Chapter Text
Their boots trampled the dry, cracked ground beneath them. The air was thick with the stench of blood and decay, the eerie silence occasionally broken by distant guttural growls. Vergil didn’t need to look up to know that the grey skies of Hell remained the same.
The realm itself seemed to recognize their presence now. More demons, more resistance. Not that it mattered.
A hulking demon lunged at him, claws gleaming in the dim light. Without hesitation, Vergil sidestepped, his blade flashing in one fluid motion. Yamato cut cleanly through the creature’s neck, its head rolling unceremoniously across the ground as the body crumpled.
More followed, crawling from the twisted roots of the Qliphoth, drawn to the bloodshed like flies to carrion. The process of cutting down the tree was proving to be more tedious than anticipated. Despite gaining easy access, the deeper they delved, the more convoluted the paths became.
Vergil suspected it was no longer just the maze like structure but the ecosystem itself, demons nesting, multiplying, defending what they saw as their home. Another demon charged. He barely acknowledged it before bisecting it in a single slash.
“That all you got?!” Dante’s voice rang out over the carnage. Vergil flicked his gaze towards his brother. Dante was grinning, eyes wild as he cut through their enemies with reckless abandon. His blade carved through one demon’s torso, spilling black ichor onto the ground, before he turned and impaled another through the stomach, twisting his sword cruelly before yanking it out.
Vergil narrowed his eyes. Dante had always played with his enemies, throwing out cocky remarks, laughing in the face of danger. But this was different. The teasing was absent, replaced with something sharper, more primal. His attacks were more vicious, drawn out, almost... sadistic.
Vergil wasn’t sure what troubled him more, the change itself or the fact that he couldn't pinpoint the reason behind it. Dante kicked a wounded demon onto its back, smirking down at it as it squirmed.
Without hesitation, he plunged his sword into its stomach once, twice, three times, savoring the way its screams filled the air. Its insides spilled out in thick, sludgy ropes, steam rising from the exposed organs. Vergil watched, unimpressed. “Are you done yet?”
Dante exhaled, dragging the back of his sleeve across his blood splattered face. “What’s the rush? More noise means more of ‘em show up. More fun for us.”
Vergil sighed, shaking his head. “Reckless as ever. If you’re not done fooling around, I’ll handle the job alone.” He turned, stepping over the dismembered corpses, intent on moving forward. Predictably, Dante fell into step beside him, resting Rebellion over his shoulder with an easy grin. “Aw, c’mon. You wouldn’t leave me behind, would ya?”
Vergil cast a glance at him. “That does sound like an interesting option. At least I’d have some peace.” He muttered, eyes trailing over the blood-soaked roots that sprawled endlessly before them. The deeper they went, the more the roots twisted and tangled, their grotesque anatomy stretching further into the abyss like veins in a corpse.
Dante rubbed a hand over his face, inhaling sharply as if catching the scent of something. His eyes narrowed. “There.” Vergil followed his gaze. “What?” Dante lifted a hand and pointed. “Demon nest.”
Vergil frowned. Like Dante, he had honed his demonic senses to near perfection, yet he barely detected anything in the distance. A faint, lingering presence perhaps, but nothing significant. “Are you sure? I can’t sense anything.”
Dante’s expression didn’t change. “I’m sure. At least five demons.”
Vergil eyed him carefully. If he focused, if he really pushed his demonic senses to their peak he could make out the presence of a nest. But that was precisely what made him uneasy. Dante had detected it far earlier, almost too easily.
Something was off.
Vergil let the suspicion settle in the back of his mind. “Leave them alone. Let’s focus on what we came for.” Dante snorted, clearly unimpressed. “What, is Vergil afraid of a challenge?” Vergil stopped mid-step and turned to face him, narrowing his eyes. He knew exactly what Dante was trying to do. It was a game one they’d played countless times before.
“There are five demons.” Dante added. “That means whoever lands the last kill takes the lead.” Vergil said, his tone neutral. Dante’s lips curled into a grin. “Now we’re talking.” Without hesitation, they both took off.
The moment their boots left the ground, the distant cries of demons echoed through the air. Vergil, faster and more precise, reached the nest first. Yamato flashed in the dim glow of Hell’s sky, and one demon fell in a clean, effortless cut.
Dante was right behind him, slicing down another with Rebellion. Vergil expected Dante to rely on his pistols, after all, that would’ve given him an easy edge but instead, Dante stayed close, dangerously close. Too close.
Vergil cut through his second target just as Dante engaged the fourth. The last demon, more aggressive than the rest, lunged at Dante with a guttural snarl. Dante barely dodged. Instead of finishing it with his sword, he spat to the side and swung his fist forward, catching the creature across the jaw.
Vergil prepared to take the final kill himself. He stepped forward, Yamato poised but then, he stopped. Dante wasn’t reaching for Rebellion. He wasn’t even drawing Ebony & Ivory. Vergil watched as his brother grabbed the demon’s throat with his bare hands.
The creature thrashed violently, but Dante’s grip tightened. His fingers dug deep, nails-no, claws piercing through the tough flesh as if it were paper. And then, with a sickening rip, Dante tore its throat out.
Black-red ichor sprayed across his coat, splattering onto the ground as the demon collapsed in a convulsing heap. It didn’t even get the chance to scream. Dante exhaled sharply, flexing his fingers as he inspected his bloodstained hand. The tips of his nails remained slightly elongated, the faintest traces of his demonic form lingering before they receded back to normal.
He grinned, licking a drop of blood off his thumb. “I win.” Vergil merely frowned. It wasn’t the victory itself that bothered him, it was how Dante had taken it.
Dante stood up, dusting himself off before letting out a low whistle as he examined the nest. “Ooh la la. A nest fit for a king.” He joked, running his fingers along the grotesque material. Vergil, still watching him carefully, exhaled. “Come on, Dante. We need to move.”
Dante waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Gimme a minute.” He didn’t turn around. Vergil stared at him for a moment longer. Dante seemed momentarily transfixed by the nest, his fingers brushing over its grotesque, pulsing surface as if lost in thought.
Then, without warning, he started tearing it apart. His movements were rough, almost methodical, clawed hands shredding through the hardened shell, sending chunks of flesh-like material crumbling to the ground. The nest let out wet, sickly squelches with each tear, a sound that made Vergil’s brow furrow.
Vergil watched, unsure of what to say. In theory, Dante wasn’t doing anything wrong. Destroying the nest meant fewer demons in the area. Demons tended to avoid places where their own kind had been wiped out, it was a deterrent, a warning.
And yet, something about the way Dante went about it felt... excessive. His younger twin had always been reckless, but this was different.
“Are you done?” Vergil finally asked, his tone sharp but measured. Dante, still crouched near the ruins of the nest, looked up at him. For a second, his eyes held something unreadable then, just like that, he was back to his usual self.
“Yeah, let’s go.” He dusted his hands off, though the black-red ichor still clung to his skin. Vergil hesitated before turning, leading the way. He kept his pace steady, his thoughts circling like vultures.
Maybe Dante was just exhausted. That would be the most logical explanation. They had been in Hell for days, weeks, possibly even months. Time moved differently here. Sleep was a luxury they hadn’t afforded themselves, and even their demonic endurance had limits. Perhaps that was why Dante’s devil side seemed to be surfacing more than usual.
But exhaustion didn’t explain the aggression.
Vergil exhaled through his nose, making a decision. “Let’s make camp.” Dante, mid-step, stopped abruptly. He turned his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Here?” Vergil met his gaze evenly. “Do you know a better place?”
Something in Dante’s expression shifted, just for a second. His eyes gleamed, the usual amusement flickering into something else, something unreadable. Then, as if Vergil had challenged him, Dante scoffed and took a step forward, scanning the area.
“Yeah... actually, I do.” Vergil’s fingers twitched toward Yamato. “And how exactly would you know that?” Dante didn’t answer, simply moving ahead with a strange certainty.
Vergil followed, his suspicion mounting. He had been ready to grab Dante’s arm when his twin suddenly halted. Dante turned his head, flashing a grin. “Ta-da.”
Vergil’s gaze followed his brother’s. A few meters ahead, the landscape dipped into a small clearing. At its center was a pool of water, still, undisturbed, reflecting the dim glow of Hell’s sky. Vergil narrowed his eyes and walked down carefully. He knelt at the edge, running his fingers through the surface. “Water?” He murmured.
Dante stretched his arms behind his head, smirking. “Yeah. Must’ve fall out from the human world.” Vergil wasn’t convinced. His gaze flicked to Dante. “How did you know this was here?” Dante shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Felt a low presence, of demons here. Plus...” He gestured vaguely. “The air’s lighter here.”
Vergil frowned. It was true, the air here did feel clearer, less suffocating. But the difference was barely noticeable. Vergil had only detected it after arriving, yet Dante had picked up on it from a distance.
That wasn’t normal.
He stared at his brother, watching the way Dante casually kicked a rock into the water. The ripples spread across the surface. Vergil grip tightened on Yamato. He still didn’t trust this. And he sure as hell didn’t trust whatever was going on with Dante.
“So, shall we set up camp?” Dante finally asked, rolling his shoulders as if the weight of exhaustion was starting to settle in. Vergil gave a slight nod. Without another word, both sons of Sparda began their work.
Vergil moved toward the sparse patches of dry, pale white grass, gathering as much as he could. He found a few pieces of damp, half-rotten wood near the water’s edge. Hardly ideal for kindling, but it would have to do.
He worked efficiently, clearing a small space for the fire. The warmth wouldn’t do much for their demonic physiology, but it would offer a sense of comfort, something vaguely human amidst the infernal wasteland. As he arranged the wood, he cast a glance toward Dante.
Dante had been pacing in slow, lazy circles, dragging his foot through the dirt. He seemed distracted, as if listening to something Vergil couldn’t hear. Then, without ceremony, he tossed something onto the ground a mix of moss, grass, and what appeared to be tattered rags, probably scavenged from the water.
Vergil narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?” Dante crouched down, sifting through the damp material. “Making a place for us to sleep. Unless you want to lay on the hard-ass ground.” Vergil frowned. That was reasonable enough, but there was something off about his voice.
He had finally had enough.
“What’s been going on with you lately?” He asked, the words coming out more accusatory than intended. Dante blinked up at him. “Huh?” Vergil folded his arms. “You’ve been acting strange.”
Dante held his gaze for a second, then shrugged, turning back to his makeshift bedding. “Nothing to worry about, Vergil.” He started tearing at the moss, pressing the damp rags closer to the fire to dry. Vergil wasn’t buying it.
“Dante.”
Dante’s hands froze mid-motion before he turned sharply to face him. His expression had shifted, his usual playful smirk replaced with something darker, something dangerously close to a snarl. “Just drop it, Vergil.”
The sudden force in his voice sent a ripple through the air. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t even outright threatening, but it carried something that made Vergil’s own inner demon instinctively pull back.
It was a warning. Dante wasn’t in the mood.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Vergil exhaled through his nose, choosing silence. He turned his focus back to the fire, letting the moment pass. Time crawled as they settled into an uneasy quiet.
Dante, still crouched, seemed undecided about the bedding, constantly tearing it apart only to put it back together again. He would smooth the rags down, only to rip them up and start over. It was an unusual display of frustration, Dante had never cared much for the little details. It wasn’t like him. Dante could sleep just about anywhere without complaint.
Vergil watched him carefully.
After a while, Dante sighed, rubbing his temple. “Everything... okay?” Vergil asked, uncertain. Dante nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation. “Yeah. Just a headache. It'll go away soon.” Vergil frowned slightly. He couldn't remember the last time Dante had complained about something as mundane as a headache.
Before he could question it, Dante pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll be right back.” Vergil stood as well. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Dante turned, giving him a tired look. “To take a leak. Unless you wanna watch me relieve myself, in which case kinda weird, Vergil.” Vergil exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Make it quick.” Dante gave a lazy two-fingered salute before disappearing into the distance. Vergil watched him go, his fingers twitching at his side. He didn’t like this.
Not one bit.
Vergil sat back down, exhaling slowly as he glanced at the materials Dante had gathered for their so-called bedding. His fingers brushed idly over the moss, but something caught his attention, a faint texture beneath the surface. Frowning, he reached out and nudged the moss aside.
His fingers brushed against something softer than the rest. Vergil lifted a few of the small, delicate fragments. At first, they seemed unremarkable, just bits of debris. But when he looked closer, his breath hitched.
They were pieces of the demon nest Dante had destroyed earlier. Vergil turned them over in his fingers, studying their strange texture. They weren’t just random scraps, these were the most intact, the softest, the most resilient parts of the nest, carefully chosen.
Why would Dante take these with him?
He cast a glance back at the bedding. A pile of moss, grass, rags, and now nest fragments. Vergil snorted quietly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it looked like a-
Vergil stiffened. His stomach twisted, a creeping realization slithering into his mind. No. That was ridiculous. Impossible. But the thought had already rooted itself, and Vergil’s analytical mind refused to let it go.
He had spent years studying demons, breaking down their nature, their behaviors, their biology. And if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that demons, no matter how varied in strength or intelligence, fell into three primary categories.
Alphas. The strongest, the fiercest, natural-born leaders who rarely stayed in packs. They did what they had to in order to reproduce, then left without a second thought. Powerful, dominant, but not territorial. They were wanderers, driven by instinct and the desire to assert their strength.
Betas. A balanced blend of Alpha and Omega traits. Strong and fast like Alphas, but alert and adaptable like Omegas. Betas functioned well in groups. They were reliable, disciplined, capable of both independence and cooperation.
He and Dante, both of them had always been Betas. That much had never been in question.
Had it?
Vergil clenched his jaw, his mind unraveling memories he had ignored before. Their Devil Triggers were different. Their abilities weren’t entirely identical. And now Dante’s behavior, his heightened aggression, his mood swings, his sharpened senses seemed to fit a pattern Vergil hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.
There was only one more category, and it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.
Omegas.
The protectors. The guardians. Their aggression was tempered by a natural sense of duty, but when pushed, they could be the most brutal of all. The most territorial, more dangerous in their wrath. Most of the time, they maintained a controlled, almost deceptive calm.
Most of the time.
But once a year, they became something else.
During that time, even Alphas tended to avoid them, knowing the chaos that could unfold. Only the boldest, most reckless demons ever tried to approach, hoping to be accepted as suitors. It was a dangerous gamble.
Vergil felt his throat tighten. He had assumed, he had known that he and Dante shared the same biology. Their demonic inheritance was equal, their evolution intertwined. That had been beyond question.
And yet…
Vergil’s fingers curled into a fist. Dante had destroyed that demon nest. But not just that, he had taken from it. Collected materials. Used them to build.
An Omega’s instinctive behavior.
Vergil’s entire body went rigid. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as the realization clicked into place. “...Fuck.”
He shot up from the ground, scanning the area. Dante was still gone. “Dante!” Vergil barked, his voice echoing into the distance. No response. His pulse quickened. He didn’t hesitate, he ran, his boots pounding against the scorched ground as he sprinted in the direction Dante had disappeared.
How could he be so stupid?
The signs had been there for days, practically screaming at him. The sudden outbursts of anger. The excessive brutality, the way Dante enjoyed tearing demons apart more than usual. How demons, creatures that never hesitated to charge at them. had started to falter, sensing something was wrong.
And Vergil had ignored it.
Maybe if he had paid closer attention, if he had noticed the warning signs sooner, they wouldn’t be in this situation. He wouldn’t be running now, sprinting across the desolate terrain, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs like a war drum.
Vergil clenched his teeth. If the demons down here had picked up on it, then they already knew Dante was an Omega. The realization still sent a jolt through him.
It wasn’t supposed to be possible. They were twins. They shared the same blood, the same power, the same demonic inheritance. But if that was true, why had Vergil never sensed it before?
Then it hit him.
Pheromones.
An Omega’s scent was unmistakable. It was what made them so dangerously alluring and repulsive to other demons. But for Vergil, it had never been obvious. Because he and Dante shared the same blood, the same lineage, Dante’s pheromones did nothing to him.
Vergil’s stomach twisted. Damn it. That meant Dante had been alone in this. Probably confused. Probably suffering. And Vergil had just dismissed it as his brother being Dante.
A distant sound shattered his thoughts. A wet, sickening crunch. Then another. Vergil halted, head snapping toward the noise. He heard it before he saw it, the unmistakable sounds of battle, of ripping flesh and gurgling last breaths. But there was something off.
This wasn’t a fight.
It was a slaughter.
Vergil’s breath caught as he bolted toward the carnage. The smell of blood thickened in the air, coating the back of his throat like acid. The ground became slick beneath his boots, the scene before him made even him pause.
Bodies.
Piles of demons, their forms twisted and torn apart, entrails strewn like discarded garbage. Some were missing limbs. Others, heads. The ones still alive twitched weakly, their mouths opening in soundless agony. And in the center of it all-
Dante.
He was drenched in blood, his coat discarded, his body half-transformed. His Devil Trigger was clawing its way to the surface, but it was wrong. His horns jutted out unnaturally. His wings had begun to tear through his back, his arms elongated, fingers curled into wicked claws. And his teeth-
Vergil watched as Dante ripped a demon’s throat out with his fangs, barely pausing before moving to the next. His movements were fluid, animalistic, the last traces of his usual smug control slipping away. Vergil felt something cold crawl down his spine.
He’s losing himself.
Vergil had never seen Dante like this. His brother had always been reckless, brash, over-the-top in his fighting style but this? This was feral.
“Dante.” Vergil called, but there was no response. His brother tore another demon in half. “DANTE!” Vergil barked, louder this time, stepping forward. His boots splashed in the growing pool of blood.
Dante didn’t react. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his entire body trembling from the sheer force of his demonic instincts taking over. His claws flexed at his sides made it clear, he wasn’t finished, Vergil cursed under his breath and moved closer.
“Dante, get a grip-” The moment his hands gripped Dante’s shoulders, everything snapped.
Dante lunged.
Vergil barely had time to react before his instincts screamed at him, his own Devil Trigger flickering to the surface, ready to counter. But then... Dante stopped.
Just inches away from attacking, his body went rigid. Panting, Dante’s blood-red eyes locked onto his, pupils constricted into razor-thin slits. His chest heaved, his breath uneven. His claws twitched, as if fighting the urge to lash out. Then, finally, he spoke.
“...Vergil?” His voice was hoarse, rough, like he was struggling to remember where or who he was. Vergil let out a slow breath, steadying himself. He gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Dante’s breathing didn’t slow, his hands still curled into claws. His body trembled, fighting, resisting, conflicted. Vergil remained still, but his mind was already calculating his next move.
If he loses control again… One wrong step, and Dante might not stop this time.
Dante’s wings fluttered slightly, residual tension still clinging to his form. His gaze remained locked onto Vergil, unblinking, almost as if he were making sure his brother was real.
Slowly, his ragged breaths began to steady. The glowing red hue in his eyes dimmed, retreating back into familiar icy blue. His body shifted, muscles relaxing as his Devil Trigger receded. Then, with a long, drawn-out groan, Dante collapsed to his knees.
“Fuuuuuckkkkkk.” He exhaled, his hand dragging down his face, smearing a mix of sweat and blood. His shoulders slumped, his body spent. "Haven’t had an attack like that in years..." His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.
Vergil hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, crouching beside him. His mind raced with questions, but he knew pressing too hard would get him nowhere. “...Dante?” He said carefully. “Are you with me?”
Dante exhaled sharply, giving him a tired but conscious look. “Yeah... yeah, I’m back.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Shit, sorry about that.” He rubbed his temples as if he had a migraine pounding at his skull. “Didn’t think Hell would screw up my cycle this badly.”
Vergil narrowed his eyes. Cycle?
His gaze flickered to Dante’s discarded coat, which lay on the blood-soaked ground, its crimson fabric blending almost seamlessly with the carnage around them. He stood up slowly, careful not to startle him, and picked up the coat. The fabric was damp, reeking of demon blood, but Dante still reached for it instinctively when Vergil handed it over. Vergil folded his arms. “Dante... you know you’re-”
“An Omega?” Dante finished, slipping his coat back on. He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, spitting some leftover demon blood to the side. “Yeah. I’ve known for decades.” Vergil frowned. “Decades?”
Dante shrugged. “What, you thought I just found out?” He rubbed the back of his neck, cracking a tired grin. Vergil clenched his jaw. Dante must have noticed his expression, because his smirk faltered slightly. Vergil exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. “You’re in-”
“If you say heat, I swear on our father, I’ll rip your head off.” Dante’s voice was sharp, too sharp, the warning edge of a blade pressed against skin. His blue eyes flickered red for the briefest second before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to relax.
“I call it a cycle.” He muttered. “Or a demonic period- something that doesn’t sound like I should be locked in a goddamn room for a week.” He smirked slightly, but it was thin, forced. “Sounds way better, don’tcha think?”
Vergil nodded, absorbing the information. He wanted to ask more, to understand what this meant, how long Dante had been dealing with this alone. But now wasn’t the time. “Let’s go back to camp.” Vergil finally said. Dante sighed. “Yeah. Good call.” The walk back was silent.
Vergil wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this. On one hand, it was good that Dante knew about his own biology. It meant he wasn’t completely blind to what was happening. It spared Vergil from having humiliating questions.
But on the other hand...
Dante had hid it from him.
Vergil clenched his fists. Was it because Dante didn’t trust him? Did he think Vergil would mock him? Dismiss it?
He didn’t know.
When they finally reached the camp, Dante let out a long breath, eyeing his unfinished nest. His expression was unreadable for a moment before he crouched down and resumed working on it like nothing had happened.
Vergil just stared.
Dante’s hands moved methodically, fixing the mess he had torn apart earlier. He barely acknowledged Vergil’s presence, focusing entirely on the makeshift bedding. Vergil shifted uncomfortably.
Should he… say something? Offer help? He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Finally, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Dante.” Dante hummed absentmindedly in response, not looking up.
Vergil hesitated, then lowered himself to one knee, reaching out to help arrange the bedding. Dante’s hands stilled for a moment. His head tilted slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it. Then, quietly, he muttered. “You don’t have to, y’know.”
Vergil kept his expression neutral. “I know.” Dante was silent for a moment longer before huffing a small laugh, shaking his head. “Suit yourself.” They worked in silence after that.
For once, it wasn’t uncomfortable.