It was a rare time when Dante and Vergil were forced to cooperate. This one was one of those times. Having fallen prey to Temen-ni-Gru’s sinister traps, they had not only fallen down a pit into some accursed gutter, but they were both without their weapons. A situation neither one was happy about.

Imagine the scenario beforehand to be whatever you like. Maybe Arkham revealed his true colors at the two brothers’ fateful showdown atop the peak before Dante’s blood was awakened, maybe the demons within the deadly tower hungry for Sparda’s lineage for once had the bright idea of cooperation and worked to actively rout the two sons, perhaps they didn’t have those sweet cutscene powers and fought with as much skill as your average Vtuber scrub and were ganked by some losers along the way. The point is, they were alone together in the darkness of the pits.

Vergil looked at Dante. Always the stoic, a cruel smile lined his face seeing him without anything to protect himself. None of the Devil Arms he had collected in fighting the tower’s guardians, not Dante’s two iron ladies Ebony and Ivory, and not even their late father’s ancestral sword Rebellion. Twins, Vergil was only older than Dante by several seconds as their mother conceived, and yet he took so much pride in that, the cold technique of a true warrior and knowledge of the blood that coursed in their veins and all the workings of the devilish court and their realm. And yet, he was not much better. He did not have the Yamato.

But he did have something else. As Dante was down on one knee from the incident and struggling to stand, Vergil held out one hand. A blue Phantom Sword materialized into existence. Looking into his brother’s eyes, it would be his last moments.

Then he flung it forward. This brotherly feud would end at last. And he alone would lay claim to the power of his lineage.

Only for Dante to crouch forward. He didn’t cower, he looked like he was ready for a fight. As soon as the Phantom Sword made impact, it broke apart.

The Royal Guard style. It was one of his father’s most cherished techniques, an art for gentlemen and precision and instead he chose to teach it to someone as rough and rowdy sort like Dante. And worse yet, he used it like a virtuoso. It was such an insult to his pride that Vergil had only with great pains admitted that to himself. He would not say it out loud to Dante.

Vergil flung another Phantom Sword and Dante took the same position, shattering it just like before. Summoning two at once, he flung them both only milliseconds apart. Dante would have to be a master to take them both.

And yet he did. Dante effortlessly broke them both, unharmed. Standing up now, he didn’t look so injured anymore. He was smiling at Vergil with his usual cocky grin.

There was only the slightest of cracks in Vergil’s demeanor. But deep down his cold rage was beginning to overflow. He summoned more Phantom Swords, threw them at Dante faster now, and then he was pelting him with them nonstop. Each time they broke apart, not a drop of Dante’s blood spilled. Baring his teeth, he summoned a sphere of Phantom Swords around Dante, countless of them. His cool facade was gone, baring his teeth, he looked very unhinged, much like a demon himself.

Every single one of them came at Dante at full speed. Vergil’s eyes twitched as he saw them all break apart one by one, milliseconds apart. The blue fire was burning inside of him hotter than ever.

When it was all over, Dante just wiped his hands on his shoulders like he was brushing off some dust. Then he looked at Vergil with his arms out, like he was challenging him. In that silence between them, Vergil heard something being said too low for him to hear.

“What?” he snapped.

“Oh just that you’re doing me a favor big bro,” Dante shot back. “I’m feeling better and stronger than ever. You keep giving it to me like this and I’ll be more than happy to give you one hell of a beating,” he said, cracking his fists.

“You’re unarmed Dante.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and me are made of the same stuff so I know I could pop you till my hands are bloody and it still won’t be nearly enough to kill you. But by the time you’re done getting a bare knuckle beatdown from me, you’ll be hurting so bad that you’ll wish you were dead. Dante one, Vergil zero? Nah, right now the scoreboard is Dante has all the wins while Vergil’s getting nothing and always will be getting nothing. Boom!” He fistbumped, flipping off his brother.

“Enough! We’re alone here together and we’re unarmed. There are other fiends here lying in wait.”

“Yeah I know,” said Dante, looking around. “I can see them looking at us with those big wide red eyes of theirs. Not that I blame them when I look this good.” Vergil just sighed and rubbed his brow in irritation. “How’d you want to handle them?”

Vergil was looking around them too into the darkness. Saw their many admirers staring them down. His back was to Dante, there were more important things at stake.

“In a better world you would have realized the depths of our father’s power. You would have been able to draw your own demon swords,” he said, summoning two Phantom Swords by his side.

“Hold on, I can do that too?”

Vergil just chuckled. “A son of Sparda can.” Only slightly turning to regard Dante halfway to regard him with a single eye, his lips curled into a sly grin. “But Dante cannot. Only Vergil can.”

“Whatever man.”

“You can instead act as a meat shield for me. While I take out the trash.”

“Meat shield.” He stepped forward, taking Vergil’s side. “I’ll just take that as the princess’ way of saying she wants me to be her Royal Guard.”

Before he could answer his brother’s quip, the monsters came at them all at once. Vergil summoned his blades and Dante readied his position. The two sons would add a new legend to Sparda’s name.
----

Working together in that fashion, they had both survived the throngs of demons that came after them. Entire hordes out for their blood, all wrecked to ruin. Not a drop of Sparda’s blood spilled. Only the blood of the hordes that had once dared to stand against them, every foe a corpse broken beyond all repair, their blood smeared and stinking on the floor. As it had been so against their father, as it was now.

They continued through Temen-ni-Gru in that way. Vergil going as slow and methodically as he usually did, moving like a killer, while Dante was hopping, alight with energy. Every blow he took, it only made him stronger.