emotions settled back into that complete blankness. He could no longer even understand what he had felt in the dream. Why cling to the first one? Every Vergil was the same. Thinking this, he reached out. Vergil was there, imprisoned beside his bed, curled as far from Dante as the space allowed.

Every Vergil was the same—selfish, cold, and they would never, ever choose him.

“Want to come up?” The Vergil before him now spoke lightly, a hint of playfulness in his tone. “I could pour you a cup of coffee.”

Dante flinched, caught completely off guard. He stared at the Vergil beneath his blade, unable to believe what he had just heard. Coffee?

This Vergil was smiling at him—a gentle, genuine smile. He wasn’t wearing the familiar blue coat Dante had long grown tired of, and there was no trace of demonic energy around him. Even more startling, his aura held no rejection, no hostility.

What… was he doing? Dante felt a rare flicker of confusion. He hesitated, then lowered his blade, watching Vergil’s utterly baffling behavior. Was he really offering coffee? Vergil drank coffee? Questions piled up in Dante’s mind. Had he come to the wrong world?

“Decided?” Vergil was still smiling as he spoke. He had a beautiful smile. “Do you want to stay here for a while?”

He was… inviting him to stay? Dante was still reeling, yet his heart clenched faintly at that smile. How strange—he was numb to attacks and curses, but a simple, unguarded offer could make him tremble.

“Yes,” Dante finally answered, the word leaving him almost without thought. He had no expectations for this world, no belief that this time would be any different. Apart from that stubborn, lingering shred of hope, Dante had nothing left. But if Vergil spoke to him with that smile, Dante would have done anything he asked.

I can wait until you reject me, Dante thought darkly.

He had no way of knowing what fate would unfold next—all that he stood to lose, all he might gain, and the extraordinary hidden within the ordinary.

>>>>>> 

Dante gasped, jolting awake.

A nightmare. He breathed rapidly, waiting for the familiar dread to pass. He’d dreamed of the past again, but this time the figure being torn apart was his partner. It left him trembling to his core. His fingers had shifted reflexively into claws, cutting into his own palms.

His thoughts were a disordered mess until a hand cupped his cheek, followed by a sleep-blurred voice. “What’s wrong?” Vergil murmured, eyes half-lidded, clearly roused from sleep. He was frowning, but his tone was calm, not angry. Thank whatever gods it’s Sunday, Dante thought vaguely, or he’d be less forgiving.

He looked at Vergil and realized there were no chains, no marks on him. He was even wearing dark blue sleepwear, his hair falling loosely. He wasn’t bound here against his will. Vergil was here because he chose to be.

Dante’s breathing steadied. He retracted his claws. “…Nightmare,” he mumbled, knowing that was explanation enough. Vergil never pressed for details—an unspoken understanding between them. Vergil nodded, reached up to briefly ruffle Dante’s hair, then withdrew, settling back to sleep.

He had no idea what that simple gesture did to Dante. He stared at Vergil’s sleeping face, a familiar flusterrising in his chest.I’ll never get used to this. Dante thought. Did Vergil see him as a child? Why the head pats? Sure, he was technically younger… but still. It was baffling.

Then again, so what? If Vergil wanted to do it, let him. Shifting his focus, Dante looked down at his bloodied hand with a sigh. The wound had already healed, but the blood remained. Better clean up then. He slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, careful not to make a sound. Waking Vergil a second time would likely mean not seeing the morning sun.

…What a strange thought to have. It struck him belatedly as he washed his hands in the bathroom.

Vergil was the last person who could kill him—he didn’t even have demonic power. Yet, for some reason, an angry Vergil felt more terrifying to Dante than any actual threat. He genuinely felt like he might die. God, wasn’t I the one who loved picking fights with my brother? What has this man done to me?

Dante caught his own reflection in the mirror and realized he was smiling—a sickeningly sweet grin that disgusted even himself.

Leaving the bathroom, he paused in the doorway, looking at Vergil in the bed. Standing in the dark, his mind circled back to the nightmare, to those years of darkness, madness, and pain. Remembering it all made his present life feel like a dream. How could someone who had done such things deserve any of this?

Do you have any idea how I’ve hurt you? How I killed you, how coldly I didn’t care? Sometimes Dante desperately wanted to ask Vergil that. You don’t know what I’ve done. What right do you have to say you forgive me?

You don’t know what I am. With that thought, Dante approached the bed. He stopped, then leaned over. His eyes glowed red, wings unfurled behind him as he released his demonic power and aura, watching Vergil for any reaction.

Any demon would tremble at this energy. Half-demons would tense immediately, going on guard. This aura was pure threat, oppression, and the promise of death. I will erase you, it meant, and at this intensity, it usually meant erasing your world along with you.

And yet, look at his partner—sleeping peacefully under that pressure, his breathing unchanged, utterly unconcerned with whatever nonsense Dante was up to now. Even if Dante woke him to explain, he’d probably just get an eye-roll. A soft chuckle escaped Dante. He didn’t know why it was funny, but it indeed was—amusing enough to spark genuine laughter from somewhere deep inside.

Maybe that was what he loved about Vergil—this profound indifference, just as Dante was indifferent to Vergil’s past. It was also why Dante never asked. Because Vergil wouldn’t care. If their positions were reversed, if his partner one day confessed to killing his own brother or something worse, and asked if Dante cared… his answer would be the same.

Why would I care? You’re here, aren’t you? Why should I care about things that have nothing to do with me?

His partner surely felt the same. That trust was absolute. Still smiling, Dante felt the last echoes of the nightmare finally dissolve, fading into the night until not a trace remained.

His chuckle must have disturbed Vergil again, because his eyes snapped open, meeting Dante’s gaze. Dante froze. He hadn’t retracted his wings or power; he was fully in his half-demon form. He hadn’t expected Vergil to wake.

Vergil let out an exasperated sigh. Then—Dante, wanted across universes, destroyer of realms, murderer beyond count, perpetrator of countless sins, heir to Sparda’s overwhelming power—found himself grabbed by the hair and his face unceremoniously shoved into the mattress. Losing his balance, Dante tumbled onto the bed with a yelp, his own wing jabbing painfully into his side.

“Sleep!” Vergil growled.

Told you. Dante immediately complied, burrowing under the covers and pulling Vergil close. Vergil cuffed him on the head again, making Dante’s tongue loll out in a mock wince.

If a reckoning was due one day, then let him fill every present moment with more memories. Dante held Vergil tight, closed his eyes, a faint smile still lingering on his lips.

Because he knew, when he was cast adrift once more, this man would come to him like a white bird, soaring into his dreams to lift him up.

Anecdote:

Just when Dante had convinced himself that no one would ever choose him, Vergil finally took him to meet his colleagues. With utter arrogance, Vergil declared, "This is the one I chose, so he's the best." Dante was so mortified he could have dug a new Devil May Cry office out of the floor with his toes. Fuck, that's so not like Vergil. Someone take him home.

"That's called professional courtesy," Vergil said later, completely deadpan. "Of course I'm going to praise you in public. Praising you is praising my own judgment. I can't believe you have zero social awareness."

"Fine. Next time we have a work dinner, I'll tell everyone you're my simp—that you chased me obsessively and now I'm your sugar daddy—"

Dante practically jumped out of his skin. "I am the one you chose! I'm the best!"

"Took you long enough to admit it," Vergil said, shooting Dante a glare over his coffee.

The man had solved Dante's deepest insecurity in the most unorthodox way possible. Only you, Vergil.