Chapter Text
Pulling his arm back, the hunter swings the sword of Alastor, slashing open a glowing purple wound across the knight’s chest. The knight yells out in a painful, blood curdling scream, arching back as they step farther away from the hunter. Falling on to his knees, the knight falls, its last gaze piercing into the hunter’s, as his lids grew heavy, closing his eyes as his body falls forward, limp with a thud as he hits the floor.
Breathing heavily, the hunter falls down to one knee keeping him stable, the edge of his sword embedded in the floor as his leverage. He stares at the lifeless body of the knight, the gloved grip on Alastor’s hilt tightens with the squeeze of leather against metal. Gritting his teeth, his face tightens with sorrow, as his lips tremble from the absolute struggle the hunter faces, from holding back his own tears. The hitching of his breath echoes through the hall room, his head shaking in denial.
Looking back up at the sight of the knight’s corpse, the hunter sees his body being consumed in a cluster of blue and purple flames, only appearing from his body. The hunter watches carefully as the lights of blue and purple wash across his face at the sight of the knight’s disintegration. The knight’s body would soon turn into pure flame, almost no longer recognizable. His eyes open, the hunter cannot hold back the tears that he must shed, as they flow down his cheeks and drip from his jawline and chin. As the flames begin to shrink and fade, the knight is no longer present.
However, in place of the armored corpse, is the pale body of what appeared to be a boy. Eyes widen at the sight of what appears before him, as the hunter drops his sword aside, pulling himself over; crawling towards the boy. Looking over him, the boy was faced down, with a full head of white hair, almost identical to the hunter’s. Carefully putting his gloved hands over the boy’s shoulders, the hunter turns him over onto his back. Holding him in his arms, the hunter caresses the boy’s cheek, moving his bangs from his face. The hunter could only stare at the boy’s face, inspecting his body to see if life was still present. Around his neck, is a chain holding a red amulet as a necklace, resting on his chest. Leaning his head towards the boy’s chest, the hunter rests his head, his ear up to the cage of his upper torso. The hunter almost gasps as he listens to the rhythmic beating of the boy’s heart. His arms around the boy’s body tighten, holding him close, as the hunter did not want to let go.
The boy’s eyes open, as his limp arms slowly hold on to the hunter’s sleeves, his hands squeezing the leather off of his jacket shoulders. Hearing the small breathing of the boy, the hunter lifts his head to look upon his face once more. The boy’s lids are half open, his eyes gazing into the hunter’s. Piercing blue, it is a tired gaze, almost one that has come from a never ending struggle, that has only inflicted the harshest lashes on to the boy's soul. His still; pale lips are carefully forming, as the hunter can only stare, his mind racing at what the boy's first words could possibly be, until one breath leaves, cutting through the silence with a clean slice.
“Dante…”
The hunter, Dante, removes his red trench coat, his sleeves falling down from his shoulders. He almost shivers from the boy's body, his skin smooth with a freezing touch. Dante wraps the boy in his jacket, covering his arms and back, as the rest shrouds over his torso and waist. Still motionless in his arms, Dante feels a wave of worry course through him. Though the boy continues to breathe, Dante is scarce of his condition, despite being to appear physically younger than their last encounter. Holding him in one arm, Dante bends down to pick up Alastor, holstering him on his back. Standing, Dante walks toward the door of the hall room, his footsteps echoing through, all while he continues to look over the boy, making fully sure he is okay. Before leaving the room, Dante hesitantly stops before opening the door. Needing more reassurance, Dante speaks to the boy so hesitantly.
“Vergil?”
His eyes opening slowly once more, Vergil limply raises his head, resting back on Dante’s arm. Letting out a shaky exhale of relief, Dante opens the door with his back turned, not wanting to let go of Vergil, nor did he feel sure enough to even look away from him. Stepping down the hallway, Dante finds it to be empty. With his guard still up, Dante quickly gets down to sit Vergil against a wall, resting against it as he's sat up. The amulet’s resonance can be felt against Dante’s chest, holding on to it as he lightly holds Vergil's. Pulling the amulet towards his own, Dante feels the one around his neck being lifted from his chest. The sword sheathed in Dante's side holster begins to raise itself from its sleeve. Dante looks down, realizing what this could mean.
“Force edge.”
Dante whispers to himself, almost in disbelief, that the power of his father was truly something to emerge from the old Force Edge, all happening right at this moment.
“This whole damn trip has been nothing but surprises. What the hell else could happen?”
Dante bickers to himself before the sword releases itself from Dante’s holster, the amulets breaking off from the brothers chains, all joining together in an electric flame of light. Dissipating, the sword’s aura is imbued with a demonic force, red electricity courses around Dante’s grip on the sword's hilt. The Devil Sword.
“Sparda.”
Dante feels a wave of confidence wash over him with the sword in his hand, standing up to holster the mighty blade on his back. Staring back down at his brother, Vergil stares up at Dante with a surprised expression, his hands shakily gripping on to the jacket, pulling it tighter over him. Raising himself up against the wall, Vergil struggles to stand, as Dante holds his hands for leverage, wanting to keep him steady.
“I got you. I'm here.”
“Dante.”
Dante looks down at Vergil, bringing him close into a hug. Dante holds him there for a second, wanting to keep him close. Dante grows a soft smile across his face, feeling his brother lightly nuzzle against his chest. Vergil’s breathing is steady, the cold floor his bare feet stand on sends a shiver up his limbs. Noticing he is cold, Dante lifts up Vergil once more, holding him in his arms as his legs dangle, buckling to wrap around Dante’s forearm. Vergil tries his best to curl up against Dante, feeling he is the only source of warmth in this cold dark place. Dante proceeds down the hall, taking every occasion to check on Vergil, finding him with his eyes closed, resting against him.
Dante must face the ruler of the demon realm, the man responsible for taking his family; the manipulator behind his brother’s corruption. The hunter continues forward on his destiny, to be met with a trial presented to him by the devil himself.