#morrison dmc

If you were to pass by one of the alleys of Red Grave, you would come across quite a sight. From the local businesses to their patrons, this city was full of oddities, ranging from the occult to the supernatural.

Starting with the small corner store, you would be greeted by the apothecary – more than eager to make you buy one of her more expensive tea blends, coming with the promise of good luck. With a bit of luck, you will walk out with at least a couple of tinctures and move further down the alley, only to come across a gun shop. Despite being filled to the brim with various items you would likely see in a film museum, if you were to ask the owner, he would deny any claim about their authenticity. Right next door, with the entrance wide open, likely from the summer heat, was a jewelry store. If you were to walk in with a pretty penny and an eye for precious stones, you might earn yourself a free fortune reading from the owner herself. “Just for show.” She would say, yet with a curious twinkle in her eyes, as you pick one of the cards from the spread.

A couple of ways away, right by the crossroad, was an average second-hand store, with a grumpy, yet well-meaning owner, who did not shy away from offering a discount or a piece of friendly advice if you were new around the place. “Keep inside at night as much as you can ‘round here, there’s plenty of pesky fiends.” He said, more so annoyed, “Always eating my trash.”

“If you see one of those, knock at the guy across from me, the one with the big flashy sign.” The man pointed outside the window towards the building in question, the red neon lights of the sign flashing right above tall oak doors. “He’ll know what to do, likes to take care of those things. He’s a good guy - just plays his damn music loud enough for the entire street to hear every single damn night.”

The “Devil May Cry” sign was a familiar sight for the locals, the owner known for the “special” services he offered, more often than not requiring a password. From afar, its vague name would make you question what they offered. Could it be another store full of oddities, or something more akin to a club or a bar open only at dubious hours, just like the one at the end of the street, Love Planet? It was not possible to tell from the outside, when all the lights inside the establishment lay dimmed at the late hour of the night, only hushed voices were heard from the slightly ajar window.

“Hold up the flashlight higher, Verge, I can’t see anything.”

That evening, the neighborhood was spared of the familiar tune of the bass, and while some people were to get an undisturbed rest that evening, some others were not so lucky. Scattered across the floor of the Devil May Cry office lay what once was Dante’s old trusty jukebox, which stopped working for no apparent reason that afternoon.

One song in and a sharp snap later, the power got cut off.

Twenty years’ worth of jabs, kicks, and unforeseen demon attacks to the poor thing might have finally caught up to it, Morrison joked as he passed by that evening to drop their payments, amused by the sight of the Sparda brothers on the floor, working away at their project like they were running late on a school night. Vergil was neck deep in a repair manual, which looked like it’s seen better days, while Dante was tinkering away at some stray parts, occasionally scratching his head like a monkey.

Now, a couple of hours later, the broker long since left, with the lady of the house gone to sleep, the twins were left to their project, with the promise of keeping quiet.

Vergil, visibly annoyed, could only follow through, but not without a jab towards his brother first, “For how much longer will you keep on looking at it? There is nothing there.” He asked, watching Dante fiddle around with the opened-up power supply for the fifth time that evening, a comically big magnifying glass in his hand.

“Till’ I find what makes it tick and get it started again, obviously.” Dante sighed, more so in defeat, rubbing his eyes as he lay back against the couch.

Vergil flipped another page of the book on his knee before turning back towards his brother.

Although he didn’t want to admit it, if Dante was good at one thing, it was at fixing the oddest of things. After getting a taste of craftsmanship from Nell, Nicoletta’s grandmother, who he used to live with during his teenage years, he’s developed a knack for fixing his own weapons, to later move to things like the broken pipes of the neighbors that somehow started leaking in the office, the fridge, the broken air conditioner of the convenience store, the old radio he sometimes turned on that he found on the side of the road. It was safe to say he was the handyperson of the streets, the man you called when something needed fixing.

Vergil also had his share of experience, picking up various jobs throughout his life. Even if he could not match up with the current technology just yet, Dante’s old jukebox did not fall in that category.

And yet, with both their experience combined, besides a couple of rusty pieces, and some others that needed cleaning from the leakage that built up over time, they were not able to figure out what was wrong with it. He's only agreed to help Dante repair the jukebox so he wouldn’t have to hear his complaints later in the evening, but now he’s too deep in figuring out what was wrong.

“But I don’t get it, we checked everything, multiple times, and changed the battery! And the fuses, right?” Glancing at the open jukebox, then at the clock, Dante nodded his brother towards the stairs. “You should go to sleep, Vergil. I’ll call Nero in the morning to come take a look at it, too.”

“Giving up so easily, Dante?” He teased, yet did not complain as he moved to get up from the floor, joints stiff from sitting for too long, dropping the repair manual on the coffee table. “I thought of you better than that.”

“Figured you might want your beauty sleep and your sleeping beauty. And besides,” Dante reached for the refrigerator door, popping it open to grab a familiar can. “I’ll be here all night, open for business hours.” The man planned to pull an all-nighter regardless of whether they managed to fix the jukebox or not, but now this just gave him something to do to pass the time until the morning hours.

“Suit yourself.” The man in question said, taking one last look at the jukebox, a little intense as if trying to figure out the problem with his eyes, “Don’t wake me up to hold the flashlight for you again. That was pathetic.”

“With a bit of luck, it’s gonna be this baby that wakes your ass up.” Dante gave the case a loving pat before taking a swing out of his drink. “Apologies in advance to the little lady in case I wake her up, I’ll try to set it up on frequencies only you can hear.

“Shut up, Dante.” Said man chuckled, watching his brother walk up the stairs, an equally tired look in his eyes.

“Night to you too, Vergil.”

It was something he did often, even after Vergil came back. The night terrors and conflicting feelings caused by late-night thought hardly left him, haunting his mind until early morning hours, when he managed to catch maybe a wink of sleep before he would be woken again by a phone call.

Another job, another catastrophe waiting to happen, more people to save, yet to lose, come back home, and repeat. His life was repetitive, unchanged, the days blurring into themselves. Things changed ever since more people stepped into his life. He would give his life over and over for them, but no matter how many he was surrounded by, he still felt a gnawing feeling of loneliness he could not help.

Now, without the familiar tunes, he was left in silence. It was one of those nights where all sleep left him. He did not want Vergil to see him like this, despite having done so many times before. The man never questioned it further than what Dante had shared with him during their little vacation down in Hell; he figured Vergil likely didn’t know how, and he didn’t hold it against him. As long as he was there, Dante wasn’t about to ask for anymore out of him.

With each day, Vergil started to look better, more like himself. May it be him finally connecting with his son after months of awkward glances and forced conversations, or the surprising return of his long-lost childhood sweetheart into his life, being the final push towards change for his brother. Dante was proud to see how far his brother had come, with a family he could call his own.

He would never admit it, but Dante was a little jealous of his brother. Vergil never held back on what he truly wished for, whether it was achieving ultimate power, or selfishly loving a human despite his destructive demonic heritage. It made Dante reflect back upon his life, made him wonder if all of his efforts were for anything at all. All the people he’s pushed away, believing it was for their own good, all the relationships he’s ended with a cold shoulder, not thinking of himself as capable or even worthy of such luxury.

Now left alone with his own thoughts, Dante got up from his spot, reaching over to plug in the telephone, glancing over at the envelope with his share of money from Morrison.

If worst came to worst, he would have to replace his dear jukebox entirely, a thought that did not settle that well in his mind. It was his first big purchase ever since he’d moved into the office, using what leftover money he had from his mercenary gigs to buy it, and had Enzo deliver it to his doorstep as payment for a favor he owed.

He could recall the day he first hauled it, and how happy he was. His first visit to the record store, eyes out for the tracks he could remember Nell played every time she got to work, for the familiar names of bands he used to have burned on a disk, and even the sweet tunes he could recall his father playing on some afternoons, trying to convince his mother to dance with him.

It held up more than great over the years, only needing occasional repairs and parts changed. But it aged over the years, with the outside of the case slowly rusting from the bottom edges up, the funky lights on the display getting dimmer and starting to flicker, and the sound quality getting a little worse for wear. Time caught up to the old sweetheart, and with the tiredness seeping in his bones with each passing day, he was not too far off either.

Vergil caught one last glance of his brother slumping on the couch before softly closing the door behind him. The bedroom was dark, save for the lamp on the nightstand lighting up his wife’s side of the bed. There she was, wide awake at the late hour of the night, flipping through one of his books while waiting on him, the signature ‘V’ peeking from between her fingers. She must have finally gotten bored with that romance novel she picked up last week – or already finished it, he could never tell with how fast she managed to finish or drop books.

The woman had a knowing look on her face, taking in his tired appearance with a smile, followed by a nudge of her head towards the bed. Without saying anything more, she lifted the duvet on his side as an invitation, which the man gladly took, dropping dead on the mattress beside her, head mashed in the pillow.

“I take you finally got it to work? Thought you’d be down there all night.” A muffled, unintelligible response was all she got from the man. “Mm, I figured. I did say we should have called Nero or Nico earlier today instead of wearing yourselves out.” Reaching over, she ran her hands through his hair, smoothing it down from its usual style. “That’s okay, I already talked with him, and they’ll be coming over for lunch tomorrow, so you'd better be nice. The kid’s got a rough week.” Despite the awkward relationship between her husband and her son, she’s proud to see the progress they’ve made over time.

Ever since they finally reunited as a family, following the aftermath of the Qlipoth incident and the twins’ return from Hell, they’ve been motivated to work through the unresolved tension between them, even going as far as taking devil-hunting missions together, sometimes with Dante tagging along - for good measure.  Whenever it was out of her wish to see them get along, or an innate need they felt to connect as father and son, she was still happy every time she heard bits of their banter when they walked through the door. Progress was still progress, even when it ended in a fight.

She could hear the man beside her sigh, peering a tired eye her way. “What do you mean? I’ve always been pleasant company around Nero and his friends.” One doubtful look from her had him bury his face into her side, curling his arm around her middle. “What time?”  His hopes to catch some more sleep beside her were crushed as soon as he heard “12 o’clock”, knowing she’ll be up and running by the time clock struck 6 AM. And so will he, as the assigned delivery boy. It was to be expected that having a reality-cutting sword would make you the best candidate for emergency grocery trips for your wife.

“What about Dante?” The woman asked, setting her book down. She got bored with re-reading the same obscure poem for the third time.

“What about him?”

“Did he go to bed yet?” He might want to know about his nephew visiting before he knocks on the front door. One look at her slumbering husband told her she would have to take on the mission.

“Still downstairs. He popped another one of those disgusting energy drinks and wants to stay up fixing that thing.” Throwing the duvet off herself and burying Vergil under it in the process, she reached over Vergil to place the book back on his side. “He would have already had ten heart attacks by now if he weren’t half-demon.”

“Again? He’s been doing this all week.” She said, looking down at her husband with a concerned look, “I would be surprised if he even slept at all. Scared the daylight out of me the other night when I found him in the kitchen, eating leftovers in the dark like a house globin.” During the year they’ve been living together – bless Dante’s generosity for letting them room with him, she had gotten to know the man well enough. The usual cheeky one-liner and playful attitude he liked so much to put on as a front was not enough to mask his bloodshot eyes, slur in his voice, or giant eyebags hanging down his thinning face. “You should talk to him, love. You’ve got the best shot. He needs someone.”

“I don’t think so,” Vergil said, rising from under the blanket as he leaned back against the headboard. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me about it.” What they had discussed in Hell remains in Hell, and Vergil was not sure if bringing up the vulnerability Dante had shared with him at the time was the right thing to do – if he even knew what was. “We don’t really talk about this.”

“I know you don’t. I’ve seen you guys.” They would rather throw hands before even thinking of opening up with each other. “He doesn’t have to talk about it. He just needs someone to be there for him, and that includes you, and now me too.” Moving to the edge of the bed, she slipped into her fluffy slippers. “And hopefully lunch tomorrow with Nero will brighten up his spirits a bit. Now, go change while I talk to your brother. You’re not sleeping in your work clothes, not with that stiff vest of yours. I’m not planning to hug a rock tonight.”

He rolled his eyes, a tiny bit of an amused smile tugging at his mouth as he reached to unbutton his vest. “I wasn’t going to. I was just resting.”

“Right, if you say so.” With a chuckle, she swiftly left the room. “Be right back. Don’t fall asleep on me, we still need to figure out the game plan for tomorrow!” She will need a second cook after all. Softly closing the door, thumps and creaks filled the silence as she made her way downstairs.

Glancing over the railing, she found the Legendary Demon Hunter himself curled up on the couch, fast asleep, a bottle of tomato juice hanging from his fingers, with his coat laid over him as a blanket. Bits and pieces of the jukebox were scattered across the carpet, having her tiptoe her way over to the man. Cleaning all of that disaster up before her son arrives is a problem for later.

She’ll leave the lunch plans for tomorrow as a surprise.

Thanks to her husband, she knew her way around light sleepers, gently replacing the heavy leather coat with one of the fuzzy blankets she always kept on the armchair - that he was probably too shy to use without asking her. Knowing she won’t be able to pry that bottle out of his hands without waking him, she busied herself by picking the empty cans at the foot of the couch instead.

Vergil was right with one thing; the unholy cocktail of energy drinks and alcohol his brother was making was enough to unlock the Gates of Heaven were he any regular person. At least his diet’s improved; the usual pizza and ice cream menu replaced with more home cooking since she and Vergil have been cooking more frequently.

Half tempted to pluck off the line phone, she decided against it. Someone’s life could depend on that call, and she wasn’t the one to make that choice. Dropping the cans off, she turned off the lights, leaving the one by his desk open in case he woke up. Not like half-demons don’t have night vision or something, but it was about the principle. Moving towards the stairs, she took one last look at the man before going up to whatever her lover was up to.

Everything else could be taken care of tomorrow.

At least for now, Dante will get to rest.

The sun had barely made it over the sea when a small boat docked in the Red Grave Port. Making her way off was a tall, brunette woman, clad in a fitted black coat and red heels, with a matching bag hanging from her hand. If you knew your way around the docks and were lucky enough, you would catch sight of her late at night, boarding ships that would disappear off the map. To some, a myth, to others an associate. Always bearing a different appearance, you would never know who she was, unless she approached you first.

It was early morning when Trish made it back to Red Grave, and despite being gone for almost a month, she did not miss the pungent mix of motor oil and fish stank that clung to that place. Rounding the corner, she swiftly made her way off the docks and onto the main street, where her ride was supposed to arrive anytime soon. She was early compared to their meeting hour, so Trish, now shifted back to her more familiar appearance, took advantage of the working signal to call in Devil May Cry.

The poor signal only allowed her to get a couple of messages through to Lady on the ride back to the mainland, returning from her short vacation all the way to the island of Tartaros with an unexpected souvenir hanging heavy from her bag.

Several rings later, she heard the familiar “Devil May Cry”. Just from the wrong Sparda twin.

“Vergil? Why are you on the phone? Where’s Dante?”

“Trish? He’s on the couch, either sleeping or dead.” A loud snore echoed through the call, followed by a woman’s snort in the background. “…why are you calling? Weren’t you on that …trip?” His voice comes out a little awkward, just as his conversations with Trish usually were. Hard to be casual with someone who bore an almost exact resemblance to your dead mother. He’ll come around eventually.

“I just came back with the first boat, and I’ll be passing by the office soon. There’s something I need to show you. Can you fill your brother in with the details?” If he woke up before she got to him, that was. He will want to be awake to see what abomination she found on that island.

‘Is that Trish?’  A familiar voice could be heard over the phone, followed by a barrage of questions, most of which were partly muffled. Soon enough, Vergil returned to the phone with a heavy sigh, "Do you like carbonara?”

Pulling weeds out of their mom’s garden was by far one of Dante’s least favorite punishments. He and Vergil would spend the entire afternoon in the scorching sun, hands deep in dirt, while their mother kept a watchful eye on them from their bedroom window

Dante could remember how frustrated he felt, with small tears in his eyes from being scolded earlier that morning. How many times had he pulled at stubborn roots that grew all the way to Hell, before a larger hand would come up from behind, tugging the plant with ease.

When Sparda was still around, he would sometimes join them, under the guise of being kicked out of the house by Eva. He would always wear a large grandpa sun hat, and cracked awful jokes him and his brother were trying their best not to laugh at.

No matter how mad they were at each other, their father always had a special power to help them make up at the end of the day.

Before they knew it, they would be done and back at playing swords again, this time under their father’s supervision. At the end of the day, when the sun came to set, Eva would come outside to call them for dinner, and their father would hose their dirty selves down before they could go back inside.

It was a memory the man was dearly fond of. When the screams of his mother stopped echoing inside the cage of his mind, the image of his crumbling brother was no longer replaying behind his eyes, and the chants of his name in the dead of night were no longer heard, Dante would dream.

He would dream of his childhood.

Of afternoons when he and his brother would sneak out to play outside while their parents napped, slipping into Sparda’s workshop to look at his collection of Devil Arms. Of early mornings stuck in their father’s study, sharing cheat notes under the table. They weren’t Sparda’s brightest students, with Dante more often than not falling asleep at the sound of his father’s teaching, and Vergil only being interested when it came to his favorite books.

He still dreams of the day he’s received Rebellion. After a particularly rough fight he’s had with his brother, Sparda called them up to his office. It was something he rarely did, which could only mean the worst for the twins, or so they thought.

Once inside, before they could start blaming each other, their father sat them down at his desk. He began speaking of his own childhood and homeland, far different from the grassy fields and blue skies they grew up with. He told them about his time serving the demon emperor Mundus, the realms he had conquered, and the destruction he had brought in the name of his master. Until one day, everything changed – when the beauty of humanity gave Sparda the clarity he needed to see through Mundus’s tyranny and rebel, sealing him in the Underworld and closing the gates behind him.

During that time, Sparda split his power into three swords.

The Devil Sword Sparda, Yamato, and Rebellion.

And now, he’s entrusted them with their power. They didn’t understand their purpose at the time, nor did they understand why Vergil got the Yamato, while he got the Rebellion. Of course, he was just happy he had the bigger sword of the two with a cool skull on it.

Only later, he would come to know the power it held – uniting man and devil, bringing out the demon within him, giving him the strength he needed to save his brother. The hums he could hear cutting through the silence of the office, the way it trembled in his grasp during fights, as if trying to speak without words. The sword was alive, silently guiding throughout his life without him even realizing, protecting him when he could not protect himself.

Just not from the nightmares.

“Tony? Are you in there, Tony?” The voice was soon followed by a wave of urgent knocks. With no answer, the door was slammed open, with a woman rushing towards him. He knew that woman, it was Maria, his first foster mother. “We need to leave, don’t worry, you can go back to sleep in the car.” She hushed him, quickly picking him up and rushing out of the house.

He could hear the snarling of demons coming from outside, and one glance out of the window revealed Hell itself unleashing on Earth, upon the place he called home. “We’ll be out of here soon. We’ll go to Auntie, the one that lives by the candy shop, yeah?” Within the blink of an eye, the glass shattered, and a flaming bird flew inside. “What the-“

Soaring up to the ceiling with a loud cry, it came down upon them at an impossible speed. He was the only one who made it out of the threshold of their home, the image of his mother’s back being torn open, burning in the back of his mind.

Before he knew it, he found himself back at Sparda’s old manor, burning down to a crisp. The smell of ash and sulfur clogged up his throat; he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Dante? Vergil?” Another door slammed open - it was his mother, Eva, now kneeling by his side as she checked him over. Her eyes held great terror, as if a fate she was trying to desperately avoid was coming down upon them.

Before he knew it, he was back in the closet. “You must listen to me, be a big boy... a man, huh?” The last memory of her was her reassuring smile, albeit forced. Eva always tried her best to keep them as far away as she could from the horrors of the Underworld, but even she was just human. Their poor mother was always full of hardships, and if he were true to himself, she deserved a better life. Maybe she would have still been alive. „If I don't return, you must run, by yourself, alone. You must change your name. Forget your past and start a new life as someone else. A new beginning.”

Soon came the calls for his brother, and then-

A ring. Then two. Dante shot up from his spot on the couch, blanket falling on the floor.

His breathing came down heavy – looking around at the same old office he’s come to know for the past two decades. Light was streaming out of the open windows, with the clock on the wall striking nine in the morning.  He can’t recall the last time he’s slept a full night like this without disturbances coming in through his front door, nor waking up so late.

Wait, blanket? Big, fluffy, pristine blanket? No wonder he’s slept so long.

He just had a hunch about who tucked him in.

It didn’t seem like it did much for Dante either way, the pounding headache and pain behind his eyes starting to settle, fragments of his dream replaying in his head. Moving to get up – stiff joints giving out a satisfying pop, he notices the lack of mess on his carpet. The jukebox pieces were moved to the corner by the storage room, organized in very distinctive piles. Must have been Vergil’s work.

The floor was still slightly wet, with a slight hint of lime and bleach – not that you could really smell it with the strong scent of steak and red sauce he could pick up from the kitchen, with muffled voices and giggles passing through thin walls. Those two certainly had their fun this morning, having the office all to themselves. His desk was immaculate, not a speck of dust in sight, paperwork neatly piled next to his magazines.

What’s got into the lovebirds for this early house cleaning, though?

By the sixth ring, Dante was already picking up the phone.

 „Devil May Cry~"

The yawn that followed struck a laugh out of the man on the end of the line, „Sleeping on the job again, Dante? Not a good look on the company.”

„Cut me some slack, Morisson, what do you got?” The man settled down at his desk, taking a peek in the side drawer. His secret stash of comic books lay untouched, together with some of the bills he threw in there. Might want to take a look at those. Meh, that’s for later. „Any gig? With cash upfront, preferably?”

„Easy, tiger. Yes, I got something for you. The owner of Red Grave Port called me up about an hour ago – there’s been a legion of demons that attacked the morning shipments, and he’s asked for you and your brother to join the investigation. He’s paying a pretty penny, as long as you clean up this mess as fast as possible. Can’t keep half the harbor closed for too long.”

„Me and Vergil? Well, isn’t that one big fish to fry.” Shifting through the pile of documents, he pulled out a spare paper. „Wouldn’t want restaurant prices to skyrocket overnight, I won’t be able to order in anymore.” Clicking his pen, he reached for the phone in his pocket. Poor thing’s been dead since last night, screen flashing as soon as he plugs it in. „Get me up to speed, and I’ll be there as soon as I drag my brother out of the kitchen.”

„I’ll pass by the office in a few to drop you the case files, then you can work on getting your brother out of the lovespell. Heh, still in the honeymoon phase, I assume?”

„Wouldn’t you know it.” At least he has some spare time on his hands before he heads out again. He looks in the direction of the broken jukebox, and with a heavy sigh, gets up from the desk. Fixing up his baby will have to wait for now. Who knows, maybe the gig money will cover the repairs. „Don’t keep me waiting for too long , Morrison.” Dante jested.

„Go put some pants on, Dante.”

„Joke's on you, I am already dressed.” He’s slept in his clothes, but he didn’t need to know that.

Hanging up the phone, he took his time to lightly stretch. He did not expect a new job so soon after the one they had just returned from a couple of days ago, but he was not one to complain when those bills sat heavy in his desk. With his brother and sister-in-law now sharing his office space, he did try a little harder to keep the water and power going, taking up the more boring jobs too, for a change.

Having Vergil around made it a little easier. The man often joined him in his missions, just as often as he took up his own, sharing a side of his cut for the bills. Even when Dante reassured him he didn’t have to, didn’t owe him anything, neither him nor his lady, he still found a filled envelope on the desk at the end of the day.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. The door to the kitchen creaked open, with his brother peeking out. „You’re finally up. Took you long enough.”

„You think?” Dante asked, passing by his brother and slipping into the kitchen, following the mouth-watering scent in the air. „You guys had time to cook up a feast while I was out.”  Walking in the kitchen, he found his shabby dining table filled to the brim with plates of food. From his brother’s famous pasta, straight from their father’s books, different kinds of steaks and salads, to the lady’s special carrot cake, muffins, and his personal favorites, her cookies. There was something in the oven still baking, and from Dante’s best guess, it was probably a pie. „Whoa, you guys did all of this? What’s the special occasion?”

The lady was sitting by the stove, stirring a large pot of tomato sauce. „Good morning! Nero’s coming over a little later today with his friends.” She said, the enthusiasm in her voice betrayed by the tired look on her face, „I’m sorry we didn’t tell you earlier, it came up at the last minute and we didn’t want to wake you up.” 

„No problem, I love to have Nero and the gang over. It’s been a minute since I’ve seen the kid. I wanted to give him a call about the jukebox anyway-” Dante said, looking down at the pot, taking in the scent of fresh tomatoes, garlic, and basil. „You guys should have woken me up earlier, though. I could have helped with cleaning, or with cooking! Vergil’s not the only one with an Ace up his sleeve with daddy’s pasta. I’m known for quite the famous pizza myself, straight from mama.”

„Not when you were snoring like a chainsaw, we couldn’t even if we wanted to.” Vergil said, earning himself a slap on his bicep from his wife, telling him to 'be nice for once'

„Here, come and stir too. I can’t tell if it’s done or not.” She said, handing Vergil the spoon. Moving away from the stove, she sat down on the nearest chair with a sigh, rolling her stiff shoulders. „It’s alright, Dante. It’s the least we could have done. Besides, when Vergil plugged in the vacuum, despite telling him not to, and you still didn’t wake up from the noise, we knew you were long gone.”

The news of her son visiting was probably enough to keep her running for the morning hours, only for those batteries of hers to run dry sooner than later.

It was not like Nero wasn’t visiting often. He loved to pass by with every occasion to see his mother – and despite not admitting it, his pops too. But the days’ve been busy, with business flourishing for the better or worse, and before they knew it, Nero hadn’t set foot in Red Grave for about two months. It looked like the nightly video calls with him and Kyrie did not do it anymore.

„Ah.” Dante figured himself for a light sleeper. But it seemed like many restless nights in a row were enough to put him out of commission.

A knock on the front door sounded through the office. Dante turned in the direction of the noise, getting up from his spot, kissing the thoughts of wanting to steal a bite out of one of the cookies goodbye. „Must be Morrison. A little quicker than I expected. Old man’s getting light on his feet.” Before walking out of the kitchen, he passed by his brother, giving him a friendly, rough pat on the back. „Go get your coat and come to the office soon, Vergil. We’ve got a quick emergency job to do. Don’t worry, little lady, we should be back before my dear nephew makes it here.”

„You'd better, or there’ll be no more food for you two.” She joked, but ushered him out of the kitchen. „Now go, don’t keep the man waiting, it’s cold outside. I’ll hand Vergil over to you two once I get the mayonnaise done.” Said man sighed, a little louder than usual, but eventually nodded. Sounds like he wasn’t in the mood for a job. He’s probably had a great morning until Dante woke up and found a way to drag him out of the house. But who was he to keep a man waiting?

„Roger that, madam. Will do.” With one final playful salute, Dante skipped out of the room.

Now with the man gone, she was back off to work. The cooking was not going to do itself, but not without a snack first. She's worked hard enough to deserve a little treat. Reaching around her husband with a spoon, trying steal a taste of the sauce, a quick thought struck her mind, „Wait, did you tell him about the Devil Arm? The one from Trish?”

„...no.”

Any other thought was lost in the sauce.

From the impatient knocks and distinct familiar presence, Dante figured it was not his favorite broker who arrived early. Throwing the door open, he was met with two familiar faces he’d missed so much and had gone far too long without seeing.

„Lady! Trish! What are you girls doing here?" Dante moved to the side, waving them in. "Didn’t know you were already back, Trish.” He’s been in no contact with the woman for the past month, ever since she left the city, out searching for another one of Machiavelli’s creations. Ever since the incident with Enzo and Titania, she's been out and about collecting them so no other human could suffer the consequences of wielding such weapons. Every call he's given Trish went to voicemail, but he’s figured a desolate island wouldn’t have the best signal. Worst came to worst, he was always ready to fly over to that island himself if he had to.

But thankfully, she's made her way safely, and it seems like Lady beat him to the welcoming.

„We're here to check on you. Did Morrison call about the job yet?” Lady asked, passing by Dante and into the office, throwing him a cheeky smile. It’s been some time since he’s crossed paths with Lady; the most he’s heard from her has been from their usual late-night calls, usually from a motel room outside town. Looking around with a whistle, she looked impressed as she turned to the man, „You’ve been tidying up, Dante?”

„Yeah, he did, you’re on the case too?” The nod from Lady was enough to kiss his dreams of sending his jukebox in for repairs goodbye. It was to be expected, and he still had to send her this month’s money. It will just spare him the hassle. „And this? Nah, woke up to it. Nero’s passing by, so my sister-in-law dragged my brother downstairs early for a quick cleaning. Apparently, I slept like the dead. They’ve been dusting right over my head.” Dante said, closing the door behind Trish, catching a glance at the bag in her hand.

He’s sensed it approaching from two streets over, its presence subtle enough to consider it another low-tier demon – probably scraping through the trash behind the store next door again, until the neighbor comes out with the broom and Holy Water.

The folks of Red Grave were crafty enough to deal with wimpy demons.

Now, he sensed whatever Trish brought back from her vacation was a different story.

„I suppose that’s why it smells so heavenly in here?” She asked, pointing towards the kitchen - to which the man nodded with a laugh, gesturing for her to go check it out.

„They’re both still in there. Little lady’s been bored to death with just the two of us, she’s been dying to see you two.” He said, walking around the couch to pick up the fallen blanket, carefully folding it back in its place. „But watch out, she might sit you down for a quick snack, and you won’t be able to leave.”

„I think I’ll take that risk,” Lady said, giving Trish a final knowing look as she left for the kitchen. Bumping into Vergil in the process, who was making his way out, he gave her a nod in acknowledgment – leaving the door open wide for her to slip through. No further words were needed to be exchanged.  After the events of Temen-ni-gru and the aftermath of the Qlipoth tree, Lady chose to remain neutral about the older twin, purely out of respect for her and Dante’s friendship. It wasn’t her place to decide, and if Dante was willing to forgive his brother, she wasn’t going to stand against it.

„Well, look who decided to join us,” Trish asked, watching Vergil come around the corner. „Done with the preparations? I’ll guess Dante’s still in the dark about the ring, right?” With the slightly tussled hair, with a hint of basil and his wife’s coffee-scented perfume clinging to him, she’s figured he was a little too busy to let his brother know of their arrival.

„I did not find the time.” Vergil chose not to elaborate further, as far as Dante could tell. Pushing himself against the wall next to the desk, he looked at the woman in anticipation. She’s called them both over to see this, after all.

„Ring? Got it in mind to propose to someone, Trish? Before I know it, I’ll be the only bachelor left.” Dante watched the woman reach into her purse, pulling out a small box – wrapped around tightly in thin strips of ribbon littered with protection sigils. „Whoa, what happened to this one? Did you put them?”

„Yes. I had to. The moment I walked out with it, I was followed by demons everywhere I went. It got really annoying, and I couldn’t risk the contents.” Trish said as she unwrapped the box like a present, „I even had to enchant the bag if you can believe it. It is quite ‚trendy’ in the Underworld.”

„Couldn’t risk the contents.” What did that box carry that was so important that Trish had to play the safe game all the way home? Despite her casual tone, he could see the tension in her shoulder, how she was unwrapping the box very carefully, yet with stiff movements, as if afraid of damaging the contents. She’s been really quiet since she walked in, and he could tell she was exhausted from carrying this all the way back. Whatever it was in that box, it was enough to affect a high-ranking demon such as herself, at least in the long term.

„What is it, the One Ring?” Dante tried lightening up the mood, drawing a small snort out of her, probably from how unfunny it was, and was too tired to come up with a snarky comment herself. It was good to have Trish back at Devil May Cry. After all these years of knowing and working with each other, she was the closest thing he could call family after his brother’s alleged death, taking the role of an older sister for him.

„When did you even read those books?” Vergil joined in with a scoff, walking around the desk by Dante’s side. His interest was piqued by the constantly growing tension in the room. It seemed harmless, but not enough to not be prepared to draw Yamato if necessary.

„I watched the movies.”

„The what?”

Oh, right, Vergil wasn’t around when the movies came out.

Once all sigils were off, a heavy silence settled over the room. There was the usual tingling down his spine and heaviness in his stomach when encountering the demonic - but also something else. Something that was not supposed to be there, a dying shadow under the gaze of the radiant light, consumed out of greed and hunger. Hunger for power. It was something they were all too familiar with, a part of who they were, and something that consumed and destroyed Vergil once before. There was a burning feeling settling in his chest, warming him up from the inside – the sensation was harsh at first, but not unpleasant, drumming against his ribcage, like a caged bird, when-

Ba-dum.

Trish flinched, feeling almost sick to keep on holding the box. The weak heartbeat that resonated from inside, far too gentle and coy, was enough to confirm her suspicions from the moment she laid her eyes upon it. It was something too pure for a demon to hold, struck with a fate more tragic than death and doomed to an eternity of serving the twisted purpose of the weaponsmith.

„Well, boys,” Trish opened the box, revealing a single ring inside. „This is the Ring of Hermes. An ancient Devil Arm forged by the famous demon Machiavelli, and sealed inside Tartaros, an island which mysteriously surfaced about three months ago in the south-east of Fortuna.” She said, handing it over to Dante. The man hesitantly took it, holding it in both of his hands with surprising gentleness, the name strikingly familiar. He remembers her mentioning it before, hearing of the island from one of the dealers in the Devil Arms market, and before he knew it, she set out to sea.

„I suspect one of Yamato’s missing shards could be the culprit behind its appearance.” Taking the map off Dante’s wall and placing it on the desk next to the twins, Trish marked a red spot on it. „But that would be too much of a coincidence to happen on its own. Someone must have resurrected it. And if the closeness to Fortuna says anything, it could be one of Sanctus’s remaining followers.”

„I thought the kid took care of all of them. Well, it seems like some slipped through the cracks. He’s going to be pissed.” Dante said, staring down at the silver band. Nero did his best to clean up the remaining mess after Sanctus’s reign, including getting rid of any of his remaining believers who decided to cause trouble around Fortuna in their own search for power, their minds poisoned with demon blood and the pride of the twisted teachings of their prophet. It was safe to say, the kid had a lot on his plate. „He’s going to be even more pissed when he hears he’s got a job. With no pay."

The ring was in pristine condition, but he could tell it was old, very old, the demonic metal carved with patterns and symbols he’s only ever seen in certain Devil Arms. A certain rune caught his eye – he had seen this one before, in one of his brother’s books on demonic research.

„That’s a binding spell,” Vergil said, taking notice of it as well. Atop the ring sat a single, small, emerald-green gemstone, embedded in its surface. „Sorcerers used to seal demons inside artifacts with this. But what is that stone? I’ve never seen it before.” In Vergil’s many years of research on demonic artifacts, he’s come across several gems with complex enchantments, including the Perfect Amulet, the gift from their mother and seal to the Underworld. But this was a bridge he’s never gotten the chance to cross before, the spell sealing off something with origins far from demonic.

Another heartbeat thrummed, traveling up Dante’s arm and sending a searing pain in his head. While some were more eager to communicate, with others remaining silent, yet with a thirst for battle that he could feel drumming under his fingertips, this one was deathly quiet, like a tomb for a dying soul. Dante was now sure.

„Well, I have a couple of guesses. Just none of them are good.”

It was only Machiavelli who was ambitious enough to power a Devil Arm using a human soul. 

This time, he got a response. Vergil twitched, body stiffening. He coughed, a rough, scratchy sort of cough that made Dante wince. “Verg?”

“I hate you for that,” Vergil whispered, fingers digging gouges into the brick. “You just… just came charging in. No thought. No plan. Just reckless. I thought he'd killed you! I felt your power gutter and die!” He punched the wall in sudden rage, power flaring so sharply that Dante flinched. “You died, Dante! And you… you still won. I hate that. I hate it! It’s so stupid. You can barely take your devil form… Mundus killed you, but you… you… I should’ve been the one to kill him! Not you!”

Fighting back his first reaction, which was to snarl right back at Vergil, Dante took a deep breath to calm himself— then hacked because the air here was still ripe with the diseased fluid of Mundus's borrowed body, and the smell burned his lungs. While less pleasant and less grounding than a deep breath, the cough still worked to push the pause button on Dante’s temper. Vergil was hurting, lashing out like a wounded animal. As much as his words hurt, adding more damage on top of what Mundus did wouldn't help. Right now, Dante had to listen to the voice in his head that sounded like Eva and borrow some of his mom's legendary patience.

Part of him was tempted to reach out like he had at the start of the night, feel what his brother was actually feeling, but he almost immediately discarded the idea. His twin didn’t need someone else mucking around in his emotions. So Dante went with another, more tried and proven method from happier days:

“You still suck at sharing after all these years, huh?” He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, hands on his hips. “Just figures. First born, first to talk, then first one to Trigger, first one to learn all the cool magic stuff, and the first one to rescue the other from the clutches of an evil organization… but you can’t let your little brother have the first win against the murderous creepy-ass demon king? Come on, Verg! Not cool, bro. Mom wanted us to share, remember?!” Vergil made a strangled noise that might’ve been a surprised laugh, and Dante smiled, edging in a little closer. “Come on, don’t be mad at me,” he wheedled. “You can’t be mad at this handsome face, can ya?”

Vergil rested his forehead against the stone, eyes closed tight. “I’m not… I’m not mad at you,” he said, so softly it was almost a whisper. “I’m not mad. I’m just…” His expression crumpled and the Yamato hummed in his white-knuckle grip, making the Rebellion resonate in sympathy.

Heart aching for his brother, Dante reached out, but stopped. He knew better. “Vergil, can I hug you?”

Vergil let out a stuttering breath. “S-Since… Since when do you ask… before infringing on my- my personal space?”

Another small half-step closer. “Since you just went face-to-face against the terrifying and abusive asshole who murdered our parents, then held you captive in literal Hell for ten years.”

Vergil shuddered, then turned his face away. “If… If you must.”

“Devo davvero,” Dante said, gentle and playful as he could. I really must.

Another strangled almost-laugh from Vergil, and Dante wrapped his arms around Vergil’s ribs, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder. His devil side was pleased with this arrangement, pleased to offer comfort and guard his twin’s back in his time of need. Following that instinct a bit more, Dante rubbed his cheek and jaw against Vergil like a giant, people-shaped cat, and didn’t even care that it was weird. 

“Breathe with me, Verg.”

“W-What?”

“It’s a thing I learned to do. A calm down after-action thing.” Not even a lie. “Come on, Verg. Nice and easy.” 

It took a few tries and some more encouragement, but eventually Vergil synced to Dante’s deliberately even breaths. As he did, the tension slowly drained out of him, though the tiny trembles didn’t seem like they were leaving anytime soon.

“Dante?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m sorry I made fun of you earlier.” Surprised, Dante started to pull back, but Vergil held him in place. Knowing him, he was probably too embarrassed to look Dante in the face while being so open. “I was just… upset. Upset because you were, are, hiding something—” Dante winced, “—and… and because I didn’t want to admit that I’ve never been on a real mission. Not like you have.”

That was extremely unexpected. “What? But what about—”

Vergil’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion mixing with humiliation and bitter anger. “I was sent wherever Mundus required me. It wasn’t ever really a mission, not like we did today. No play fighting, no hunting worthy prey, no questions, no understanding why. Mundus would open a portal, I would step through and kill whoever or whatever was on the other side. That’s all I am— was—” his breath caught in his throat for a moment, hand tightening on Dante’s, “I was his personal assassin and executioner, an occasional entertaining gladiator, and an ornament in his court. His Nelo Angelo.” He spat out the title as if it tasted bad. Maybe it did. “I only ever went on a few excursions when I was very young, and then only as an observer. I’ve seen battle, Dante. All I ever seem to have done is fight and kill. But I’ve never planned a hunt or been on a mission. It was… annoying that you were right, and also so wrong at the same time.”

Dante thought through the implications, then asked tentatively, “Why are you telling me all this, Verg? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re sharing it with me, but… why?” Never in a million years had he expected his brother to open up like this. Not even as kids would Vergil ever just come out and say what was bothering him. Dante wasn’t Eva, who only needed a gentle hand and a quiet question to get Vergil to talk. No, usually Dante had to poke and prod until his twin snapped and all the ugly emotions came spilling out.

Vergil shrugged. “I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end./ I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.”

Dante snorted, and squeezed Vergil tight enough to make him grunt and smack Dante’s arms for release. “You’re such a nerd,” he teased, letting up enough that his brother could breathe properly. “But I love you anyway.”