Primal

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all of my adoring flamers who are the incentive for me to continue this story. ::Smiles sweetly:: Aww thanks guys!


"To see the world through scarlet eyes and watch the unclean feast, she follows yet and falls sure more and still she sees the beast.." He recited, a cruel smile over his mouth as he removed his coat, throwing it carelessly on the victorian, red velvet chair. She followed him inside of Devil May Cry, snow packed tracks imprinted on the smooth wooden floor.


He put his tongue in his cheek, seeing her come through the doorway, raising his arms. "Come in."


She didn't miss the roll of his eyes, nor did she care, unbuttoning her fur jacket and tossing it next to his on the chair before crouching by the fire on the right side of the large room. Dante was forever a victim of his own decoration, the room holding a very ancient, Roman theme, barbarically littered with monstrous demon heads. She eyed the demonic blood that leaked over the heads, never drying as human's did, glittering now as if dancing to the unheard beat of the fire.


Lady absent-mindedly rubbed her aching feet through her shoes, trying to regain feeling when her toes felt like they'd been frozen together in one big clump. Dante had, in the meantime, lazily positioned himself upon the couch, tight black turtle-neck clinging to his body like a second skin, revealing every beautiful line and feature that the flickering flames graced. His head had fallen back over the arm rest, his soft, white hair falling from his face as he breathed, throat slightly exposed. She shook her head, trying to diminish the vision of Vergil, trying to stop the automatic reaction she always got whenever Dante's hair didn't rest so messily before his eyes.


"Dante, I know you love him." She spoke quietly.


"Still on that stale old tune I see," His rough voice rasped out, strained by his position. He stretched himself nonchalantly, the tight red leather of his pants groaning as he rest his hands on his large, skull belt buckle.


"Because you're not listening to me," She caught herself, holding back her tone from shouting. "You're completely imploding here and it's all for no fucking reason. I feel like I'm just sitting back, just fucking SITTING here, watching you slowly destroy everything I thought you cared about. I feel like...." She swallowed. "I feel like... shit, Dante I don't even know you anymore. You're behaving like... like I've never seen you behave before. Drinking like, GOD! I've NEVER seen anyone-"


"Uh huh, uh huh," he nodded, toying with her.


"Sexually sadistic," She was going on. "A damn monster half the time-"


"Uhhh huh," he drilled out, turning his head towards her. "And if the point actually comes up where I'm supposed to give a fuck, please," he smirked with no humor, "let me know."


She growled low, her anger slowly building.


"The point is," She continued. "you're hurting yourself. You're depressed, God knows you're lonely but you need to get through this ok?"


She slowly got to her feet, moving to kneel beside the couch.


"I know you miss them," She touched his forearm. "I know it hurts. And I know that if you were anyone else, hell, I'd probably tell you to just give up and let yourself die if nothing else was worth fighting for. But it isn't just you Dante. A lot of lives and people depend on you, on who you are and what you do. The whole WORLD needs you Dante. You were given a gift, a responsibility to protect them. And yeah, ok, we get it: you didn't ask for it. But you still have it, nonetheless and THAT'S the part where you need to give a fuck. We need you--I need you. And I need you to be strong."


"Are we going to have sex?"


Her eyes became saucers and she wrenched her hand away as if burned.


"Wh-... WHAT?!"


"Well I was just curious," He smirked. "Most of the time when you let a woman in your home, listen to her for a good enough amount of time, you get the gift for good behavior afterwards. I was just wondering if that's the case here or if I should just kick you out now and save myself the trouble of the boring shit."


"Why you...son of..."


Before she knew it, she was sprawled out ontop of him, her back against his powerful chest and her eyes staring wide at the ceiling looming over them. She gasped as his hands held her too tightly, eyes stretched to their limit as she watched the flickering reflection of flames on the surface of the ceiling.


"Dante stop!" She snarled, flailing about helplessly as he pressed himself against her, his hand on her stomach as he moved his body harshly against her backside, his mouth on her throat.


"Ohhhhhh...." he breathed, voice dripping with sex. "Come on Lady. Give in. Fuck me. You know you want to."


"Never," She spat, struggling as his hand held hers in a vise-like grip.


"Ahhh but I know you do," he whispered, voice harsh and cold. "I can smell it all over you."


His hand moved to her thigh, pushing up the material of her skirt, his cold skin making her tremble as he placed his hand between her legs.


"It's a shame," He laughed lightly, though no humor was held in it, his cold lips on her neck. "What a stupid name I had to give you. Lady. Peh. I believe you've simply taken it all too far my sweet angel."


"Seriously now," She swallowed, hating the heat his touch sent into her skin, hating how every area his fingers moved around became that much more sensitive, that much more like the sensation of liquid fire pumping in her veins. "Let me go."


"Is that really what you want?" His tongue moved up the length of her throat, his hand catching her face and moving it almost painfully to look at him. She breathed hard against his mouth, eyes searching his for some sort of feeling, for something that registered more than emotional detachment and coldness that rivaled even his brother's. His mouth dared hers to kiss him, his eyes lingering over her lips, hot breath making her feel intoxicated and dizzy. She stared at him, suddenly feeling as though she couldn't breathe, hating herself for wanting to kiss him, for staying still while his filthy hands, hands that had not minutes before been on someone else, touched her in places no man ought to without damn near written permission.


Consciousness returned to her when she felt his hand in between her thighs once more, moving the delicate folds of her panties out of the way as he touched her most sacred place.


"And I can't help but wonder," He spoke in a soft, mockingly sweet voice. "if you do, indeed, TASTE like a lady."


She struggled ruthlessly this time, kicking at him as he pushed a finger up inside of her, feeling the tight walls of her vagina constrict almost painfully around him. He trembled against her, breath hitching as he sighed his approval. Another finger went inside, her writhing and struggling doing nothing to hinder him. She almost wondered if he preferred it this way, his most sadistic, raunchy side in full heat at her unwillingness to bow for him.


He fingered her damn near painfully, his thumb moving circles around her clitoris and his other two fingers digging against her rough G-spot inside. She was becoming enraged and enthralled, wanting to pummel him and then kill herself for reacting so obviously to what he was doing. Cum dripped down his fingers already, her insides coated with it against her will.


"You're so wet," He smiled against her ear. "Why are you fighting me?"


Her lips shook as she tried to speak, still trying to escape though her thighs parted all the more for him.


"I know you love it when I touch you like THIS," He pushed his fingers hard inside her, gaining a stifled cry as a result. "I know you love it when I touch you here," His free hand that had been holding her moved between her breasts, tracing the underneath lightly. "And I know you love it when I kiss you like this."


But rather than a kiss, his teeth sank into her throat, a hoarse cry resounding through her esophagus as she nearly came with the impact, her body lurching upwards against his hand. He held her right breast, holding her steady as he caressed it painfully.


"D-..Dante.." She whispered, eyes closed as she shook, so close as he violently rubbed her clit. Her thighs trembled around his hand and she smoothed her own palm over the soft surfaces, panting and crying softly as he pushed his hand beneath her shirt and bra, rubbing her painfully erect nipples.


Her body suddenly became hard and she bucked against him, forcing out a cry as he brought her over the edge, the inner walls of her vagina shuttering and pulsing around his fingers as they were further coated with cum. Her body became like granite, tense as she moaned out her climax, against everything she'd wanted her body to do, cumming for him.


He held her body close, feeling every convulsion of her vagina, feeling the violent intake of air as every portion of her strained against him, suppressing a scream as she drenched his fingers. He rubbed his face against hers, loving the sensual coating of sweat that lined every pore, seeing his twin's face reflected at him from the mirrors above on the ceiling, the cold, detached features that slowly lifted his fingers into his mouth, tasting the pearly cum that had soaked them moments before.


"And isn't that odd," He smiled, watching what looked like Vergil's face smirk wickedly, all humor gone from burning blue eyes. "Your name is Lady..."


She sighed, moving in to kiss him, to finalize this physical attachment with that which would be considered something akin to adoration.


"Yet," His beautiful twin spoke, voice sounding like his own. "You taste just like a whore."


A raspy hitching of breath could be heard, Lady's body first becoming limp, as though she'd heard him wrong, and then like it'd been covered in cement, yanking away from every portion of him that touched her. She became pale, lifting off the couch, face a mask of complete repulsion.


"What did you just say?" She shuddered, though knowing well enough exactly what he'd spoken.


He stood lazily, still sucking the tips of his fingers though all taste of her was sadly gone, eyes a charade of cruelty, just as his brother's always were. In fact, it frightened her, the complete isolation from humanity that lingered in once beautiful, mischievous eyes, now coated just like Vergil's always were.


And then just like that, she pulled on her coat, stepping into his face and punching it three times, her knuckles nearly breaking from the impact. One, two, three, his face flew to the side, her hits consisting of every last amount of power her humanity would allow, the skin over her fingers bruised as she yanked them back, suppressing the all too female need to sob as she stormed from Devil May Cry.


..........................................


He traced his fingers numbly over the burnt mahogany desk, leaving trails of ash and dust, separated by his touch. His own breathing was all that could be heard, the sound of air passing into tar-linned lungs sounding raspy in the quiet of the ruins. How long had it been? 15 years?


Bangs across the bridge of his nose felt like the feathery flicker of a butterfly's wing, fluttering over damp, seemingly poreless flesh. He breathed. He breathed because it was all he could think or process enough to do. His eyes glanced over burned books, edges of water-colored pictures tasted with flames. He closed his eyes, looking away from old photos, dust covered with time.


A family once.


His boots sounding throughout the ruined home, the walls and ceiling a disastrous display of what was once a raging inferno within the kitchen, wood split and decrepit around him. The hallway was no different, mold creeping along the edges where rain water had failed to trap it out, the shadows playing scenes of what had once happened here.


His breath caught as he looked inside his old bedroom, their old bedroom. Old toys and stuffed animals littered the floor like corpses, crayons and thin markers scattered across a small, now-off-white end table. 'Stupid markers,' he thought with a forlorn grin. 'they never did work.' The beds were placed on either side of the room, small, made for the two young boys.


"Your father made them himself," Eva had told them, kneeling on the floor at the edge of one, always the means of night-time stories. Always about him.


"Your father..... your father...."


He hadn't even known his father, the hero of every bed time story, the savior that loved his family so much, he forsook everything he'd ever known for them. The father that loved them so damn much, he never even came home. Probably never looked back.


Dante swallowed hard, gritting his teeth in his mouth. Fuck him. This IS Sparda. His eyes glared at everything they could take in, his jaw tight. Yeah, it was Sparda alright. Nothing more than shit, dirt, promises broken, carnage and death. And then? Just the memories supplied that he tried to drink away. But solace was never found in late nights or in the valley between heaving breasts or the guttural moans of whatever stupid human male he'd taken home that evening.


No. Memories were just ashes, to stain the fingertips or the mind.


He kneeled, grasping at a small box beneath the table, burned but still able to conceal its contents. He smiled, bringing out an old stack of letters, written between the two brothers when they were only five. Amazing how quickly they had always learned, how far they surpassed their 'peers' at that age. The folded papers ached and crinkled as he opened them, the words inside written messily and large with black, permanent marker.


"To Vergil: I'm sorry. -Dante."


He smirked, recalling the time Eva had finally gotten fed up (and the woman's patience was never much worth mentioning) and had insisted that if they didn't have anything nice to say, they weren't going to be saying anything at all. Instead, they spent the rest of the afternoon exchanging scowls, obscene gestures learned from the TV and finally, sending notes between themselves.


He opened another, seeing the undoubtedly better hand writing of Vergil, letters written, (even at that age) as though they'd been printed on a type-writer.


"To Dante: I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. -Vergil."


He scowled a little, fair eyebrows wrinkling. Little bastard. He opened a few more, smirk widening with each one. How predictable.


"I hate you more. -Dante."


"To Dante: No way. That was MY piece of cake! -Vergil."


"Says who? Mom said I could have it. -Dante."


"To Dante: I hate her too. Mr. Nero says a mom should love both her twins equal. -Vergil."


Dante scowled. Mr. Nero had been the eldest twin's imaginary friend, often the supposed culprit of Vergil's bad behavior. Dante could even recall a very real animosity toward Vergil's "other" friend, feeling upset and left out when his brother would have secret conversations with Mr. Nero. And Mr. Nero had always called Vergil.... his little angel.


"Don't say you hate mom! I'll tell. -Vergil"


"To Dante: Who cares? Go tell her. You're her favorite anyways! -Vergil."


"She loves us both just the same and you know it. ..... poop face! -Dante."


"To Dante: Whatever. Mr. Nero says it doesn't matter anyways. Things will be different soon. -Vergil."


"To Vergil: I'm sorry. -Dante."


"To Dante: .... happy birthday Dante. -Vergil."


The hunter choked back the lump in his throat, letting the last letter slide from his fingertips. He sagged backwards, just kneeling on the floor in a heap of red leather and weapons, sinking inside himself. He didn't want it to return, but it did, the memories of this place. Eva screaming, telling them to run, to hide. Black figures cloaked in stench of the dead or the dying, making moans like nothing he'd ever heard before. They'd just kept saying it, over and over and over like a broken record. "Sparda..... Sparda...." like they had been looking for him too. Stupid fuck. Guess he'd done quite the amount of disappointing in his time.


Vergil had been the first to see it happen, running into the kitchen as it poured with flames, Eva trapped beneath the body of one of the fiends, her hand still clutching at the sword she'd driven ruthlessly into its chest.


"Go! Vergil, take your brother NOW!"


But he'd just stared at her, unable to flinch, unable to move as another demon appeared, thrusting a large scythe towards the crushed woman, impaling its fellow minion in the process and pinning her through.


"Vergil PLEASE! Run damn it! Run!"


Dante hadn't even heard the demon behind him, seeing its reflection in his mother's eyes, blade raised before it tore downwards, nearly slicing him in half. Blood shot everywhere and he thought that fire had cleaved him in two, the pain so immediate and potent. He'd fallen to his knees, bent forwards as he came crashing to his face, watching the own sick twisting of his fingers, trembling from the agony.


He had looked up, and God, how he prayed he could have kept his eyes on his fingertips, seeing Eva's convulsing body as she stared in horror at him. Fire had actually dripped from the ceiling, catching her hair and seeming to dance on her facial features as she screamed in terror, screaming as her skin melted from her skull, screaming as her head shook this way and that, insanely trying to put out the flames that ate her lips and nose right before his eyes.


Dante's body lurched forwards, hot, sour vomit splashing back into his face as it ricochet off the floor.


And Vergil had stood there as well, watching it happen, knowing he could save one and had to leave the other. God. No wonder he was so damned cold. He'd turned, looking as if he were simply made ill from watching his mother burn, his face holding no terror that should have been reflected at Dante. He'd taken a few steps, the demons seemingly stunned by his inability to fear them at the moment, his eyes burning as he'd glanced from one to another, almost seeming to size them up or something.


And then he'd moved towards the door, eyeing the knob as his fingers wrapped around it. He was going to leave Dante. Trembling fingers shook harder, blood having soaked Dante's chubby cheek as he stared, wanting to scream, wanting to move. But Vergil hadn't left, hadn't opened the door. Just when Dante had thought all hope was lost, he was lifted, one hand inflicting white-hot pain on his back, the other holding the back of his hair, almost angrily or something.


And just like that, Vergil had saved him, the demons disappearing as they launched themselves out through a window, unimaginable pain finally taking its toll on Dante's consciousness.


He'd only come here once before, grabbing his father's sword and whatever weapons he would need to become that which he became. A 15 year old trudging unseeingly through a house of memories, a life so far lived in chaos and detachment it hardly could be considered a life at all. Vergil had been an enigma ever since, making unpredictable cameos in the soap-opera-gone-wrong life that Dante lived. The two had hardly been close, their paths going in perpetually different directions. Dante had prowled the earth like a zombie for so many years, bounced from one foster family to the next. There were good. There were bad. None could ever have been called a home, raised eyebrows and furrowed brow lines soon turned to expressions of disbelief and then horror, people seeing abilities in Dante that were what could be considered "abnormal".


People, Dante had found, liked to believe in the paranormal, the idea of "not alone" and the impossibilities proved otherwise. That was, until they were face to face with a ten year old that could lift a rolled car off a body or a 13 year old boy that could damn near levitate the basketball into a hoop during gym class. The unknown was evil to humans and that which couldn't be calculated by logic was wicked.

So at 15 years of age, he'd finished with the idea of "happy home" or "family" and finally accepted himself, for whatever monstrosity that meant embracing. He'd stopped concealing his abilities and began to test them, finding deranged excitement in what he considered was "God's or whatever's" gift for revenge, believing (if nothing else) that he had been given these powers in order to rain down justice for his mother's death. Tales of his father had never sunken in, his belief in the "great Sparda of bedtime stories" shaken with time, with the inevitably rolled eyes at the so-called "tall tales."


It was Vergil who had come to him, telling him the story of their father, confirming the fantasies and revealing the truth behind his powers. He had laid on a crusty old mattress behind a convenience store, eyes to the side as insomnia rested over him, nearly jumping out of his skin when he felt weight by his feet, cat-like burning eyes grinning at him from behind the shadows. Vergil had crawled over him, resting their foreheads together as they breathed in their reunion, Dante having wanted so much to embrace his brother, years having passed since last time.


Vergil would have none of it though, pushing away the gesture as he straddled his younger brother. A fist had crashed so quickly that Dante had never even seen it coming, his vision knocked to the side as he took a horrible blow. Adrenaline rushed into his blood stream as Vergil cruelly tore him upwards by his hair, landing an iron kick into the other twin's ribcage. Dante had doubled over from the sheer force, even in a physically violent lifetime NEVER having felt anything so immediately crushing. He'd been hit countless times from savage foster parents, locked in basements, cut with scissors and lashed with belts but NEVER had he felt a bruising force like Vergil's kick.


He'd fallen to the ground, gripping his gut and trying to force air into unresponsive lungs, Vergil's assault unhindered as he pummeled his fallen brother into the concrete. Dante had only enough time to roll to the side as a booted foot cracked the cement next to his head, right where his face had been .5 seconds before. He'd painfully lifted himself up, summoning every impossibility, every amount of strength that isolated him from the rest of the world and sending a bone-cracking punch right into Vergil's mouth.


Blood had burst between teeth and the ill sound of a jaw cracking made him nauseous, his hand pulled back as if burned when Vergil's eyes finally rolled towards him.


"Impressive.... baby brother."


Dante had just swallowed, unable to believe the turn of events, fists still held ready for an attack. Instead, Vergil had cracked his jaw back into its lining, spitting a thick line of nearly black blood onto the ground before rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth.


"So you're accepting who and what you are now." He'd smiled, letting his eyelids linger seductively over piercing blue eyes. "You're unafraid of your abilities and you're embracing your destiny. How lovely."


After that, they'd calmly walked, Vergil asking clipped, precise questions as to Dante's memory, as to what abilities he'd discovered. He'd insisted that Dante know everything there was to know about Sparda, about the person their father had been before, the great general of hell he'd once been. With a sour voice he'd admitted their father's tragic 'betrayal' of himself, the odd sequence of events that had eventually lead up to their births, in Vergil's opinion, Sparda's one means of redeeming himself through twin sons. He'd told Dante of their destiny, of their potential for power by embracing their strength, by becoming stronger than even the great Sparda had been.


"You must become stronger Dante." He'd spoken in that cherubic, soft tone of his, the sweet outer-lining of often vicious words. "You must become an efficient, unapologetic killer. Kill them swiftly, softly if you want, but learn to kill. It is what you were made for."


And learn to kill, Dante had, unbelievably, though, learning the exact opposite of what Vergil had originally wanted. Dante had become the killer of devils, a demon hunter.


Unable to foresee this, Vergil had bid him farewell, watching quietly as Dante took in the quickness of his own healing abilities, realizing that even in a short time of training and testing his powers, their potency had been souped up.


"Be in awe of yourself Dante," Vergil had commented in a silky voice, eyes lowered as he approached his brother. "Love the power of your changing body and stare in bewilderment of your own physical beauty. Believe that you can and it will be done just so."


He had chastely locked lips with his younger twin, soothing a fingernail down the blood stained cheek of the other before twisting to leave.


"Don't go!" Dante had insisted, eyes wide as he reached out towards Vergil. "I just found you again!"


But Vergil had only smiled, turning to look at the other with a wink.


"You should know by now Dante," He grinned. "I'm never really gone from you."


But he was now.


Dante came back from his memories, hand sliding up his torso to touch the area over his heart, hearing the slight clank of his necklace beneath his jacket. The feeling had left there when Vergil had fallen, the sensation of never being alone suddenly torn from his chest like an appendage, his tears the only solace in the moments he ran through the tower to escape. Like missing a part of his insides, he'd collapsed briefly, nearly hyperventilating as he crouched on all fours, gasping out the pain of sudden loneliness. Sand and wood and pieces of concrete had clambered down around him as he'd laid, his forehead on his hands upon the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs as everything just fell down.


Sometimes, he wished he had stayed there, hair framing his face as he cried for the first time since he could remember, in horror of the absolute loneliness he was suffering for the first time as well. The blood from his hand, courtesy of Vergil, had poured thicker than could be accounted for, leaking from his hand as though it had no intention of stopping. Like the ultimate hemophiliac, he'd watched it drain, feeling the life leave his fingers as it slid like a serpent along the floor.


And then he had thought of her, briefly, fleetingly, stupidly, but still thought of her. Of Lady's loneliness, of her pain, of the very selfish fact that they were both alone now and of the possibility of sating that fact with each other. But it hadn't been like that. She'd moved on and maybe, just maybe, he hated her a little for it. That each day he'd grown weaker from the insatiable loneliness, she'd found means of fighting against it.


In Lady's world, loneliness was a means of acting out vengeance, a justification for rage. It didn't eat at her from inside, instead, giving her the needed strength to strap automatic weapons to her holster and charge blindly into the night for the creepy crawlys. She began to live and it stole her from him. She couldn't join him in the pain, couldn't lay beside him as he imploded into it. She could only watch his decline as he lingered in loneliness as though it were his own sick obsession, all reason for dressing himself in the morning gone, save for his uncanny thirst for sex.


And sex, was, in his opinion, the only reason for self continuance left. He found himself in it, each night, bathing in it. Sex made him closer to his brother, the very scent and sensation reeking of Vergil's sadistic craving for it. But for all of his insatiable delving, sex for Vergil had always been nothing more than a way to test "other" abilities, an abnormal training session to be partaken in whenever the mood might arise. And arise, the mood, did. And often.


Dante had been the perpetually straight brother, raised in the world and victim of its social acceptabilities. Woman were like a buffet for him, Vergil's advice about admiring his physical attributes never ignored. It had been a strange thing to accept, the way that humans reacted to him, the fear he could sense from their bodies even at a tender age. He made them afraid, even standing within their vicinity, yet they longed for him all the more hungrily.


Women had simply fallen for him, the words "you're too easy to fall in love with" having been repeated very much in his short life. He barely even had to speak a word, in fact, at times, didn't, and they still crawled for him. They would have killed their own family members had he asked it, his voice always more harsh than his brother's, yet somehow delectable when he'd whisper vulgarities into the ears of strangers. Like dogs, they would accept damn near any attention he would give, bathing his lap in sweet kisses before the night was over.


Still, Vergil had been the first to ever shower him with anything of meaning and it had shocked Dante that just about anything Vergil could do was the best and above that. He'd been nineteen the first time it had happened, Vergil's yearly visit consisting of the norm which would be the complete ABNORM to anyone that wasn't them. Fists flying, blades clashing and about three thousand obscenities later, they had thrown themselves into an all out brawl, the rain almost blinding as it fell in thick drops over their hair.


Their swords had flown like extensions of their bodies, gracefully colliding in kisses of steel, teeth grit and eyes burning with intensity.


"My my my, brother," Vergil had nearly laughed, pushing himself backwards from the other. "you've really out done yourself. And here I had half expected to find you an overweight, tax paying, child support evading low life. Time flies doesn't it?"


Dante had answered with a crude uppercut, scowling when he off handedly noticed the lines of glistening sweat that traced the contours of Vergil's throat. The older twin had thrown his head forward, laughing crazily as if knowing the other's reluctant thoughts, eyes beaming with a secret. Dante only ground his teeth harder, throwing a powerful fist towards that grinning face only to have it dodged and his shoulder thrown sideways, Vergil's foot smashing into his shins and effectively kicking his legs from beneath him.


He pounded into the concrete of the abandoned street, vision knocked violently upward as his chin split, the weight of the other on his back. Vergil laughed wickedly, yanking Dante's arms behind his back and holding them in an iron grip. A knee planted into the leather clad back, successfully holding Dante ground into the floor. He squirmed, twisting his body any which way to free himself, feeling a cold knife against his throat before hot, flashing pain when it slid across his bared skin.


Blood pumped furiously against the pavement, the younger devil coughing and sucking for air. Vergil had simply laughed, yanking his brother's head up with a fist threaded in the white hair, the wound splitting from the force.


"You're so stupid," He taunted in that irritatingly sweet voice, the angel masking the monster. "You're just so fucking stupid."


He had waited, waited for the wound to heal, to listen to the gasps and cries from his victim, standing only when Dante had ceased writhing beneath and had opted for laying still as his demon blood did the rest of the work. Shakily the hunter had gained his footing as well, panting as he stared at the other, coming to his first concrete idea that Vergil and him were on two opposing sides of an age old war. It was the first time he'd seen real evil in that face that reflected his own, real wickedness with no apologies attached.


It was really the first time it had ever truly dawned on him that Vergil had chosen one side of the spectrum and had left Dante to either accept that, join him, or do otherwise. For as many times as Vergil had goaded him over the years to embrace their father's heritage, he had never said anything about accepting their mother's. Demon blood was all that Vergil wanted to pump through his veins, however beautiful both sides of the gene pool had made him.


"You nearly killed me you rat bastard!" He'd gasped, tenderly touching the once separated mass of skin.


"I know." Vergil had just shrugged. "And I will. I won't hesitate Dante. If you ever try to stop me, believe me, I will kill you without a moment's thought."


Dante had frowned, brows furrowed.


"What do you mean?" He'd asked. "What exactly are you planning Vergil?"


Vergil had shrugged once more, pulling out his precious Yamato and insisting that they continue their brawl as if the attempted murder had just been a mere formality. They had fought long and hard, Dante's body pushed to its limits and then some, never having battled anyone that even slightly resembled Vergil's strength. Every attack seemed laced with murderous intent, no holds bared as they battled it out, unseen in an old, decrepit part of town.


Vergil was simply too quick, too polished in his movements as compared to Dante's "kill it, kill it hard, kill it fast, piss on the ashes" technique. He'd slid behind the other, locking one arm around the younger's neck, yanking him backwards as a hand slipped underneath his tight black tank top. Dante had tensed immediately, hearing the cryptic chuckle as fingernails painfully slid over his defined abs, leaving angry red trails behind them.


"I know you like this," Vergil had whispered, lips against Dante's throat. "Or won't you allow yourself even THAT amount of honesty."


Dante had struggled again, eyes wide as he yanked away from his brother, pulse nearly popping out of his neck. He couldn't understand his body's defiant reactions to the other, the odd sensations that trailed beneath his waist when his twin would touch his skin. Nothing made sense and yet, oddly enough, it didn't really matter. They had always had their own world, separate from any other that the dimensions could provide, a world of their making that contained the one rule of no rules. A Godless void where every quick witted insult was answered with another and where judgements were decided by the end of a sword.


Still, every impulse in Dante was at war, some wanting to actually run (which he'd never EVER indulged) and the others wanting to cut Vergil's throat open, drink the falling blood and ravage the incoherent bastard before he could heal up. You could say, it made him uneasy.


"Sorry," he'd replied, smirking wildly, "you're not my type."


"On the contrary," Vergil had approached eyes shining. "I think I am."