He had expected to find ghosts on this island; to be confronted by his past. It was impossible to avoid his heritage in this place. The weight of his father's shadow; long cast aside by the hunter, seemed to rise from the depths amongst the tall buildings which surrounded that towering chapel. When he took the job, he knew he'd be facing a ghost, but he had never expected to be confronted by his brother. Yet that was who seemed to be staring at him out of the frosty blue eyes of the boy in the street below.

The foul language was different. The headphones that hung around the boy's neck stood out, their music still blaring to ears as sensitive as his. There wasn't a spec of white on the boy's attire, and he seemed far too calm in all the chaos. Almost as if he had been waiting for a little excitement. A rebel in this sanctuary of order and religion. The demonic arm was cool, though it was probably attracting every demon on the island. It had certainly attracted the Order of the Sword.

The boy didn't have the calm, flowing style of Vergil but there was something familiar about the arrogant, white-haired punk… and it wasn't that he had just driven a sword through Dante's chest. The punk who glared up at him reminded the devil hunter of his brother, though it seemed impossible. And whilst the looming statue of Sparda warranted a laugh at the insane cult who worshipped a demon as a god, the boy elicited genuine pain in the red clan hunter.

He had noticed the boy on the way over, fighting those demons. The shock of white hair was eye-catching, as Dante knew far too well. The kid's skill with a blade was inhuman… but so was he. Even with a single hand, the kid had cleared the street with ease. Even without the flashy combat, Dante was sure he would have noticed the boy. Everyone on this island must know the white-haired kid was connected to their saviour.

The weight of Sparda's legacy was almost suffocating in Fortuna. The cult that worshipped his father, preserved his legacy, elevated the demon to a god. It was hard to be a son of Sparda in this city. Perhaps Vergil had come here, researching their father and his power. Maybe he had felt alone, surrounded by reminders of their destroyed family, and felt a moment of human emotion. Perhaps it was arrogance, the people here would have worshipped Vergil if they met him. Maybe it was a crack in Vergil's emotionless fa?ade, the knowledge that his idiotic plan to open the demon world might mean death, that ensured Vergil wanted to preserve his own legacy.

"Without strength, you cannot protect anything; let alone yourself."

On the empty rooftops, Vergil's words echoed. Dante had thought his twin was referring to their mother, the person they failed to protect. She was the one who motived Dante to save others from demons, and he had assumed Vergil had felt the same. Why else would Vergil have risked his life for their father's power? Eva was dead… she didn't need any protection. Having the power of Sparda wouldn't change that, but Dante had never been able to come up with a better answer.

Except here, on the island of Fortuna, was a white-haired punk with a demonic arm who might change everything Dante thought he knew about his twin. Maybe Vergil really did have someone to protect. Maybe he was more like their mother than he had ever believed, willing to risk it all for love. The red-clad hunter grinned to himself, this wasn't the time to try and get inside Vergil's head. He had a cult to stop. And of course, he could always be wrong, it didn't seem likely that Vergil would spend a night with a human, he wouldn't think it worth his time. The demon loving, human loathing Vergil and an island who worshipped demons… Dante couldn't help but wonder.

He would finish this job for Lady; if only to refill the pizza fund. Still, the hunter hoped he would cross paths with the punk kid again. He might be the most exciting thing on this island.

The boy's name was Nero. Dante would remember that.


As always, I own nothing but the story