The Ghost Woman And The Hunter

by OneBrainSel (SeleneDarkbloom)

Summary:

“Not a dull moment lately, huh?” There was a scrape of sword against stone, the clink of metal against metal, the creak of leather and kicked pebbles. “Demons throwing tea parties,” Vergil turned towards Dante, “long lost sisters rising from the grave…” There was a slight waver to her voice when Dante’s eyes landed on Vergil’s face, but her grin betrayed little.

“One cannot rise from a grave they’ve never laid in.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Funny statement from a ghost.”

“Well, I do not recall ever being dead.”  

Notes:

• For ardens.

When your friend comes to you with a proposition to write VerDan femslash you just can't say no.
This takes place during the DMC3 Manga.

Chapter 1: Head Full Of Ghosts

It had been years since Vergil had stayed in one place for any significant amount of time. A few weeks at most, she could not allow herself to set roots. Not when Mundus’ minions were always a few steps behind, and not when the key to the power to defeat him was a few steps ahead. She had been moving like she always had, but unconsciously—or perhaps not so unconsciously—she found herself in Red Grave. When she had gotten just a few towns away, she wondered why she was back there. There was nothing of value to be gained by doing so. But deep down she did know the reason. Some pesky human sentimentality that had wormed its way into her mind.   

 

She had painstakingly divested herself of many of the human notions instilled into her throughout her childhood, but not all of them were gone. That’s why when the night was dark and the winds signaled a coming storm; she found herself walking through rows upon rows of headstones in Red Grave’s cemetery. Earlier she had been to the city’s archives in search of a clue, which she did find. Mother had been found under rubble and buried as an indigent; it didn’t surprise Vergil to know that. They had no family but themselves. It was just the four of them, then three, and then just Vergil. It was a simple matter of getting the right information to the right people, and she was told in which part of the cemetery she had been interred in.   

 

She looked through name after name. Dozens of people who if not forgotten already, they’d soon be. Every headstone had some variation of a name, a date of birth, a date of death and an epitaph. Humans really liked their dates, liked to assign value to things that had no tangible meaning. Vergil had long stopped caring for such things, but she still remembered every birthday cake her mother ever made. Remembered clear as day how she had never been alone in those days. Cakes shared even though she and Dante always fought for the first slice. Those were memories she had buried within her mind not unlike the bodies underneath her feet. 

   

Has she looked through the myriads of dates she was made acutely aware of what had drawn her there in the first place. Her—their. Always their—eighteenth birthday was fast approaching. Vergil paid little attention to human markers of time, but if she was not mistaken, it was a mere few hours away. She had learned at a very young age that speculating on ‘what ifs’ and ‘could have beens’ was pointless, but she had come this far; so, she allowed herself to wonder…  

  

Eighteen was important to humans, it was supposed to signify the end of childhood, of innocence. But that no longer held any meaning, not when those things had been taken from her much earlier. But had they not been; how would she—how would they be spending this day? She supposed humans usually celebrated with big parties, loud music, drinks, and more people than Vergil would ever be comfortable with. She thought Dante would probably have enjoyed something like that. 

   

She slowed her pace the closer she got to the date in which her mother died, coming to a full stop when she found the right marker. Unmistakable with her name, birthday and date of death on it. She knelt before it, running her fingers over the letters. E-V-A. She was surprised to find the headstone properly marked, according to the documents and newspaper clippings she had found; they couldn’t identify her. She had been buried as an unknown, that’s why Vergil had taken great care looking for her and making sure she was at the right location. Had authorities discovered who she was at some point and neglected to update the archives? 

   

Her eyes briefly strayed while she questioned the situation, and they landed on the headstone right beside mother’s. It was slightly smaller, more delicate. It was carved with a name she had not expected to see: Her own. 

   

If authorities found out about mother, it wasn’t a huge leap for them to have found out about her children and to presume them dead. Or at the very least presume Vergil dead, because she knew with absolute certainty that her own grave was an empty one. She looked to either side, but she could not find a headstone for Dante. And that made her pause. Why didn’t she have a grave beside Vergil and their mother? 

   

There could be a number of reasons for that, but the only one that made sense to her with all the information she had gathered in the last few days; was that Dante was alive . It would explain why the graves had accurate information. Who else could have known or cared enough to give mother her name back in death? Who else would have bothered to memorialize Vergil? She hated that this was the option that made the most sense, the one she could not defy, because it brought to the surface pesky and insistent sparks of hope. 

  

Would Dante be happy to see her if they were to meet? Had she missed Vergil at all? It was their birthday; did Dante have that same void in her heart that Vergil did? That one spot where her twin should be. Or had Dante moved on? Forgotten all about Vergil, and was now surrounded by people celebrating her, orbiting her as if she were the Sun? Pulled by her gravity, spinning to her whims as Vergil always had.   

 

Has she stood there, feeling like one of the many effigies in that cemetery, she thought that was very likely. And as she walked away, she did not know how to feel. She had journeyed there for closure. One last human thing she had to discard so she could march forward towards the power she sought, but all she encountered were more open doors.  

 

---

 

Dante stumbled down the stairs to her newly acquired office and she could not deny that she felt... very little about it. She had only closed the deal on the place a few weeks prior, she should’ve been in a new house high. But she felt just as empty as the beer bottles she kicked out of the way when she got to the bottom. She dispassionately went to her fridge and found it disappointingly empty save the one slice of cold pizza, which she grabbed to eat it anyway. It tasted sad honestly, but pizza was pizza, and she wasn’t wasting it. She rummaged around the place to see if there was anything left that she could drink but found nothing. She sighed after her assessment; she did not want to go out at all. Had established that in the previous night when she thought about heading to the nearby bar and getting wasted, but she had felt oddly disgusted by the idea. Like she was being disrespectful to her ghosts by doing so. Still, she wanted food, and more drinks so she shook off the dust on her coat and headed out into the chill night. 

   

She could go to the bar tonight. Because tonight was no longer yesterday , yet she felt the same odd feeling in her stomach at the thought. So, she forewent that idea entirely and marched forward to the closest convenience store. Dante got a few odd looks wherever she went; she was still new in the area. It was a rough neighborhood and locals tended to prey on the poor souls who walked by ignorant to the food chain. She had heard the cheeky comment here and there in the past few weeks, but all it took was a couple good scares and they knew not to mess with her. Still, it didn’t keep the most confident of them from trying to take her on, but tonight no one dared. Something about her warned them all away with just a look at her passing figure. 

   

She pushed the door to the store open and heard the bell chime. It was empty save for the cashier who barely spared her a look. Good, she preferred it that way. She grabbed as many bottles as possible of things stronger than beer that she could carry, and a few boxes of frozen pizza. Not her favorite but having them at hand meant she wouldn’t have to see anyone else for at least a couple more days. She paid for it with a passing thought that she probably spent way too much money, but hey, it was her special day . She deserved a treat. 

   

She kicked the door to her new home shut, shoved the pizzas inside the fridge and opened a bottle of whiskey. She drank straight from it without bothering with finding a glass. It was just her anyway. The bottle was empty and tossed aside in the time it took her to shrug her coat and boots off. Dante moved on to the next without much thought, after all, that was the whole point of drinking in the first place. She didn’t want to think. Thinking too much led to feeling too much, and she didn’t think she was quite up to that. 

   

The last time she had been blackout drunk—a feat in and of itself for one like her—had been at Bobby’s. And while nothing about that night was a particularly pleasant memory, she needed that exact kind of numbness if she was going to make it through the night. Dante had not dared celebrating her birthday ever since her last stint with a foster family ended up with a town set ablaze. Grue had teased her about always sidestepping any questions about her birthday. He said his girls were pestering him about it. 

  

Everyone needs to have a cake, Tony.   

 

She always waved him off, but one day when she went to visit his home, they surprised her with a cake Jessica had made anyway. The date didn’t matter; it was the thought that counted. That’s what Grue had said then. She felt selfish for missing them. How dare she miss them when she was the reason their lives were forever changed and cut short? She moved on to the third bottle because clearly the ‘not thinking’ and ‘not feeling’ plans were already failing. 

   

She missed being Tony. It was easier, she would even go so far as to say she had been happy for a while. Well, the closest she could get to that anyway. Being Dante meant tragedy, she learned that lesson repeatedly. But she also learned she could not run from it, even if her own name tasted like ashes on her tongue. The problem with being Dante was that it had always been Dante and Vergil— Vergil and Dante, I was born first —Dante didn’t exist as a solo unit. And yet there she was, one half of a collector’s item without her matching set. She felt like someone had torn open her box and ripped Vergil from it, never to be seen again.   

 

They should have been celebrating together. Dante should’ve been pestering her about having her first drink because of course her sister would’ve been one of those stuck-up kinds to not drink underage. She’d have been above that kind of behavior, but she would’ve never backed down from a challenge given by Dante. In the end Vergil would have had fun but never admitted to it. They would’ve been making plans for their future, maybe they would have gone to college. Vergil definitely would’ve, and everyone would’ve been surprised that Dante was going too, at the end of the night mother would have pulled them into a hug, kissed their foreheads with a smile that wrinkled her eyes, and with barely concealed tears she would have said how proud she was of the women her girls were growing up to be. 

   

What a sweet dream, really. 

   

Happy fucking birthday to us.

  

Dante took another drink. 

Chapter 2: Where The Crows Fly You’re Haunting Me

Arkham had said he would handle Dante. He would acquire her half of the Amulet and Vergil hated that she felt almost grateful towards the man for taking the initiative. She did not want to see Dante, the idea of it made her sick. For longer than she was proud to admit she had dreamed of seeing her twin again. After her visit to Red Grave’s cemetery, she investigated and learned that someone under the name of Tony Redgrave had arranged the headstones two years prior. The old woman who oversaw the process had said she remembered exactly what Tony looked like. Vergil wanted to be skeptical of it, how likely was it that the woman would have remembered one person from years before in a sea of other faces? But the woman insisted she could not have forgotten her face. The strikingly blue eyes and the unnatural sheen of her silver hair.    

She looked just like you .   

So, Dante had chosen to forget her family, to abandon the name bestowed upon her by mother and father. Tony Redgrave —how sentimental of her little sister—had a reputation in the mercenary underworld, one that suited her. She was spoken of fondly by many, because of course she was loved wherever she went. No wonder she had chosen to bury them and move on; she had no need to linger on the past.    

If Dante—Tony—wanted to forget her, then Vergil had no reason to reach out. She knew when she was not wanted.    

What Arkham had failed to mention; was that his plan to get Dante’s amulet included luring her to his house, the one where Vergil was currently staying. The man so easily vexed Vergil. He wanted to see what would happen by putting them in proximity to one another. Vergil was no fool, it was likely part of his plan. She had her suspicions the moment she learned that Dante resided nearby.    

She felt her presence as soon as she entered the grounds. It shocked Vergil at first because she never thought she would feel the pulse of her soul so close to her own again, but it felt stronger than it ever did when they were children, but Vergil’s powers had not been awake then. She followed that thrum as if in a trance, she watched as her sister easily dispatched of the demons Arkham had put in her path.    

Dante was as loud and rambunctious as she remembered, still clad in her favorite red—like the roses in their garden, like mother’s shawl and mother’s blood—Of course her sister grew to favor firearms, they were just as loud and human as she was. She made art out of chaos as she fought, fluidly she moved from one stance to the other, she painted carnage in flowing arches like brush strokes all around her.     

Vergil felt something aching to pride bloom in her chest, excitement building in her veins at the thought of fighting her. It was true that fighting demons, from runts to Mundus’ generals, had been all she’d done for the better part of a decade, but none of them had exhilarated her as Dante did when they sparred as children. But regardless of her wishes she held herself at bay, she wanted to see if Arkham’s plan would work, if he could truly get the amulet without Vergil’s assistance.    

She watched Alice hold Dante in her embrace, she saw as she fed on Dante’s blood, and she thought that Arkham’s plan might work. But her sister was as stubborn as they come. And Vergil’s heart beat fast when a burst of power emanated from Dante, it enveloped her in their father’s shadow and knocked Alice unconscious. It wasn’t Dante’s Devil, not yet. But Vergil felt it just under the surface. Oh, how beautiful Sparda’s legacy was on her skin. All Dante needed was a push, and Vergil found herself willing to tip her over the edge. As the shadow receded to reveal Dante beneath it, Vergil realized that no, Arkham would not be able to do this without her. Fitting, they were the daughters of Sparda. A mere human would never be able to best them.   

She ascended the stairs to the attic two steps at a time, the moon shining brightly through the glass windows and Vergil’s skin burned underneath her clothes. She angrily pulled the ascot from her neck and shrugged her coat off. Dante’s mere presence set her nerves alight. She fell onto the bed with a frustrated sigh, it seemed as if no matter what she did, how far she ran, how fiercely she denied it; Dante still held power over her. Her body was intent on ignoring all of her earlier promises to stay away, all it did was crave—her touch, her light, her soul, her pain, her hate, her love—Vergil’s body sang to the tune of her sister’s burning soul and Vergil was powerless in the face of its desire has she surrendered to it with a hand hastily shoved underneath her pants and a lonely sigh into the late night air.  

 

---

   

Something weird had happened at the job that night. Well, slightly weirder than usual. She was a devil hunter; strange and unusual things were her specialty. But that was unsettling on a personal level. The Mad Hatter and White Rabbit looking demons told her something that made her skin crawl.     

“We should get her instead.”    

“Her?” Dante had asked.    

“Yes. Her.”    

“Same face.”    

“Same face.”    

“Maybe she’ll play, same face.”    

“Same face, with us.”    

Only one person could have the same face. And she was dead . Had been for a decade, Dante would know. She had no reason to hope, wouldn’t dare feed that delusion. So, she jumps to the next viable conclusion; someone had sent a messed-up clone after her, again . Because the universe really hated Dante’s existence and thought one Gilver was not enough, it had to brew another one. Is this what her life was going to be now? Fighting evil dolls made to look like her? A psychotic puppet master’s idea of what Vergil would be like if she was alive today? It was a shit prognosis. But maybe if she fought enough of those clones she’d eventually get desensitized to it. A very optimistic outlook in her opinion.    

With that assessment in mind, she dropped onto bed that night.    

And failed to fall asleep.    

That in itself wasn’t uncommon. But she still had that exchange floating around in her head again and again and again and again, and she was forced to think, just… what if? Maybe it wasn’t a clone, maybe she had come back to her. But why would she? Why come back to Dante who hid while their mom died, Dante who didn’t find her? Dante who had been nothing but a torn at her side throughout their childhood? If Vergil still lived—she didn’t—she would have no reason to come back to Dante. She was an ill omen, the rotten fruit in the basket that ruined every other around from exposure. Had Vergil lived, she would be better off away from Dante. Happy, even.    

She knew that was the more realistic outcome to the ridiculous notion that Vergil lived. But when the night was too quiet and Dante couldn’t find sleep, or the will to hunt for the nearest bottle of whiskey; she dreamed. The water stains in her ceiling were bathed by the soft yellow light that seeped from the lamppost outside, the longer she stared the more they began to shift, no longer amorphous blobs, they started to look like two little girls, they were running together. With hands clutched tightly around each other they ran from fire and ruin. They hid in alleyways under rain and dark shadows, but they didn’t feel the cold because they shared each other’s warmth. They get older then, under a roof with a filling meal; and safe. They’re not alone. They get even older; swords in hand, back-to-back—the devils at their feet. All in a day’s work . A smile, a hand on a shoulder. Blood down the drain, a shared slice of chocolate cake. A shadow at the door, a pat on the bed. They don’t have to be apart ever again. A kiss goodnight. It lingers. I want you . I want you too.    

I need you.   

I need you.    

I need you.    

I need you.    

Dante turned away from the ceiling and to the empty bed beside her. She tried to imagine Vergil filling the space beside her, but she couldn’t quite do it. They used to look like mirror images of one another back then, it wouldn’t be any different now. Dante knew what she looked like, and yet she had trouble picturing Vergil . There was something so uniquely her about her face, and the way she had moved; picturing just another Dante wasn’t a faithful recreation. She can’t picture her sister’s face past the age of eight. She closed her eyes; it was dark in her dream. She imagined her touch instead. Firm, calculated and controlling. Vergil always liked things just so. Dante always fought her over it. But in her dreams? She never put up a fight. In her make-believe she couldn’t cause Vergil any harm, she refused to. In her make-believe, they touch softly and reassuringly.    

And that’s why it was a dream.    

Because it was softer than she deserved it to be.  

Chapter 3: Love Is The Devil’s Gaze

When Vergil decided to head for the church to open the third seal on her own, she had not expected to find her sister there. She had been relatively far from it still when she felt it; Dante’s raw power coming off her in waves. It was thrumming and begging to be let out. She wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to see it. And if she rushed to the site? None but the dead were there to bear witness to it.    

The church was in shambles, a casualty of Dante’s fight against the demon trapped underneath, no matter how much the Hatter and the demon asked for it, she refused to name it. And Vergil could not risk losing the seal, so she intervened. She quickly finished her task, the Hatter claimed he had been helping by getting Dante to do it. Vergil had her doubts in that regard; demons were not a kind known for their altruism, and the Hatter had been summoned by Arkham. That the man had his own agenda; she was aware of. However, she did not particularly care what it was, so long as he got her to her rightful legacy. But she could not let him wander too far off his leash. But that wasn’t something she had to concern herself with now.    

“Not a dull moment lately, huh?” There was a scrape of sword against stone, the clink of metal against metal, the creak of leather and kicked pebbles. “Demons throwing tea parties,” Vergil turned towards Dante, “long lost sisters rising from the grave…” There was a slight waver to her voice when Dante’s eyes landed on Vergil’s face, but her grin betrayed little.    

“One cannot rise from a grave they’ve never laid in.” She raised an eyebrow.    

“Funny statement from a ghost.”    

“Well, I do not recall ever being dead.”    

“And I don’t remember getting the memo on that one.” Dante nonchalantly twirled a black gun in her hand, but her grip on Rebellion was tight. “Let’s call it even.”    

Vergil scoffed. “You’ve never been one to ‘call it even’.”    

“People change.” Dante shrugged. “Take yourself for example! I can’t even recognize my own twin anymore.” She leaned Rebellion over her shoulder. “I mean, that’s what you’re doing nowadays? Making demon friends?”   

There was clear disgust in the way she spoke of demons, so adamant to deny her own nature. Hiding from what she is, from father’s legacy and power. So much wasted potential.    

“I wouldn’t go so far as using the word ‘friends’, but we’ve not seen in so long—I wouldn’t blame you for not knowing the difference.”    

“I’d say it’s a good enough word, naming it seemed like a pretty friendly gesture to me.” Dante squinted lightly.    

“I guess we’ll just have to disagree on the matter—for old time’s sake.”     

“Guess so.” Dante seemed weary. As if she was trying to assess how much of a threat Vergil was to her. But despite her apparent concern, she quickly shifted to casual nonchalance.    

“Tell me, you showed up recently, right? Sorry for not noticing, work’s been keeping me pretty busy lately.” She spun the Rebellion letting it stop with its tip on the ground; she leaned her weight on the hilt. Always unable to keep still—that had not changed in the years since they last saw one another. “But I can still show ya ‘round the place. I’m an excellent tour guide!”    

“I wouldn’t want to bother you; I’ve been busy as well.” Vergil matched her tone.    

“Nah, come on! For example, neighborhood’s never been safer! You see, demon killing? That’s my bread and butter.” Dante explained proudly.    

“Demon slaying? You?” Vergil said with mild disdain that Dante immediately took offense to.    

“What? Got a problem with that?”    

“No.” Vergil said simply. “You should enjoy it while you can.”    

“What’d you mean by that?”    

“Soon this world shall be consumed by the demon realm.” Vergil came down from the rubble and onto the level ground. “It is an—unfortunate for you—side effect of opening the seal Sparda put in place to hide what lies beneath.”    

“Have you lost it?” Dante looked dumbfounded.    

“Quite the opposite—my path has never been clearer.”    

“What good is undoing our old man’s work gonna do, sister?” She gestured exasperated.    

“It’s the only way.”    

“The ‘only way’ to what? A circus? You were never a fan of clowns.”    

“I shouldn’t expect you to understand.” Vergil let her disappointment show in every word.    

“What is there to understand? Vergil… mother was killed by demons.” Dante said as if that was enough. As if it was that simple.    

“I know.”    

That seemed to be the thing to inflame Dante, her sister pulled both guns on Vergil, so she raised Yamato in response. “I will do what I must. And all who stand in my way will be cut down.” Even you.    

“Someone like you reduced to a demon’s pawn… What a shame.” It was as if every emotion had been taken out from Dante’s voice.     

“I’m no one’s pawn.” Vergil felt offended that Dante thought that little of her.   

“That only makes it worse.” Well, every emotion except maybe resignation . And on that Vergil would have to agree.   

She too felt resigned to the outcome of their little exchange. Dante had shown her exactly where she stood on the matter, and it was not in the same place Vergil did. A pity. Vergil can retrieve Sparda’s power on her own, but having Dante on her side would’ve greatly expedited the process. Unfortunate, but Vergil started this on her own and she would finish it so.    

For the next few seconds neither of them said or did anything. Both waiting to see who would strike the first blow, and both knowing there was only one way this could go. Vergil thought that maybe she should feel saddened by this, having not seen her sister in a decade, maybe they should’ve had a heartfelt reunion. Tears, hugs, all those human notions she had long since stopped caring for. But then again, that was never their way, was it? They only ever knew how to draw blood, break bones and ruin their clothes—much to their mother’s dismay. How could this be any different?    

Vergil waited patiently, Dante used to, more often than not, instigate their fights, sometimes to Vergil’s annoyance. But right now, Dante appeared hesitant to make the first move. In a way this forced Vergil’s hand into a fight regardless of her wants. Well, if that’s how Dante wanted to play, she’d oblige. After all, she was looking forward to an opportunity to cross blades with her. For old times’ sake.    

She made for a quick swipe with Yamato to sever the chain of Dante’s amulet, but her sister was quick to dodge, firing an entire clip at Vergil in retaliation. She easily blocked every bullet. Those might work on a lesser demon, but not on her. Dante holstered her guns and pulled Rebellion forward.    

“You too, huh?” Dante said and launched towards Vergil with a deep thrust she side stepped to avoid, which Dante seemed to be counting on, her following move forced Vergil back into a stalemate. “Everyone’s been trying really hard to get my necklace lately.” Dante tried to break her guard. “Why?” She questioned.    

“It’s a rare collectors’ item, Dante . And I’d like to own the complete set.” She gave Dante a half-truth that only angered her more.    

“Ha-ha, very funny.” She pushed down on Yamato and Vergil loosened her stance. In a deliberate move she allowed their blades to slide against one another, then she pulled herself to the side, which made Dante fall forward propelled by her own inertia. She recovered quickly by pulling Rebellion up to strike at Vergil’s side. She blocked, then followed up with rapid strikes that forced Dante into the defense. She jumped away from Vergil and landed on the corner of one of the wooden seats which tilted up, she sent it flying towards Vergil. She cut it in half with a burst from Yamato, at the same time Dante was already pulling her guns on Vergil again. But she expected it, the bench was a distraction. By the time Dante’s bullets reached the spot where Vergil had been, she had already moved behind Dante and kicked her in the back.    

She fell on the steps leading up to the destroyed sanctuary, Vergil didn't give her any time, immediately jumping with her blade aimed at her chest. Dante moved for her gun again, but Vergil cut the back of her hand making her drop it, Dante stood and called for Rebellion. The sword got to her hand just in time to block Vergil’s next blow. But her barrage forced her to collide with the solid wood of the altar with nowhere to go. Vergil wrestled Rebellion away from her and Dante stayed still and breathing rapidly, her eyes brimmed with untamed fury directed at Vergil.    

“I win.” Vergil said, lips tilted in a faint smile.    

“Already calling it quits?” Dante jutted her chin.    

“So eager to lose again, are we?” Vergil taunted.   

“Who says I’ll lose?”    

“I do.”    

“So bossy.” There was a slight pout to Dante’s smirk.    

Always so bratty that twin of hers. That has never changed. But the truth of the matter was that no one could give Vergil this—the thrill of a proper fight with an equal. And Vergil loathed her for it.    

“Come on Vergil, that's all you got?” She issued the challenge, goading Vergil into giving ground. Dante was so insufferable and insistent.    

She let the hand holding Yamato fall to the side and wrapped the other on Dante’s hair, yanking her head back.    

“Ouch! Didn’t take you for enjoying cat fights, Verge.” Dante grinned.   

She ignored her sister’s taunt in favor of admiring the exposed column of her throat. The bead of sweat that rolled down her skin was mesmerizing, hypnotic. Being this close to Dante after a decade took Vergil off kilter, she hated not feeling in control of herself, Dante’s closeness confused her body, her brain and the Devil inside her.     

“Cat got your tongue?” Dante tried to push her off, but Vergil yanked her hair further back, and in a move that surprised even herself, she dove for her neck. Vergil licked up the same bead of sweat she’d been staring at. She licked up and up until she found Dante’s mouth and kissed her parted lips. She tasted the salt of her sweat, demon blood and Dante .   

Her sister didn’t fight back against it, likely too stunned to do so. And when Vergil pulled back, she didn’t hide the grin spreading over her face. “ Your tongue, apparently.” Dante’s stunned expression turned into a frown; she grabbed the collar of Vergil’s coat.    

“You’re such an ass you know that?” She said with only so much heat behind it before she was the one pulling Vergil into a kiss.    

It’s all teeth and tongue and neither of them was trying to make it an acceptable experience in any way. Vergil, to her own horror, could not deny in the moment that she wanted nothing else but to be close to her. She craved it with an almost mindless desire. Having Dante so tangibly alive in her hands felt like the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. It was adrenaline in its purest form.    

Dante jumped and sat on the solid wood of the altar with parted legs that Vergil slot in with ease. She wrapped them around Vergil’s waist and kept her there. Close, so close. Yet not enough, and Vergil thought that, ironically, her sister was still wearing far too many clothes. She would’ve liked to remove every item with the care one would unwrapping a gift, but they had no time for that. She and Dante seemed to agree on at least some things; it was perhaps that fabled magic bond between twins. Dante attempted to remove Vergil’s coat and got frustrated when she wasn’t allowed to, then decided to rip away her ascot with a little too much force and a cheshire grin. The action earned Dante a warning look from Vergil that she shrugged off.    

“Not my fault you chose to dress like a sickly Victorian child.” She said, then sucked a mark on Vergil’s neck that disappeared just as quickly as it was made.    

“At least I’m wearing something.”    

“Oh please, don’t act the prude.” Dante rolled her eyes.    

“I’m not.”    

To prove her point she flicked open the button of Dante’s pants and shoved her hand under it and her underwear in one swift motion. Dante gasped and grasped her shoulder. Vergil felt the sharpness of her fingernails elongated into claws, felt as Dante’s Devil bubbled under the surface. She felt her own Devil calling out for her sister’s in a faint and painful echo. It called out for kin, for fire. It begged Vergil to set it free, and normally she would have. She had no qualms with her own inner beast. But if Dante wasn’t letting hers out, then she wouldn’t either.    

Dante was warm under her gloved palm and Vergil wished to feel her under her bare skin; she ground the heel of her hand firmly over her clit and Dante eagerly moved her hips to chase Vergil’s touch. Her head dropped over Vergil’s shoulder with a muffled groan, a sound Vergil would like to hear more of, and their current position wasn’t satisfactory enough for that. She pulled her hand out from her pants and Dante raised her head with a displeased look. Vergil smirked and forced her to lie down over the altar, she admired Dante for a brief moment; silver hair splayed on the ancient dark wood, piercing blues almost black with desire.      

Vergil pulled her glove out with her teeth and Dante proceeded to raise her hips to push her pants down, but that wasn’t enough for her little sister. She sat up and kicked off one of her boots to remove a single pant leg, letting the fabric dangle uselessly trapped by her other boot. It gave Vergil more room to work with, and now that she could smell Dante more strongly without the fabric in the way—her mouth watered. Dante lied back down with a smile Vergil could only describe as ‘giddy’; she cannot but hum in approval of her eagerness. She stepped out from the cradle of her legs to settle just to the side of them. She bent her torso over Dante, drawing Yamato slowly to hover over her neck. Dante swallowed and gave her a tilted smile. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Dante brought her free leg up and bent her knee, firmly planting her foot at the edge of the altar effectively baring herself openly for Vergil.    

“I’m threatening you to behave .” Vergil ran her gloveless hand over her exposed thigh then cupped her cunt unimpeded. She was even warmer against the bare skin of her hand, and so wet that Vergil would have no trouble handling her.    

“When have I ever behaved?” She rolled her hips when Vergil did not move her hand.    

She brought Yamato closer to the skin of her neck. “You’ll learn to if you want more of this.” She dragged her wet fingers over Dante’s clit and gave it a few teasing strokes.    

“Hmm… could never give me anything without conditions, could you?” She closed her eyes and let her head fall on the altar.    

“I’m not giving you anything.” Vergil left an open-mouthed kiss over the exposed top of her breast right above the fabric of her sports bra. “I’m taking my spoils.” She inserted a finger into her welcoming heat and felt her walls molding over her.    

“After all—I won.”    

“Such a graceful winner.”    

“Incredibly.” She inserted a second finger and curled them upwards to search for the spot she knew would make Dante sing for her. She found it soon enough and Dante squirmed under her.    

“ Ah —Vergil…”    

It wasn’t just the beautiful melody of Dante’s voice as she brought her pleasure; it was the way she said Vergil’s name. Like prayer, like longing, wanting, begging. Heat pooled low in her gut and Vergil clenched over nothing. She groaned and focused on cataloguing Dante’s reactions. She kept her hand’s movement slow, letting her get used to that pace. Feel safe in its sameness, lost in it. She trailed kisses over her collarbones, her breasts, her bare abdomen. She liked the feeling of her muscles shifting under her lips, the taste of perspiration and gunpowder on her tongue.    

She chose that moment to add another finger and shift into a brutal pace, she bit a spot over her ribs hard enough to bleed. She did everything at once and Dante arched her back with a strangled moan.    

“Fuck! Vergil—”    

She licked the blood from her healed wound and the metallic taste of her was better than the blood of any demon she’d ever drank from. She tasted so good that Vergil felt retroactively jealous that Alice had a share of this. Theirs was the blood of Sparda, it was for no one else but them. A privilege Alice did not deserve. Vergil gave a few harsher thrusts of her wrist and Dante clenched on her fingers.    

“Oh, fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”    

Dante scratched the arm that still held Yamato in place with one hand, the other held the side of the altar so tightly that Vergil could hear the splintering wood, she held back a comment about destroying historic artefacts and instead kissed the side of her neck where her pulse moved so rapidly. She pulled away enough to admire Dante’s form completely lost in her own pleasure. She painted a beautiful picture; head thrown back, flushed face and parted lips with panting breaths, a stained creature laid bare at the altar of a human god they did not worship, a sacrifice of body and  soul in search of sanctity that is not god’s to give or Dante’s to take, for there was nothing to be purified, she was holy as she was—in Vergil’s eyes. It was an incongruent picture, but a beautiful one all the same.    

Vergil was so lost in her canvas that she was taken briefly by surprise when Dante opened her eyes and pulled her down for a kiss, uncaring for Yamato’s sharp blade breaking her skin, or for the warm blood that sluggishly coated the metal. Dante moaned into the kiss, breaking it with a gasp. She held Vergil there by the back of her neck, not allowing her to move. Her sister didn’t blink, and, in her eyes, Vergil could swear she saw molten lava trying to overtake perfect blue; she looked into Vergil’s own eyes, held her gaze even when she came on her fingers. Vergil stared at her as she rode it out with trembling limbs and uneven breaths.    

Vergil started to rise but Dante moved to the side, sliding the leg that hung off the altar between Vergil’s, then trapped her there with a leg wrapped around her waist. She dragged her heel back and forth over Vergil’s lower back, pressing and pulling Vergil back down. One of her hands played with Yamato’s blunt edge. The other twirled around a few of the loose strands of hair on Vergil’s face.    

“Not so fast.” Dante had a dopey smile on her lips, her eyes still unfocused. “I’m not the kind to leave a partner unsatisfied.” She ground the thigh trapped between Vergil’s over her clothed cunt and Vergil let out a cut off hiss.    

“Interesting proposition.” She dropped her head beside Dante’s neck and inhaled the scent of her; it was sweeter in her post-orgasm daze. Vergil mouthed at the skin there, and when her tongue touched cool metal, she remembered just exactly what led them to where they were. She had not entirely forgotten it, but she had more pressing matters for a moment there. She parted from her sister just enough to get Yamato out of the way. Then she dove back to kiss her properly. With both hands free to roam, Vergil played with the strap of her holster, ran her hand over her amulet then up to hold the back of her neck. Dante for her part, wasn’t just taking it either. She kept dragging her thigh against Vergil, who didn’t shy away from grinding down on it for a slight bit of relief.    

Vergil pulled Dante halfway up the altar and she had to brace with one arm while Vergil licked the blood on her neck, one hand on her back, the other worked open the clasp of her chain. When she did, she forced Dante back down and kissed her one last time.    

“However—I already got what I wanted.” She said as she parted from Dante with a faint smirk. Dante huffed with indignation while Vergil pulled herself up and away from her. She took the amulet on the way and took back Yamato. Dante’s senses must’ve still been dulled for her not to notice immediately, but Vergil didn’t draw attention to it either.    

She wanted this limbo to last longer, to enjoy this moment where they weren’t at odds. Because she knew it wouldn’t last.    

It never did.   

 

---

 

Dante stayed on the wooden altar feeling sweaty and gross, but also incredibly satisfied. It had been a while since she had come this hard. The fact it was at Vergil’s hand no less, was a whole different thing—her very much alive and not actually dead twin, had dropped by from the heavens above. Literally crashed back into her life then fucked her silly. It was a surreal manifestation of one of Dante’s many dreams. But this was real. She knew it had to be because she could never imagine Vergil properly, and more importantly she felt Vergil’s damn soul like a feedback loop of radio waves against her own.    

“Since when are you such a giver?” She sat up and spun to face Vergil with both hands braced on the edge. Her sister who had her back to her looked over her shoulder at the sound of Dante’s voice. She had a raised brow while she licked her ungloved fingers clean. Dante felt heat blooming over her cheeks, because somehow that was even more lewd than having those same fingers inside her.    

“Am I?”  She fully turned towards Dante while putting her glove back on. And that’s when Dante took note of the silver chain resting on her wrist and the red amulet that hung from it.    

Dante stared at her own chest to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating, but no. Her vision was working fine, because her mom’s amulet wasn’t hanging on her chest like it was supposed to.    

“What the hell, Vergil!”    

She hopped down from the altar, and when her one bare foot hit the ground, she remembered that she was practically naked from the waist down. She cursed and redressed as fast as she could. Meanwhile, Vergil seemed in no rush. She adjusted her glove properly and went about fixing her hair while leaning over a cracked pillar. All the while Dante stared at her furiously in between pulling up her pant leg and closing the button. She did a quick scan for her boot, finding it on the other side of the altar and she felt… She felt used.    

She felt used, and gross and disappointed. Vergil took advantage of her willing vulnerability to take something from Dante. To chase her own—frankly bat shit insane—goals. She didn’t care that her sister fucked her. She cared for the fact that it didn’t mean jack shit to her. That Dante was just a means to a damn end, not her family . She tied off her boot with more strength than necessary and thought that out of every dream she had in which Vergil came back to her, none played out this way.    

And that’s why they were dreams.    

She picked Ebony and Ivory from the floor and wasted no time pointing them at Vergil. “Give it back.”    

Vergil continued to look unbothered where she stood admiring Dante’s amulet. “You should know by now you cannot win dear sister.”    

Dante fired.   

Vergil moved out of the way in a blur. Dante didn’t expect to hit her with those shots; she was just angry. “When will you learn that measly human weapons are not enough?”  Vergil said somewhere to her left, pulling Yamato out of its Saya. Dante called for Rebellion, and she relished in the comfort it brought when the handle slotted into her hand. She flung herself over to meet Vergil halfway and they traded blows that made the church’s already precarious structure shake around them.    

Try as she might, she still found herself with her back to the floor, the tip of Yamato against her neck and Vergil’s boot on her wrist.    

“Come on, Vergil. Give it back.”    

Vergil huffed. “You’re in no position to make demands of me, little sister.”    

Dante didn’t know what possessed her to say what she did, but it slipped from her lips regardless of what she wanted. It was desperate and pathetic, but she could feel ashamed of it later.     

“Please.”    

Something glimmered in her sister’s otherwise cold stare, three heart beats later and she roughly took her foot from her wrist and pulled Yamato away, but not without letting the blade slice her cheek open. Dante barely felt the sting before it was already healed. It wasn’t meant to hurt her; it was meant to disrespect her.    

Vergil had no qualms turning her back to Dante, no worry that she could take advantage of the opening. She simply walked to the exit without saying a word. Dante stood on her feet and shook her head as if the action would clear her thoughts.    

“Vergil!” She growled and stepped in her direction. “Hand it over!”    

Vergil stopped on her tracks and held her hand in front of her and out of Dante’s sight. The stupid Hatter—whose existence Dante had completely forgotten about—came out from behind the debris with a frantic look on his face. He got too close to Vergil too fast; she raised the Yamato towards him in warning. The Hatter put up his hands to placate her.    

“Don’t re-re-return it! We need it to open the Tamen-ni-gru!” He stepped forward but so did Vergil. “She won't help us!”    

“If your life matters to you at all—you will not interfere.” She warned him and he swallowed thickly.    

Vergil seemed satisfied with his reaction and lowered Yamato, she half-turned towards Dante and tossed the amulet at her. Dante scrambled to catch it, caught off-guard and surprised that Vergil had complied.    

“No! Why would you?!” The Hatter exclaimed.    

“I can retrieve it when I so desire.” Vergil said and continued walking to the exit.    

She stopped a few steps later to look at Dante over her shoulder. “Take good care of it until then—Dante.”    

“If you’re strong enough—then maybe next time you’ll get to satisfy yourself with a piece of me.”    

Vergil stepped out into the night, and the Hatter hurried to follow her, leaving Dante behind inside the empty and crumbling church.     

Dante didn’t know how long she stood there; clutching the amulet against her chest like it would take all her feelings away or make them make some kind of sense. But she had no luck on that front.   

The sound of rubble falling from the ceiling snapped her out of her confused daze and she ran outside. She rushed out in hopes to catch up to Vergil, to put a hand on her shoulder, make her wait and try to get her to explain what the actual hell she was hoping to accomplish. To try and get through her stubborn head that opening the gates of hell was a very bad, no-good idea. But of course, Vergil was long gone by the time she reached the outside.    

She felt the cool wind on her skin, the smell of wet grass and heard the rustling of the trees. Distantly she could hear approaching sirens, the authorities rushing to the church. They were going to find nothing but a wrecked church with some very concerning undergrounds. But they wouldn’t find any victims. The only dead there were lying beneath the earth, headstones marking this as their final resting place.    

Dante’s shoulders began to shake with bubbling laughter as she walked away. A few days ago, Dante would’ve said she was just as dead as the bodies buried under her feet. But now—that wasn’t so true anymore, because she had not felt this alive since that night ten years ago. Vergil lived; and for better or worse Dante’s heart beat for her. But because the universe liked to spit on her face and treat her like its favorite punchline, of course things couldn’t end with an easy happily ever after, Vergil couldn’t just come back to her, she had to come back with desires Dante could not abide to. And for a moment wished she was more like Vergil. That she didn’t care. If she didn’t, this would be much simpler.    

She could just choose to go along with Vergil, choose not to fight her on this. Yet she couldn’t help but feel deep in her bones that if she did; she would be spitting in the face of her mother’s death and everything she ever taught her. She’d be spitting in the face of every person that had ever showed Dante kindness—and had paid the ultimate price for it.    

She hated this—having to choose between her mother’s memory and her sister. But where Vergil was going, Dante could not follow.    

“Besides, I can’t bend over and let you get whatever you want, right, Vergil?”    

She said with the dead as her only witnesses.  

Chapter 4: Epilogue

The Tamen-ni-gru, one year later.    

 

The rain and wind violently beat down on her as she waited for her sister to come for her. She heard her footsteps, her thundering heartbeat, felt the echo of her soul the closer she got to the top. And when she finally did Vergil allows herself a smile,    

“You came.” She turned around to face Dante. A welcoming sight she had not been graced with in a year.    

“And if I remember things just right… last time you didn’t.” Dante replied.     

Vergil smirked. The memory of Dante splayed out on that altar had haunted Vergil for months. Once she had a taste of her sister, she only craved more.    

“And like I told you—I don’t leave my partners unsatisfied.” Dante added.    

“We shall see if you can make good on your promises then, dear sister.”    

She flicked her Tsuba to slip Yamato out of her Saya, Dante pulled Rebellion from her back.   

“Yeah, we will. Trust me, I’ll be the one taking the winning spoils tonight, Vergil.”     

Vergil smirked at her confidence and adjusted her stance, Dante readied herself as well, her eyes brimming with anticipation that Vergil knew was echoed in her own eyes.    

“Prove it.”   

The skies were the only ones to bear witness as their swords clashed.