Archive of Our Own

Red Grave City, 15 miles.

He didn't think he'd be here again so soon. It's only been a handful of months; he'd barely been able to shake the rubble from his shoes back in Fortuna before the urge to grab his sword slithered back into his bones. It's not like there weren't closer jobs, but the distance felt necessary. Not for Kyrie, bless her and her kindness, and her insistence that they were still family, even if they were no longer together. It was for his sake alone, and his selfishness wasn't lost on him.

Nero kicks his feet up on the dash with a short huff and Nico doesn't bat an eye. There's a slight tension in the air, thick as the cigarette smoke hanging around their heads. Nico glances over to him every now and then, mouth open to make a comment, before uncharacteristically thinking twice and turning back to the road.

Neither of them is really built for the quiet, though, so Nero decides to bite the bullet.

“This is worse than your nagging,” he says.

“Naggin'? Boy, I don't nag. You nag. You're one of the whiniest little bitches I've ever met,” Nico shoots back, but it's completely without venom. If anything, she sounds relieved.

“I haven't said shit for miles!”

“I noticed. Don't know who you're doing your 'sullen broody silences' for. Ain't nobody here in this van who finds that shit cute.”

“You know what? I take it back. This is worse.” Nero pulls his feet down and petulantly angles himself toward the door.

“What did I just say, huh?” Nico takes another drag of her cigarette and leans over to exhale in his space. Coughing, Nero waves his hands in front of himself and rolls down the window, sticking his head out. “C'mon! Man up! Everyone goes through a breakup or two. Or five. And hey! You and Kyrie are still on good terms! Stop bein' such a baby! Plenty of other nuns in the chapel!”

“Shut up...”

Once the air around the passenger seat has cleared, Nero sits back down and sighs. Nico's right. He hasn't really lost anything. Not this time, anyway. Looking up toward the approaching cityline, Nero focuses himself on the task at hand.

“Morrison didn't sound overly concerned, but it's weird that he called us. I thought Lady and Trish were holding down the fort here.”

Nico shrugs.

“Who knows. Dante and Vergil sealed things up pretty good here, didn't they? You'd think this would be the last place a job would pop up.”

At the mention of those names, Nero feels himself want to close off again. Even Nico seems to realize her slip of the tongue, because he sees her shoulders rise up to her ears out of the corner of his eye. With a slow, deep breath, he quells the irritation inside. When he speaks, however, his voice still carries a shard of resentment.

“Yeah, well. Maybe two half-wits don't actually make a whole. If they fucked up, we'll just have to fix it.”

“Lucky us.”

-

Red Grave wasn't completely destroyed during the Qliphoth incident, but great portions of the city are still uninhabitable. Cleanup crews and construction litter the cordoned off areas surrounding what was once the base of the demonic tree. Nico slows the van to get a good look at how things are coming along, whistling at the impressive amount of progress that's been made.

“This place might actually get back to bein' a regular shithole 'stead of a hellscape shithole soon.”

“Things seem pretty calm,” Nero says, his apprehension only growing despite the lack of demon infested streets. “Let's get to Morrison and see what the fuss is about.”

Traffic is still relatively nonexistent and most of the roads have long been cleared of any wreckage that once impeded travel through the district. Pulling up to the RGC branch of Devil May Cry offices Lady and Trish took over is an easy affair, Nico doesn't even have to worry about her shitty parking. Hopping out, Nero stretches his arms out and does a slow turn around the lot, surveying the area while Nico gets herself situated.

The city is quiet, but not in the foreboding way it once was just months ago. He can distantly hear the sound of machinery from the work sites and the occasional passing of another car. Someday soon, Red Grave will be filled again with the familiar sounds of a bustling metropolis. A satisfied warmth blooms in his chest knowing he helped end the carnage that ravished this place. And maybe with a home built anew, the people who lived here, both remaining and evacuated, would find it an opportunity to rebuild their own lives as well.

“Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.”

Nero freezes, the warmth fading quickly as a chill grasps his heart. Stiffly, he reaches back into the van, pulling out his duffle bag. With a sharp tug of the zipper, he opens it just wide enough to see the leather bound book nestled within spare clothes. He's not sure why he bothered bringing it with him instead of leaving it in Fortuna, but...

But there are nights when he can't sleep, when he'll open it up to a random page or flip through until an illustration catches his eye, reading a passage quietly to himself, sometimes grasping meaning from the verses, sometimes not. Occasionally, throughout his day, he may even be reminded of a line or two.

He always hears it in a voice not his own.

“C'mon! Move your ass!” Nico suddenly comes up behind him, slapping him on the back before jogging up to the heavy front doors of the building. Nero shakes himself back into the moment and zips the bag closed with more force than necessary.

“Yeah, yeah, calm it down!” he calls after her, shouldering the bag as he follows.

Nico is already chatting with Morrison by the time Nero walks in. The old man sits behind the desk, leisurely reclining in the chair with a cigar between his teeth. He's always been a hard one for Nero to read, but even he can make out the tension in the man's supposedly relaxed posture.

“Alright,” Nero says as he walks up. “The cavalry's arrived. Tell me I didn't just spend hours in a metal death trap with this stinking chimney for nothing.”

“Hey!” Nico shouts, pointing to him. “I'm a fuckin' ray of sunshine compared to your crybaby butt.”

“I'm not a crybaby.”

“Crybaby!” Nico teases. “Big bad crying devil goes boo-hoo-hoo!”

“I told you-!”

“Now, now, children,” Morrison speaks up. Nico and Nero give each other scathing looks before leaning out of each others' space and crossing their arms in sync. The man rolls his eyes before sitting up and setting his hands on the desk. “Glad you both could make it. I was getting a bit antsy without Trish or Lady here. You never know when things might go south.”

“Huh? They get sick of this place or somethin'?” Nico asks. Morrison shakes his head before standing up.

“Nah, nothing like that. They're doing recon.” He looks at them pointedly as he blows out a cloud of smoke. “In the Underworld.”

“The Underworld? What the hell's going on, Morrison?” Nero hastily throws his bag on the couch, unease growing in the pit of his stomach.

“I think it'd be easier to just show you. Grab your gear, can't be too careful.”

They watch him get up and start walking to the door. Once his back is to them, Nico makes faces to Nero, her confusion evident. Nero shrugs before gesturing to Morrison, because it's the old man's fault for being vague. Nico mouths something unladylike at him and he returns it, their hushed bickering growing audibly before Morrison impatiently calls out to them.

“Let's go, kiddies. The adults are here to work.”

Admonished again for their childish behavior, Nero frowns and moves to comply right before Nico gets a cheap shove in, running past him to the door. He takes off after her, spitting obscenities as he books it.

-

Morrison leads them to what was once the largest public garden in the city. The white stone walls that encase most of the block are damaged here and there, but the majority of the property seems to have remained intact. But the condition of its walls isn't what Nero finds concerning as they approach.

“The hell?” he asks quietly to himself.

To the normal eye, the overgrowth of foliage and flora would seem beautiful. Luscious leaves and gorgeous flowers of dark colors sprawl over the boundaries of the wall, spilling over to let vines creep down the side. Even in the beginnings of evening light, it's a sight that one might mistake as being lovely.

But these unfamiliar flowers reeked of demonic origin.

“Don't tell me we've got another blood sucking tree on our hands,” Nero says. Morrison sighs.

“Trish didn't seem to think so. She claims the flowers themselves aren't a danger to people, ya know, as long as no one tries to make a tea out of it or some dumb shit. But...”

“But?” Nero turns his head to his direction, though he keeps a trained eye on the walls in front of him, a hand gripping the back of Nico's jacket as she tries to move in closer for a better look.

“The flowers aren't necessarily a problem. It's what they herald that had her shaken up.”

“You ever gonna get to the point where you actually tell us what's going on?” Impatience was beginning to wear on Nero's mind.

“That's most of what I got before she and Lady took off to get more information. That all this is the start of something bad. I think they might have gone to check on Dante and his brother. Those two were supposed to keep anything else from coming through here.”

Nico finally pulls free of Nero's hold and he absently lets her. Hearing about his uncle and his father again, twice in one day, is enough to upend his whole mood. He strides down the length of the wall, ignoring Nico as she jumps up repeatedly, trying to grab one of the flowers for inspection. He doesn't have to search long before he finds a decent size opening in the crumbling stone.

“Ha!” Nico lands, this time with a deep purple blossom clutched in her hand. She takes a sniff of it and crinkles her nose. Turning it this way and that, she examines it from its pedals to its torn stem.

“Didn't know you were a botanist too,” Nero teases. Nico sticks her tongue out at him.

“These babies ain't got the same blood suckin' bits that stupid tree had. Might still be poisonous, but looks like Trish is right. This ain't made for harvestin' your insides.” Nico holds up one gloved hand and then the other. “Form. Function.” She brings her hands together around the flower. “Cain't have one without the other.”

Nero smiles slightly. Immature though she may be, constantly and without shame, it's always small things like this that remind him his partner is, in fact, a brilliant woman with an inquisitive mind that's always at work on something, be it a new gun or figuring out what the hell is up with an evil rosebush.

“Told you,” Morrison says further back, understandably unwilling to get closer to the scene. “Trish says they're a sign.”

“Well, then. Let's find out what the message is.” Nero reaches for the hilt of Red Queen, revving her once before stepping toward the aperture. “Gonna do some extreme weeding. Be right back.”

Without waiting for a reply, Nero makes a slash at the thick foliage in front of him and presses forward.

-

The unnatural overgrowth creates a jagged labyrinth, leaving Nero to keep an eye out for traces of what was once paved paths. He's not sure what he's looking for, specifically, but he imagines he'll know it when he sees it. Demons aren't subtle. If some ugly sonuvabitch is trying to say something, no doubt it'll be spelled out in neon letters somewhere.

Despite his initial forceful push into the garden, he steps carefully now, eyeing each bit of vine and blossom covered statuary with a wary eye. That foreboding silence is back, broken only by the sound of his body moving through the fallen leaves and twigs. Every now and then an area opens up, providing a bit of breathing room, but he keeps his breaths light. There are signs that someone or something has passed through these areas before. Slightly broken branches, trails in the moist ground. He sees blood now and then. Human by the smell of it.

He doesn't think Nico was wrong. The blood isn't being sucked up anywhere, merely coats the leaves from time to time, a hand of it smeared on the body of a marbled figure, or mixed in with the dirt. Morrison had said that most people avoided this block once the unusual growth began, but Nero knows not everyone is blessed with common sense.

However, if the plants themselves aren't the cause of whatever violence happened here, that means something else is this garden. He isn't alone in this place.

He stops in one of these clearings, holding his breath in his lungs and closing his eyes, forcing his concentration to his hearing. There's not a sound. Not even the chirping of crickets or the calls of nocturnal birds. No wind blows through the leaves around him. Everything is deathly still.

Until it isn't.

Off somewhere to his left, there's a short rustling. Nero turns to it sharply and the hidden figure behind the tall bushes bolts. Nero grips Blue Rose and takes off after it. Once or twice he catches a glimpse of a skittering form ahead and takes a potshot at it, the report of his weapon deafeningly loud in the quiet night. Just when he thinks he's catching up to it, a burst of light shines overhead. Nero skids to a stop, looking up at the sky with his other hand reaching back to his sword.

The telltale blue shimmer of the Yamato's power makes his stomach drop.

The sky splits open only for a moment. As soon as the portal appears it fades again, but not before a light streaks out from its center. Like a comet, it blazes to the ground quickly, its impact yards in front of where Nero stands. Forgetting his previous chase, Nero runs forward, hacking the obstructing flora in his way, his heart in his throat. He's not sure what he expected to find when he finally burst through to the largest clearing yet, but it wasn't this. His eyes follow the deep groove cut into the ground, trailing to the body lying amongst the destroyed side of a once extravagant tiered fountain.

“V?”

The name falls from Nero's lips unbidden. It's pulled out of him like a thorn pried from torn skin and surprisingly hurts just as much.

V doesn't respond, hasn't moved or so much as breathed that he can tell.

Mind racing, full of half-formed questions and a storm of confusion, Nero runs to him. Falling to his knees at V's side, Nero takes in his condition. His skin and hair are colorless, lacking the black ink of his familiars' pacts, and in their place are cracks in his flesh. They're different from before somehow, no longer shallow and flaking, but deep and isolated to one side of his body. Nero holsters his weapons and takes the sides of the man's head into his hands, mindless to the way wet strands of snow white hair cling to his fingers.

“V! Hey, can you hear me? V!”

V's eyes are unmoving beneath their lids and his head lulls without resistance to Nero's movements. The skin beneath his fingers is cold and devoid of life. Panic bubbles in Nero's chest.

“Come on, wake up,” he demands with a shake. “V, just look at me, okay?” He can hear the desperation growing in his voice, feels his grip tighten to the point that it should have been painful. He has to stop looking at that unresponsive face just to keep his composure. Instead, he focuses on the cracks. No blood seeps from the fissures, but Nero can definitely smell it. He traces the lines down the length of V's neck, chest, and abdomen. Hastily pulling at the lacing of V's clothes, he moves the fabric aside with a jerk, finding the origin of the spidering fractures.

A bloody, broken piece of the Yamato peaks out from a wound in V's side.

Without thinking, Nero quickly reaches to pull it out. It doesn't come away as easily as he expected, causing the sharp edge to slip and cut into Nero's right palm. He hisses in pain, turning the piece over in his hand to examine it and the injury side by side. His arm begins to glow a bright blue. In a flash, the piece vanishes, absorbed into his arm once more. The glow fades, but the cut remains for the time being. Blinking, Nero looks down to V's side, suddenly reminded of the open wound there.

“Fuck!”

He's not sure why he does it. Too much has happened all at once for his brain to think rationally; despite there being no heartbeat to pump blood out of the tear, Nero applies pressure to it anyway, his bleeding hand down first. It takes a moment for him to realize there's no point in what he's doing, but before he can withdraw his hands, a powerful current shocks his entire arm, not unlike a wire going live.

A pulse of that blue energy he's long since come to recognize as his own flares from the wound and follows the lines of V's cracked skin. It's quick, over in the blink of an eye, but Nero watches cautiously, fearful he's done something stupid.

But then V takes in a shuddering gasp.

“Holy shit,” Nero breathes out.

He watches as the cracks fill in and fade, leaving no proof that they had ever been there in the first place. The wound at V's side, too, begins to knit itself together cleanly. Soon the flesh is mended and closed. Nero ignores the mud seeping into his jeans as he leans closer, this time wrapping a stabilizing hand behind V's head.

“You're okay, I got you,” he finds himself saying. He could be lying for all he knows, V could still be dying, but he needs to get the man to look at him, to open his eyes and tell him that of course he's fine, he's too stubborn to die, even when fate dictates it. Especially when fate dictates it.

Nero is so focused on V that he almost misses the way the ground beneath them begins to shift. Reflexes kicking in, Nero yanks V's still limp body up, jumping away a fraction of a second before appendages suddenly burst from the ruins of the fountain and come crashing down in the space where they just were. Nero draws Blue Rose and levels it at the demon that crawls from the ground and rubble.

Spider-like legs emerge, and atop them sits a figure draped in silks and vines of full pedaled blossoms.

“Ah,” it says with a reverberating voice. “That was very rude.”

“Me? Rude? I'm not the one who wrecked that nice water feature.” Nero doesn't so much as flinch when the demon rises to its full height, now standing several feet taller. He merely raises his gun with it, keeping its head in his sights. The silks fall like a veil over its face, but even in the dark he can make out the subtle glowing of several eyes. A vaguely human mouth, split too far down both sides, opens in a smile to reveal an impressive set of fangs.

“It was rude of you to steal from me,” it says, pointing to V, now slung over Nero's shoulder. Nero tightens his hold and feels his anger start to burn.

“Who said he was yours, eight-eyes?”

“All are mine who wander into my embrace,” The demon spreads its humanoid arms and the bushes to either side of it part, two masses of vines falling away to reveal the unfortunate people inside. The man to Nero's right is already dead, his lower half having been torn completely from his torso. His exposed rib-cage and the remains of his spine provide a morbid trellis for smaller, more delicate flowering vines to crawl around.

The woman to his left might as well be dead. Her naked body is presented folded backward. Flowers are sprouting from her mouth, thorns protruding just slightly from her throat. Blood drips slowly from her unseeing eyes, her nose, and the sides of her mouth as her body convulses, lungs unable to draw a proper breath around the obstructing flora. Nero grits his teeth and contemplates shooting her, if only to put an end to her suffering. The chance is taken from him when the skin of her stomach stretches up sharply and then splits, the pedals of an unnaturally large, black iris springing from the gore. The woman's pitiful struggling stops.

Nero's rage grows.

He takes a shot at the spider demon's head, but it doesn't bother to move. The bullets rip through its skull cleanly, but its smile never changes, even as blood seeps into the veil.

“Let us not quarrel, descendant of Sparda. It is unseemly.” The demon speaks in a bizarre, slow cadence, one that suggests no animosity or fear. For some reason, it just pisses Nero off more.

“Too fucking bad, I've got a bone to pick with you now.”

Nero keeps his eyes on the monster in front of him but that doesn't mean he's unaware that he is being surrounded. He recognizes the skittering of Empusas circling around him.

“Why should that be?” the demon asks. “I'm willing to let you go. All I ask is that you return my material to me.”

“Material?”

“The material you stole,” it says, delight slipping into its formerly monotonous voice. “Such a lovely arrangement I will make of that flesh. Oh, do give him to me. Let me create something beauti-”

BANG BANG

Nero shoots twice more in quick succession, this time taking enough off of the spider demon's head to hinder its speech. Dumb move, all in all. He needs to reload and the Empusas start to charge him. He has to utilize all of his reflexes and mobility just to keep V and himself from getting caught by their legs. There's only so much he can do with V on one arm.

Good thing he's got extra.

Nero throws his gun up into the air as he summons his wings, letting it fall into a clawed, spectral hand. Dodging a swipe from his left, he tosses up his extra shells, catching them in the other wing. In the seconds he has to wait, he grips Red Queen's hilt and swings in a crescent around him, knocking back two Empusas and slicing the head off of a third. He keeps his momentum, letting the weight of the sword pull him out of the way of another attack before kicking out and slamming his boot into the head of one more demon, reveling in the satisfying crunch of its stupid nightmare face.

When he hears the click he's been waiting for, he jams his sword into the ground and raises his arm up, catching Blue Rose as it falls back into his waiting hand. He once again takes aim at the monster near the fountain. Barely a few seconds have gone by, and now the spider demon straightens from its backward slouch. The bones of its jaw reform and flesh grows back around it. Instead of attacking, it merely continues to smile patiently at him. A nervous sweat forms on Nero's skin.

“It is our task to make this world suitable for Her. Rejoice, descendant of Sparda, for now you, too, will add to the beauty of Her Domain.”

Nero fires again as the demon lashes out with one of its legs. His bullets tear through the first segment, but the appendage doesn't slow, and Nero realizes too late that he's missed his chance to evade completely. He turns his body to make sure he and his wing take the brunt of the hit instead of V, but just as it's upon him, a flash of silver cuts through the air to sever the leg entirely. The demon cries out and stumbles, the rest of its legs rearranging quickly to redistribute its weight. Nero glances over to his right.

“Well, well! Look who finally decided to join the fun!”

“Had I known it was going to be a lovely tea party in the gardens, I would have worn something a little nicer.”

Trish fluidly drops down from one of the larger trees, strutting over calmly to reclaim her new blade, a large sword Nero doesn't recognize.

“I didn't think they made sundresses in cheap leather.”

Nero's grin widens when he turns to his left and sees Lady standing braced on one of the stone archways, Kalina Ann propped on her shoulder and aimed at the spider demon. Without another word, Lady fires, the rocket streaking red hot through the dark toward their enemy. The resulting explosion blasts mud, broken stone, and bits of foliage into the air, causing Nero to duck his head.

“Hey, hey, easy with that thing!”

Lady ignores him, jumping down and joining Trish as they slowly advance on the settling dust. A tense moment hangs in the air before Trish relaxes and puts a hand on her hip.

“Great, you let it get away.”

“Excuse me? You were closer. That means it's on you to make sure it stays put.”

“Oh really?”

As the women argue, Nero looks around them at the blast area. The entire fountain has been leveled, but even under the debris he can make out a rather large hole in the ground. Less the result of Lady's artillery and more like a hastily dug escape tunnel. The spider demon is gone for now.

“This is what I'm always saying. You should never use a blunt instrument when it's a matter of precision,” Trish says, running a hand through her hair.

“Uh, guys?”

“What would you know about precision? All you did was throw that thing like a boomerang,” Lady says, pointing to Trish's sword.

“You guys.”

“Oh, and what was that before about cheap leather? I'll have you know that I-”

“Cut it out!” Nero shouts, his amusement from earlier fizzling away. Lady and Trish stop taking playful shots at one another to look at him.

“Uh, hey, kid? Who've you got there?” Lady asks, only now noticing Nero's cargo. Trish crosses her arms and circles behind him, leaning over with a suspicious look in her eye. Once she gets a good look, she pulls back, a gasp falling from her lips.

“Is that-?”

“Yeah,” Nero nods. “I need to get him out of here and you need to tell me what the hell's going on.”

-

“The city had been quiet for a while. Ever since you cleaned up the riff-raff that was still topside, everything around Red Grave's been relatively calm. That's why we noticed the demonic activity within the gardens fairly quickly.”

Nero shifts on the couch, elbows on his knees as he listens to Trish explain the situation. Morrison has reclaimed the chair behind the desk, leaned back with his hat covering his face. Lady sits on the corner of said desk, pretending to be involved but keeping a keen eye on Nico as she looks over Kalina Ann for any maintenance it might need.

Trish paces slowly in the middle of the room, laying out the timeline of events that led them here.

“The boundaries between the mortal realm and the Underworld have been thin in this place for decades. It doesn't take the Yamato to push through. Granted, such methods aren't as clean or effective, nor as reliable.”

Nero clenches his right hand.

“We found one such opening in the gardens once we went to investigate. That's how Astar crawled their way in.”

“Astar?” he asks.

“The demon we fought,” Trish confirms.

“Who are they and what do they want?”

“It's not about what Astar wants. They, along with two other ancient demons, are part of something called the Accursed Retinue. They serve a master, or rather, a mistress.”

“Sounds like one bad bitch. What's her deal?” Nico asks around the screwdriver in her mouth without looking up from her tinkering.

“Accounts of her are vague,” Trish says, snatching the screwdriver out of Nico's teeth as she passes. Nico pouts and makes a grab to take it back but misses. “From what I understand, she hasn't been seen for thousands of years.”

“You gotta have some idea. Morrison said you knew something was wrong just by seeing what was happening to the gardens,” Nero says.

“Truths about the Retinue are more consistent. Their purpose is to pave the way for their mistress's awakening. For her arrival to the human world.”

“To make it suitable,” Nero echos. Trish looks to him and nods. He sighs, running a hand down his face. “Okay? So how did a demon like that get around Dante and... Vergil?” Obviously something had gone wrong. Nero spares a glance to the ceiling, antsy now that V is no longer in sight, tucked away in the bedroom upstairs. Lady sighs from her perch on the desk, looking uneasy. Nero waits for her to speak up, but the silence stretches. “Well?”

Even Nico has stopped in her movements, her eyes darting between Lady and Trish. Morrison hasn't really moved, but the tension has returned to his shoulders.

“We couldn't find either of them,” Trish finally says.

“The hell does that mean?” Nero demands, pushing up to his feet.

“It means what it means. We found signs of them,” Lady says. “Signs of them having mowed down waves of demons. But no Dante and no Vergil. Well... kind of.” She frowns and points up. “Do you wanna fill us in on that one?”

Nero sits back down, unsure what to say.

“Someone opened a portal. V came through. More like he was thrown. He was pretty... rough when I found him.” He can't bring himself to really say it, not when he can still feel cold, lifeless skin in the grooves of his fingerprints. Instead he shifts gears. “The Yamato is broken.”

Everyone turns to him. Even Morrison lifts up his hat.

Silently Nero raises his right hand, letting the human skin burn away to reveal his Devil Bringer.

“I've got a piece of it, but I don't know about the rest.”

The unease hangs heavily over the whole room.

“Welp,” Nico says clicking her tongue. “Guess we know whose turn it is for show 'n tell.”

“He's sleeping,” Nero mutters, picking at the unyielding scales of his demon arm.

“Then let's wake him up,” Lady says with false cheerfulness, hopping off the desk and making for the stairs. Nero jumps up, putting himself between her and the banister, both hands held palms out as his right reverts to its human shape.

“Does this have to happen now?” he asks, embarrassed by how his nerves color his voice. Lady crosses her arms and levels him with a hard stare.

“You or me, kid. My friend is missing and I want to know why.”

Nero looks between her and Trish, then Nico and Morrison. Realizing he can't stall anymore, he gives in. He grabs his duffle bag and then makes for the stairs, calling back down to them.

“Alright, fine. Just... chill out down here for a bit, okay? Order a pizza or something, I don't give a shit.”

-

Nero stands in front of the spare bedroom door and feels like a fucking coward. None of his thoughts have really settled since he entered that clearing of the public gardens. The moment he saw V, his head was set into a spin and it hasn't really stopped. That weight in his chest is still there, making him feel sluggish and unsure. Something about seeing V again has hit him hard.

As hard as the realization that what V's being here must mean for Vergil hadn't even really crossed his mind until they'd made it back to the office. All he had cared about, all he was concerned about, could focus on or even think about, was being able to feel the rhythmic rise and fall of V's breathing against his arm, and the proof of life it offered.

“O Rose, thou art sick.”

Nero lets his head fall against the door, harder than he intended, wincing at the sound it caused more so than the dull ache it produced. Bullshit. This is all bullshit. The hell was he so nervous for? They've got real fucking problems right now, and the skinny goth nerd on the other side of this door might have some answers. Squaring his shoulders, Nero pushes the door open and walks in with resolve.

Then he panics when he sees the bed is empty.

The duffle bag drops to the floor and he's across the room in two steps. The windows are closed and curtained; he doesn't think they've been opened since Dante bought this place. He lays a hand on the rumpled sheets still bearing traces of dirt and grass; they're not quite cool yet, so that must mean- Nero turns, realizes something, and thinks he almost passes out from the change in blood pressure.

This room has an adjacent bathroom. He knows this, has slept in this room before a number of times. V's tattered clothes are messily draped over the chair next to the bed, not at all hidden from view. Light is even coming from the half-opened door.

Nero closes his eyes and counts. Inhale, ten. Exhale, ten.

Fucking. Relax.

It's just been a shitty couple of days. First he breaks up with his angel of a girlfriend, and then the gorgeous poetry-spouting stranger he thought was gone for good decides to fall out of the fucking sky-

Nero forces himself to backtrack. Course corrects. Tries again.

The separated human half of his no-show father. Falls from the sky. Right. How does he keep forgetting this very important and maddening detail?

The sound of water gently splashing against porcelain brings him back to himself. Nero flexes his hands absently, willing himself out of his head before rapping his knuckles twice against the door, then pushing it all the way open.

“V, you alright?”

It speaks to how emotionally drained he feels right now that only seeing V's legs hanging over the end of the antique bathtub doesn't send him into another freakout. Perhaps it's the way one foot flexes, rolling at the ankle lazily and without urgency, or the languid stretch the other leg makes before resting calmly again atop the lid of the basin. Nero diverts his eyes to stare at the wall to his left for a moment, then walks forward.

V is resting with his upper half fully submerged, arms lightly crossed over his waist. His suspended hair moves subtly with the slow disturbance of the water. Small bubbles occasionally rise to the surface, emerging from his slightly parted lips. When Nero's shadow falls over him, one eye opens and then the other. Even through the distortion of light and shape, Nero swears he sees the faintest smile.

He moves to sit on the ground as V pulls himself up, water dragging back his hair and falling from his skin. V exhales fully before taking another breath, leaning back as he shifts his legs back into the tub.

“Glad you're making yourself at home, princess. Was taking a bath really more important than coming downstairs?” Nero teases, arm coming up to rest on the rim. V gives him an unamused look as he runs a hand through his wet bangs. When he finally speaks, Nero does his best to suppress the shudder in his chest at once again hearing that voice.

“'To bathe in the Waters of Life; to wash off the Not-Human.'”

“Got one for every occasion, don't you?”

“I was an unpleasant sight. I'd rather my reintroduction to the world be one with a bit more dignity than the first time,” V says, closing his eyes and letting his head rest near Nero's arm.

Nero swallows dryly, wanting to ask but knowing he probably shouldn't. He's trying to come up with a way to transition into interrogation, but finds himself reluctant to ruin the quiet of this space and this moment. Instead, V does it for him, opening his eyes again to look at him curiously.

“How is it I came to be here?” he asks.

“To Devil May Cry? I, uh... carried you. You were kinda out of it-”

“No, not this place. How is it that I'm my own again? What happened to Vergil?”

Nero stares at him.

“What do you mean? Shouldn't you know? You were there, weren't you?”

V looks away from him. Something in his expression worries Nero, as it's one of trepidation, not confusion. There's something he doesn't want to say.

“Hey,” Nero says, tilting his head to catch V's eyes. “Come on, don't hold out on me. What happened?”

“I don't know,” V tells him. Nero sighs impatiently.

“Fine. Walk it back, then. What were Vergil and Dante doing before you got cannonballed?” he asks.

“I don't know.”

“What was the last thing you remember them doing?”

“I do not know,” V says, enunciating each word slowly, his own patience beginning to wear thin.

“What's the last thing you remember at all?” Nero asks harshly, frustration bursting out. He feels a little bad about it when V straightens up and away from him. There's a line of tension in his jaw as he stares at the wall ahead. Nero tries to soften his tone. “V? You gotta give me something, man. We're flying blind here.” He worries when V doesn't immediately answer him, but realizes that he's trying to gather his thoughts. After a moment, V speaks.

“I have no recollection of the outside world since my merging with Urizen,” he says, each word chosen carefully. Nero senses something amiss.

“Right. Because they're Vergil's memories...?” His voice trails, knowing almost immediately that his statement is incorrect with just a small grimace from V.

“It wasn't seamless, our rejoining,” V says hollowly. “Vergil was whole again, but I...”

And Nero gets it. There wasn't supposed to be an “I” left. V laughs, but it's completely devoid of humor.

“Cessation of existence isn't such a scary thing when you're forced to live its stark alternative.”

“V-” Nero starts, but cuts himself off. He doesn't know what to say to that. What the fuck could he say?

“I'm sorry I couldn't give you the answers you were looking for,” V says quickly, evidently shaken by his own admission and desperate to move on from it. “It seems we have something of a mystery on our hands.”

Nero takes the lifeline he's been offered.

“Yeah, no kidding.” He stands and brushes off his pants. “Gonna have to do some digging, get to the bottom of this. We'll come up with a game plan once you're done, so don't take too long, alright? Try not to drown.” When he's just outside the doorway, V calls out to him.

“Nero.”

He turns.

“It's good to see you again,” V says, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees.

“You, too,” Nero tells him, and finds that, despite the absolute shitshow things are turning out to be, he means it.

-

He's surprised no one's come charging in yet to ask what the hold up is. Nero keeps an ear out for any stomping on the stairs, but doesn't hear much outside the room beyond the distant voices of his friends having their own discussions. The doorbell rings at one point, so he guesses they took his suggestion of pizza seriously. At least there'll be food when they head down.

He's pulling spare clothes out of his bag when V finally exits the bathroom.

“About time. You hungry? I think the girls ordered-” Nero chokes on his tongue, floundering for the few seconds it takes to get an eye-full before spinning to face the wall. “Seriously?!”

V stands there in the open, a singular towel draped over his wet hair and wearing nothing else.

“I could eat,” he says calmly, as if he isn't currently walking around completely naked.

“Do you mind?” Nero asks, flustered. He hears V hum questioningly. Rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, begging for composure, Nero stiffly holds the clothes behind himself without a word.

“Ah.”

Nero grits his teeth when he hears amusement of all things in V's voice.

“No need to be shy. I've no care for modesty.”

“Clearly,” Nero spits out, embarrassed by the flush he can feel starting to color his face.

This is almost as bad as that time when he was a boy, way back in the days of the Order, tricked by older recruits to walk into a room that turned out to be a changing chamber for the choir ladies. Phantom waves of mortification wash over him just remembering the aftermath. He may never have been the most faithful or devout of the group, but some habits and sensibilities are hard to shake, no matter how stupid they may be.

And boy does he feel stupid right now.

“Could you just-” he stammers, giving the clothes in his hand a shake. He almost jerks his arm back when his knuckles graze bare, damp skin, not realizing that V had stepped closer.

“I never expected you to be so...,” V ponders over his wording like an asshole, “considerate.”

“I'm considering kicking your ass.”

“Allow me to cover it first. I wouldn't want to offend.”

Nero doesn't have to be looking at him to know he's smirking. The mocking tone is enough. He stands there in a humiliated silence, hands in fists at his sides as he listens to V get dressed.

Inhale, ten. Exhale, ten.

Stupid.

“There. You may now attack me with your virtue unsullied.”

“I will drop kick you,” Nero warns, taking a cautious peek before turning around.

The pants were never going to fit well, but even the plain white shirt is just slightly too large for V's thinner frame, the neck of it falling much further down his front than it would have on Nero. He's still not used to seeing that skin without the tattoos, but void of their distraction, V's collarbones and the hollow of his throat stand out.

Nero really wants to go back downstairs. When he averts his eyes, they land on his bag where he dropped it a second time.

“Shall we?”

V moves to the door but Nero holds a hand out to stop him. V pauses, watching Nero dig for a moment before producing a familiar book.

“You kept it?” V asks, making an aborted motion to reach for it.

“Vergil left it. Said he'd come back for it someday,” Nero explains. There's a number of ways he can interpret the manner in which V lets his hand fall, the quick frown that twists his mouth, and even the way V turns his head to subtly hide his face behind his hair.

“I see.” Flat, without obvious inflection. Filled with a resentment Nero can feel in his bones even if he can't hear it. It turns to quiet anger when Nero continues to hold the book out to him. “I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer to return it,” V says coldly.

“I'm not trying to give it back to my father,” Nero clarifies. “I'm giving it to you.”

V looks to him again with eyes as wide as Nero's ever seen them. He'd make a joke about finally being able to catch him off-guard if the open expression of cautious hope wasn't so painful to see. V shifts his gaze between him and the book once, twice. Hesitantly, he reaches out again, this time letting his fingers touch the worn leather binding. Nero lets go when V finally grips it tight enough, feeling like an outsider to a private moment when V opens it and runs a trembling hand down its pages.

“Thank you,” he says, and Nero pretends not to notice how unsteady his voice is. He clears his throat awkwardly as he jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

“Yeah, so... We should go talk to the others. Figure out what we're gonna do.”

He doesn't call V out when he doesn't immediately follow him out of the room, silently thankful to be able to put some distance between them.

-

V isn't expecting the arms that trap him at the bottom of the stairs, less so their crushing strength when he's suddenly lifted off his feet and into an awkward bear hug.

“Well, if ain't Sleepin' Beauty!” Nico exclaims, dropping him just as quickly as she picked him up. He has to grip the banister just to keep from falling. Despite the undignified assault against his person, V can't help but smile.

“Nico. Always a pleasure,” he says. He takes in her wide, excited grin and can't help but be fond of it, even as she punches his shoulder, almost knocking him over once more.

“Didn't think I'd ever see your scrawny ass again,” she says. “Life's got a funny way of doin' things, huh?”

“It would appear as such.”

“What're you trying to do, Nico, break the guy's back?” Nero asks from the desk where he's checking the contents of a pizza box.

“I'm a bit sturdier than that, thank you...”

“Y'see? He's just fine! Pull that stick outta your butt already, would ya?”

Before the two of them can get into one of their squabbles, Lady and Trish approach V with purpose. Lady is looking at him with open suspicion, but Trish at least offers him a nod.

“Good to see you on your feet,” she says. V accepts the neutral, diplomatic greeting, sitting on the couch closest to the stairs.

“Things seem to have taken an odd turn while I was... away.”

There's no sense in dragging things out. The quicker they separate what is known from what is not, they can start coming up with a plan of action. It doesn't take long to fill them in on what knowledge he has of the situation. A fraction of nothing is still that: nothing. And though both women maintain an air of disbelief to his claim, neither of them challenge him on it, and for that he is thankful. It's bad enough what he's let slip to Nero. Not everyone need be privy to the hell-within-hell he's suffered, sectioned off and left alone in the vast expanse of another's mind.

A mind that was once identical to his own, now foreign and unfamiliar.

V looks down at the book in his lap while the others talk. He's constantly tracing the raised lines of its cover, feeling the illustrations with his fingers, or thumbing the corners of the pages. Anything to remind himself that it is real, it exists. This moment isn't just the product of his lonely, desperate need. And it was given freely, not a single string attached.

He chances a glance to Nero, whose focus is on the discussion at hand.

What a foolish boy, to hand over something so precious without a thought to what could be gained.

“Guess we got no choice,” Nero says with finality, bringing V out of his head. “We're gonna have to take the fight to them.”

“Are you kidding?” Lady asks. “Demons are stronger in the Underworld, right?” She turns to Trish for confirmation, and when she nods Lady looks back to Nero, victorious in making her point.

“Look, it's bad enough that one of them already made it up here with a bunch of small-fry, I'm not letting the city get overrun again, that's just not happening.”

“As admirable as that is, we need to consider the reality,” V says. “Dante and Vergil are missing, and given the timing of things, I think it's safe to assume they came in contact with this so-called Accursed Retinue, possibly even fought with them. And,” he posits carefully, ”with my being here and the state of the Yamato, we should further assume they lost.”

No one had had the guts to say it until now, the thing that they were all thinking.

“Those assholes are too strong for that,” Nero denies, shaking his head.

“I'm not saying I believe them dead,” V says. “Just that we shouldn't be taking this new enemy lightly. Fighting them on their own turf would be ill-advised.”

“I'm with Nero on this one.”

Nico and Nero share a wordless high-five, not even bothering to look at one another.

“Easy for you to say,” Trish tells her. “It would just be me and the boys going in risking our hides, and one of them can no longer fight.”

“Why cain't I come?” Nico protests, more from the indignation of being excluded than any real desire to see Hell. Lady walks over and sits on the other side of her, bumping their shoulders together.

“Trust me, it's not a place that's friendly to humans like us,” she says. She unbuttons her jacket and Nico doesn't bother hiding how eagerly she leans over to get a good look. Pulling the already revealing front open even further, Lady shows off a patch of blistered skin. “Just being there is hazardous to a human's health, and I was only in there for a few hours.”

“If we do decide to take this fight to their doorstep rather than our own, it would be best for the two of you to keep an eye on things out here,” Trish says.

“Three, right?” Nico asks, pointing to Morrison who merely scoffs at her around his cigar.

“First thing's first. We gotta deal with the bitch who's already here,” Nero says as he stands. “I owe them a bullet for every eye. And then some.”

“Easy, Rambo, lemme make sure everyone's gear checks out before y'all go throwin' yourselves into the breach,” Nico tells him. “Gimme a few hours to get everything situated.”

“That should give me enough time to get this one some suitable clothes,” Trish says, gesturing to V. “Can't have you walking into Hell barefoot, now can we?”

V absently raises a foot to look at it, only now realizing he's sans shoes.

“I place myself in your capable hands,” he says, ignoring Lady when she leans over to mouth “leather sundress” at Nero.

“Any preferences? Where'd you get your last outfit?” Trish asks, expecting the name of a store or boutique. V smiles at her.

“I knocked out some punk in an alley and took his pants.”

The sudden, twin bursts of laughter from Nero and Nico are worth the pathetic truth of his humble beginnings, even as Trish pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head.

-

Nero clutches the receiver in apprehension, each ring making him more and more jittery. He's separated himself a bit from the group, his back to them as he hunches over the desk phone.

“Hello?” he finally hears on the other end.

“H-hey, Kyrie,” he stutters.

“Nero!” There's a brightness in her voice that makes his heart ache just a little. “It's so good to hear from you.”

“How've you guys been? Did you get the money from the last job?” he asks.

“We did, thank you. We were finally able to get the garage door fixed, with plenty left over.”

“Good! That's really good. Happy to hear it.”

“Nero?” she asks softly. “You okay?”

He groans quietly, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“More family drama, I guess. My father and uncle are AWOL, new demon wanting to be queen of the prom... some other stuff,” he says hesitantly.

“Other stuff?”

“Long story. Anyway, just wanted to check in, I guess, so-”

“Nero.”

He stops.

“You know I can tell when something's wrong. And it's okay if you don't want to talk about it, promise. But if it's really bothering you, you shouldn't avoid it for long.”

“Never could hide anything from you, huh?”

“You're not exactly a tough read,” she laughs gently.

“It isn't anything you can help with,” Nero tells her. “Things would probably be easier otherwise.”

“Easy? Can't have that, now can we?” she teases.

“Guess not.” He's glad he made this call. Already he's feeling a little more centered, less like he's being tossed around by a whirlwind of events. But just as he thinks that, he glances back at the others.

Trish is speaking with V, most likely about his wardrobe situation. She lifts the over-sized shirt up from the bottom, trying to get a better idea of V's actual fit.

“Hey, Kyrie?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still have those chaplet things from way back?”

“The ones for meditative prayer? I don't, sorry. Why do you ask?”

Nero stares at the expanse of pale skin on display and tries not to scream.

“No reason.”

-

Hours later, after food, a fitful sleep, and a quick shower, Nero watches Nico work with a face full of doubt.

“First botany, now this? It's good to branch out, I guess, but I thought you said this wasn't really your scene.”

“You don't know nothin' 'bout art, do ya?” Nico asks, examining her latest creation with pride. “The artist's a slave to the whims of her muse. I was called to make this here beaut.”

“An impassioned declaration,” a voice says from the open door of the van. V steps inside, newly clothed in a dark, sleeveless turtleneck that provides a striking contrast to his light hair, gloved hands, and boots laced up just below his knees. His book hangs at his hip, held there by a simple harness made of leather straps.

“Just the guy I wanted to see!” Nico exclaims, picking up the case that sat on the table. “Come out here a sec!” V moves just in time to keep from getting barreled over as she jumps outside. Nero shakes his head.

“She was inspired,” he tells V, gesturing to his partner. “Even if you don't like it, just smile and say thanks.”

Curious, V follows them out into the parking lot in front of the office. Nico turns to them, bouncing on her feet and grinning ear to ear. She holds the case out and settles for a moment to be dramatic.

“Allow me to present my newest masterpiece. I think I'm gonna call it the Valerian.”

She opens the case with a flourish and inside rests a rather handsome looking cane. It's finely polished, shining in early morning light. The elegantly formed flower at the top speaks to a level of loving detail that has V's eyebrows rising high as he looks from it to Nico.

“Well, go on! Take a good look!” she says, pressing the case forward. V obliges, plucking the cane out and turning it in his hand.

He recognizes the unnatural sheen of metal originating from the Underworld, a similar material that comprised the body of his old one. But where it had been fashioned into a singular hooked column, this one sports a handle only slightly curved, sharp edges along the sides, and what appears to be segmented portions. V runs a nail down the length of it, occasionally catching on the section lines. Again curious, he glances up to its creator for explanation, which Nico is more than happy to provide.

“Stand over here!” she says, stepping further from the van. She sets the case on the ground and takes a stance. “See that little notch on the side there? Yeah, that's it! All you gotta do is press it and-” Nico makes wide motion with her arm, up and then sharply down. “Like that!” She moves and eagerly waits for him to take her place.

V looks to Nero who simply shrugs.

“Go for it.”

V walks over, holding the cane as he once did when it was a necessity, taking a moment to get a feel for it holding his weight. Then, as he was shown, he thumbs the notch and mimics Nico's movement.

SHNK SHNK SHNK

Before his eyes the segments of the cane detach from one another, lengthening out in a rounded arch before catching and locking in place, each deadly piece reflecting the orange rays of sunrise before the momentum ends in a violent snap. Carefully he reaches out to drape the cane's new form in his other hand, a bladed whip now coiling to the ground. He hears Nico clap excitedly as Nero begrudgingly says,

“Okay, that was kinda cool.”

“An impressive weapon, undoubtedly. However, perhaps such craftsmanship is wasted on me,” V says, still examining it closely.

“Wasted? You kiddin' me? You ain't got nothin' else. No sweet big kitty, no mouthy chicken. You wanna be that one escort mission everybody hates? Hell no! You wanna be able to kick some ass!” Nico tells him, hands on her hips. She does hold them up in concession a second later. “Granted, that there's about as proto- as a prototype gets. You probably ain't gonna be smacking around demons with it like this guy can with that piece of over-compensation he's got,” she says, pointing to Nero as he glares at her. “But! At least it'll let you get a few slaps in. Ain't no sense walkin' into danger naked and afraid.”

“I still don't get why you couldn't have just made him a gun. You know, that thing you specialize in,” Nero says. Nico turns on him with a frown.

“Look at 'im! The kickback alone from one of my babies would kill him before the demons do!”

V breathes deeply and tries not to take offense to the over-exaggeration. It's a near thing to keep his temper in check, but he manages it. She has, after all, given him a gift.

“Still,” Nero continues to argue, “it probably would have been easier-”

“'To create a little flower is the labor of ages,'” V says, thumbing the notch again and letting the whip recombine into a single piece. He turns to them and inclines his head in appreciation. “And this flower is exquisite. Thank you, Nico. I assure you, I will put it to good use.”

“Nothin' I like hearin' more!”

“Not like I plan on letting any demons get that close anyway,” Nero mutters, arms crossed. V regards him quietly even as Nico takes a swipe at his head.

“Don't be stupid, you're gonna have your own ass to look out for.”

“She's right, Nero,” V says, holding up the cane and running one hand slowly down the length of it, contemplating how best to utilize it in battle. “It wouldn't do to have you distracted for my sake.”

He gets no short tempered reply which causes him to look up, surprised when he sees Nero following the motion of his hand. When he realizes V's eyes are on him, he quickly turns away, agitation clear in his movements.

Surely he hadn't wounded the boy's pride that badly...

“Trish and Lady are late.”

“Keep your pants on, junior.”

Speak of the devil.

Trish walks down the steps of Devil May Cry and joins them in the lot, her sword strapped securely to her back. Lady follows out a second later, equally prepared, looking each one of them over with a judging eye.

“Alright, who's ready to save humanity from the hideous demon hordes?” she asks, adding after a beat, “Again.”

Everyone raises a hand.

-

It's about a twelve minute drive to the gardens, even with zero traffic, which means Nico is determined to make it in six.

“One of these days you're gonna hit some poor grandma crossing the street,” Nero complains, holding onto the passenger door for stability.

“Hell of a way to go,” Nico says, unconcerned. “She'll have a story to tell all her friends up in them pearly gates.”

“Psycho.”

“Nag.”

V hides a grin as he looks down at the open book in his hands, his new cane resting over his thighs. Perhaps because the printed words are so ingrained into his memory, he can't completely filter out the banter from the front seats by reading the passages.

He should probably be feeling overwhelmed. Such a long time spent in abstracted isolation (hours, days, weeks, months) would typically warrant an adjustment period after once again being thrust into a living world, vibrant and ever stimulating. But these are voices he remembered longingly in that void, playful jabs and open concern, jokes, taunts, and well wishes alike. He had not existed in this form for but a handful of weeks, yet he knows he swiftly grew to cherish these sounds. These and others...

There are no wise cracks cawed down from above his shoulder. No rumbling purr at his legs.

His smile fades slightly at the thought of his familiars. How quickly they had come to rely on one another, confide in each other. How lonely it felt now to be without them.

Loneliness should be the least of his worries. Without Griffon, Shadow, or Nightmare, he's effectively powerless, even if his body feels stronger this time, no longer failing him in the ways it did before. He'll be a burden to Nero and Trish once they cross into the Underworld. He'll have to learn to rely on them, as he did with his dreams, until they get to the bottom of this new disaster and-

V grips his book.

And he is put back where he came from.

He glances at the cane. He wasn't being humble when he said that it is wasted on him. Depending on how things play out in their near future, he'll either be dead soon or, assuming they manage to find the brothers, worse.

He thinks of the cane and the book being given to Vergil after he is gone and feels a selfish rage build inside of him unlike anything he's ever felt before. Maybe, if he thinks to ask in the moment, he'll beg Nero to destroy them instead.

“'Cruelty has a human heart, jealousy a human face,'” he recites quietly to no one.

When Nico slams on the brakes, only V and Nero instinctively brace themselves for the resulting inertia. Trish and Lady are thrown violently from their seats as the van skids to a halt, threatening to roll before righting itself and slamming down on all of its wheels.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived!” Nico says cheerfully, throwing the gearshift into park. Nero leans forward, frowning as he looks out the windshield.

“Someone went a little crazy with the fertilizer.”

The branches from yesterday, which had only just started to droop over the wall, were now cascading down to the sidewalk. Cracks spread out in the concrete, vines and grass breaking up the cityscape grays with dark greens and ominous shades of red and purple.

“Astar is expanding their territory,” Trish says as she comes up between the seats. “When Lady and I were here, it was localized in the center of the gardens. That was only about a day ago. If we don't hurry, it'll begin to grow exponentially.”

“Territory,” V comments. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Just as being in the Underworld is detrimental to humans, demons are much weaker in the mortal realm. However, a territory can be cultivated to carry with it the essence of Hell.”

“Great,” Nico snorts. “We're gettin' annexed.”

“They did say something about rolling out the red carpet for their boss,” Nero says.

“One of them is bad enough,” Lady declares, grabbing her rocket launcher by the strap and slinging it over her shoulder. “I'm not about to let more of them in if they think they can just rearrange the furniture as they please.” She's the first to leave the van, V standing to follow her out.

Once they've all exited, everyone begins double-checking their gear. Lady and Nero make sure every gun is loaded and that ammunition is distributed evenly. Nico reaches back into the van to grab a Devil Breaker, tossing it to her partner who catches it easily.

“Ya never know!” she tells him, thumbing bullets into her own revolver. Nero gives her a nod, strapping Overture to his hip.

“I owe you one.”

“You owe me cash.”

“Hey!” Nero incredulously points to V and his shiny new cane. “You didn't charge him anything.”

“That's 'cuz he don't talk shit 'bout the way I drive.”

“I guarantee you he thinks it,” Nero says, looking to V for backup. V merely smirks at him.

“Even I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Ya see? You could learn a thing or two.”

Nero wants to tell her off but pauses when he feels... something. Blinking, he looks around their group before settling his eyes on the walled off gardens. He waits a moment, looking for any indication as to what that weird vibration was, but nothing gives itself away.

“Hold up a sec, were you always this dang tall?”

“Yes.”

Concentration broken, Nero looks back to Nico and V. As he no longer requires the cane to remain upright, V lets it rest in the bend of his elbow, effortlessly standing to his full height. Nero's not sure what's different this time around, but V looks... good. Healthy even. Where he once boasted a somewhat sickly pallor, there's now a gentle dusting of life to his skin, lightly coloring his cheeks and mouth.

A mouth that smiles candidly to something Nico has said, free of sarcasm or condescension. The curve of it reaches V's eyes, their pale green color given greater hue for the briefest moment, before they're hidden from sight by a curtain of white hair with a simple turn of his head. All that remains are his lips and that grin and the heat Nero feels in his blood.

He has never wanted to kiss someone that he shouldn't have so badly in his entire life, and he once dated a nun.

Nero turns to the gardens sharply, hand reaching back to grip Red Queen's hilt as he stalks forward. His sudden march startles his companions, spurring them into action.

“Charging in blindly, are we?” he hears Trish ask.

“No time like the present,” he calls back, but his thoughts are solidly elsewhere, leaning on the habits of a life long left behind.

Sparda, Hellborn Savior, hallowed be thy name, blessed be thy sword. May we, the children, follow the path of justice in both word and deed and howthefUCK am I supposed to deal with this?

He revs his sword and decides he's due to relieve a few demons of their heads. There's nothing he excels at quite like misplaced aggression.

He stops dead in his tracks when he feels it again, a slight tremor under his feet with no clear origin. He holds a hand out to the others to signal them to stop moving.

“What's the matter?” Nico asks, but he shushes her, his ears straining to catch any sound out of the ordinary. And that's when he catches on.

“Ambush!” he shouts, just as the sections of pavement explode upward, demons crawling out from beneath the ground to form a circle around them. Despite being surrounded, Nero smiles viciously, bringing his sword over his shoulder. “I think this is the welcoming party.” His comrades, having taken defensive stances without missing a beat, each keep a demon in front of them, their back to one another.

“That's funny,” Lady quips, her handguns leveled in front of her. “I'm not feeling very welcome.” She doesn't wait for their enemy to make the first move, firing into the skulls of two Empusas.

The fight ramps up from there.

Nero revels in the adrenaline, his focus tunneling in on the task at hand. There's something exhilarating about being able to hear the clashes of his friends behind him, their attacks feeling almost like a percussion beat keeping his every movement in time with the flow of battle. Just when he's about to let his own beat drop on the next demon in his way, segmented blades penetrate its face before being retracted, creating a jagged hole as it pulls with it blood and bits of bone and flesh. Nero stumbles, his rhythm broken. He turns to glare at V.

“Kill stealer.”

“I told you before. If I kill it, then it's mine.”

“Did you see that gorgeous feat of engineering?” Nico calls out from where she's and Lady are shooting a Pyrobat out of the sky. “Thing'a beauty!”

Nero's about to tell them both off when a rumbling from beyond the walls shakes the ground terribly. Chunks of stone blast toward them as a rolling Chaos careens in their direction, sparks flying from along the torn ground. V and Nico make dives to the side as Nero summons his strength and brings his sword down to clash with the spinning demon, digging his feet in and only getting pushed back a couple of feet before he kills the beast's momentum entirely. Hooking his blade under one of the spines, Nero swings as hard as he can, sending the Chaos flying.

It uncurls itself before it hits the ground, digging its claws in to slow its horizontal slide. Before it can charge again, Trish runs forth with her own sword, electricity visibly running up through her body as she winds up for a devastating slash, cleaving into where the monster's hide is softest.

“Hey, hey!” Nero complains. “What is it with you guys and jacking my thunder?”

“Follow through next time,” Trish says, pulling her sword free.

“You just lack showmanship,” Nero tells her. “That was gonna be one hell of a bullfight and you ruined it.” Trish looks at him unimpressed, tossing a length of hair over her shoulder.

“Don't we have more important things to do than waste time here?” she asks. She looks over to Nico and V, who are both regrouping around Nero. “Holding up alright?”

“Doin' just fine!”

“As am I.”

“Stay light-footed,” Trish tells them before signaling to Lady that they should press forward. “The three of us will handle the heavy-weights. The two of you can manage the weaker ones.” Nico gives her a thumbs up, while V holds his tongue, looking for all the world like he's just swallowed something sour. “Well? Let's take a lovely stroll through the gardens, shall we?”

-

It's frustrating. Even with this stronger body, there's so little he can do.

During the skirmish, V had been able to defend himself well enough. The handling of a sword or cane is not new to him, and even the added function of the whip is something he's adapting to easily. But without enough strength, he's still regulated to picking off stragglers and enemies on their last leg. Kill-stealing, as Nero likes to call it. He feels a bit like a vulture in battle, scavenging for moments to make himself useful.

“'A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride,'” he says to himself, stepping cautiously through the undergrowth behind the group. Well. It won't matter, in the end. There's little reason for him to wish for such strength, as it will never truly be his for long. All that he gains will eventually be given over to another, and why should he be willing to let his efforts fill Vergil's coffers?

The real question to be asked, however, is when he began thinking of himself so separate from his origins.

“You're quiet,” Nero says at his side. V hadn't even noticed him fall back to match his pace.

“Keeping my ears to the wind,” V lies, using his cane to push a protruding branch out of his way. “Wouldn't want to be caught unaware.”

“You know, you kept up pretty well back there,” Nero says apropos of nothing. V looks at him curiously, wondering if his own thoughts had been so bare to view, legible on his face like a neon sign. And Nico once called him enigmatic.

“I don't intend to slow anyone down,” V says in a measured tone.

“I get that. And hey, when this is all over, maybe we could actually talk Nico into making you a gun. I'll even teach you how to shoot.” There's a boyish enthusiasm to his words that V almost finds charming before the reality sets in. When this is all over, he will no longer be here.

Swallowing the bitterness, V deflects.

“Bold of you to assume I don't know how to use a firearm.”

“What? Seriously?” Nero asks, his surprise clear as day. V gives him a patronizing look.

“I don't claim to be very precise with one, but yes, I am familiar. I simply don't enjoy using them.”

“Why?”

V smiles.

“I find they lack showmanship.”

“Alright,” Nero says, huffing out a small laugh. “Fair enough, I guess.” Their conversation lulls a moment before V speaks again.

“I suppose I wouldn't mind learning the finer details.” He doesn't know why he says it. There will never be an opportunity. It's a fanciful thought that benefits no one.

But it is pleasant to think about. As pleasant as the grin Nero gives him.

“That's more like it! We'll get some bottles lined up, start you with a small caliber. Don't wanna break those pretty hands of yours-”

Nero cuts himself off, spitting out a curse under his breath. V raises an eyebrow, but refuses to be baited by what he assumes is a poorly thought-out taunt to his relative fragility. Instead, he uses the sharp end of his cane to hook Blue Rose out of its holster, tossing it up just enough for him to snag it. It turns out to be much heavier than he anticipated, but thankfully he doesn't fumble. It is, admittedly, comically large in his hand, the barrel being thicker than his wrist.

“Hey!” Nero tries to grab it back, but V pulls away, giving in to a moment of childishness.

“'A flower was offered to me; such a flower as May never bore,'” he teases.

“Who offered what? She's the opposite of a small caliber!” Nero makes for another grab. V deftly maneuvers away, dancing from Nero's half-hearted attempts, all while holding the gun above his head and out of Nero's reach. The ruckus causes Lady to look back at them.

“Settle down, boys! You two need to be covering the rear!”

Nero stops, pouting like a child admonished before he seems to remember that he's a grown man and frowns instead. So expressive, this one. Flitting from one emotion to the next and displaying them so readily. Taking pity on him, V hands Blue Rose back.

“'But I said I've a pretty rose-tree and passed the sweet flower o'er.'”

Nero takes it back begrudgingly, as if he would rather have wrestled for it. V finds he can't completely smother the chuckle he feels rising up.

But, as with any brief moment of joy V has experienced, its end is abrupt and savage.

Without warning, a thorn, as long and thin as a spear, tears though the foliage. It's thanks to Nero's reflexes that V is pushed out of the way quick enough to avoid being skewered.

“Look out!”

V is lucky not to fall to the ground, his back solidly hitting a tree. He's stunned only for a moment, but rights himself quickly, thankful that he's managed to hold on to his cane. Lady is already bracing Kalina Ann on her shoulder, aiming into the thick bushes where the thorn came from. Nero revs Red Queen, Blue Rose held up in his other hand, waiting for a target to present itself.

“Such gifts!” a disembodied voice speaks. It's difficult to determine its direction, but Nero recognizes it as Astar. “You are forgiven your trespasses, descendant of Sparda.”

“Oh, yeah?” Nero calls out, head on a swivel. “Why's that?”

“You've brought me such lovely material.”

Several more thorns shoot out, each one taking aim at Lady, Trish, Nico, and V. This time, however, they're all prepared for the attack. Nico manages to dodge behind a tree while the other ladies engage in more complicated evasive maneuvers. V, now certain he knows exactly where Astar is within the dense plant-life, merely side-steps the thorn that was bound for his chest.

“Careful!” Nero shouts at him. “This bitch thinks v stands for vase.”

Unsure of the statement's full meaning, V acknowledges him all the same.

“Then let us correct them.”

He digs the toe of his boot into the ground, digging out the fist sized stone there, kicking it up and using his cane as a bat. The solid kh-tink it makes is just as satisfying as the disgruntled voice of the demon he hits through the thick leaves. Now with a better reference point, Nero takes shots in that direction. Squelching sounds are heard as bullets rip through flesh, then the skittering of several legs as the demon changes position.

“I don't think precision's gonna be a problem for you.” Nero points at him, then mimes pointing out at the stands and taking a practiced swing, as if calling his shot at a baseball game. He gives V a wink before taking off, chasing after the demon in retreat.

“Hurry up or there won't be anything left for the rest of us!” Lady shouts, she and Trish already running to catch up.

V watches them disappear into the leaves, then turns to where Nico is sat against the trunk of the tree, doing some deep breathing exercises and clutching her revolver. He walks over and offers her a hand. She takes it and he mercifully doesn't comment on how she's trembling. She giggles manically once she's on her feet, pounds a fist against her chest, and shakes out her arms.

“Okie doke!” she exclaims loudly. “Good to go!”

“We've done all we can for now, Nico. I press on because my presence will inevitably be required. You should head back to the van,” V says, doing his best not wound her as he would be. But of the woman's many vices, Pride is not one of them, so she lets her smile drop just a bit and her nervousness show.

“You, Nero, and Trish are all goin' fishin' in Hell, which means Lady's gonna be on her own on this side,” Nico says, rubbing the sweaty palm of her hand on her denim shorts. She swallows thickly. “Be kinda shitty to ditch her.” V regards her a moment and, seeing that she has steeled her resolve, concedes in a nod.

“Then we go.”

-

Nero comes out into the fountain clearing, the previous day's destruction still littering the area. The difference now being that several more poor souls have been placed around the walking paths, the stench of death mingling with the perfume of fragrant blossoms.

“Nah,” Nero says to himself. “It just reeks.”

Trish and Lady join behind him, surveying what will most likely be their next battlefield.

“What happened to the itsy bitsy spider?” Nero goads, eyes searching for any movement. “Aw, did that little rock hurt your feelings? Thought you were tougher than that! Accursed Retinue, my ass. Hey! Does your boss know that you're a little bitch?”

That does it.

One of the marble statues is flung in his direction, but he and the others dodge it effortlessly.

“Insolent whelp,” Astar spits, the monster finally revealing itself. “As you are kin to great power, I offered you leniency befitting your noble line. And yet you attack the servants of your betters!”

“My betters? Lemme tell you something, I didn't care for that shit back in the Order and I sure as hell don't care for it now.”

“Then die!”

Nero wants to focus on Astar, but they've summoned an annoying number of Empusa demons between them.

“We've got this,” Trish tells him. Nero nods to her and starts his charge, dodging through smaller enemies and their attempts to slow him down. He jumps up and starts to use them as stepping stones, leaping from one to the other in order to propel himself to the one in control.

But tunnel vision is a bitch, and he doesn't see the Empusa Queen that's been hiding in the crawling mass of other demons.

The claw that shoots up catches him off guard, causing him to lose balance. He hits the ground, but manages to roll into a defensive stance. The smaller Empusas scatter around them, backing up to allow the queen to rear up to its full height.

“I don't have time for you!”

His attention now divided, Astar begins throwing him some nasty tricks. Every now and then as he attacks the demons surrounding him, spear like thorns are thrown in his direction, meaning he can't stand in one place for too long if he wants to let Dante keep his record for Most Times Impaled. Unfortunately, it also means he's being pushed back further away from his target.

He's readying himself up for another push forward when he hears the familiar report of Nico's revolver. Dodging another thorn, he looks back, managing to catch glimpses of her and V fighting across the clearing.

They're fine, he tells himself as he cuts off one of the Empusa Queen's front legs. And for a while he believes it, knowing that Trish and Lady also aren't too far off.

They're fine. They're fine.

The dark cackling from Astar shakes his faith.

In front of the monster a massive pod begins to emerge from the earth. Quickly becoming too heavy for its stalk, the bulb falls over. Organic walls part wetly, a demon unlike any Nero's ever seen crawling out from its center. It's quadrupedal in nature, shaking itself like a dog to rid it of excess mucus. It doesn't appear to have a lower jaw, rather its black tongue hangs freely, allowing Nero to see rows of teeth coat the inside of its maw and down its gullet. Drool that falls from it hits the dirt with an acidic hiss.

“Devour the boy, my dear,” Astar coos, sweetly. “But leave the pretty ones for my garden.”

-

V does his best to make certain that he and Nico are never too far out of Lady's pistol range. He's developed a fine sense of being able to survey and command from the sidelines, never focusing too long solely on one problem, and instead attempting to see the picture as a whole. It's because of this skill that, even while he slashes at the many foes around them, he sees the newest addition to their plight develop.

He isn't worried at first; Nero is a capable fighter. But as the minutes wear on, and V realizes that this new demon isn't so much as phased by Nero's attacks, anxiety begins to grip his chest.

And after anxiety comes the fear.

A particularly vicious swipe of the demon's sharp tail sends Nero flying, his sword getting knocked from his hand as his body skips across the dirt. It's not enough to take him out completely, and he immediately rises to one knee to fire his gun into the demon's open mouth. While this seems to stun it for a moment, it shakes itself violently, its once smooth, scaled skin producing a number of mucus covered spikes. It lashes its prehensile tongue out to grab Nero by a leg, using it to swing him up into the air.

Time slows for V in that moment.

He can see the action and he can see the intent. It will use its appendage to pull Nero into the natural defenses on its back, rending flesh and allowing potentially poisonous secretions to do god knows what to his bloodstream. Then it will shake off the corpse and consume it whole.

And there's nothing he can do to stop it.

He's powerless to stop it.

The rage at this knowledge is all consuming. It burns in him. It burns in his heart and his blood, spreading like wildfire from his chest and into his torso, even through the veins of his arms. And when he helplessly reaches out to Nero's falling body, he sees that it isn't just the rage at fault as neon blue lines glow brightly on his skin.

Time resumes and the lines pull away from his body.

Shooting into the air, the lines form a ball of light that explodes out into dark, iridescent wings. Without command, the demonic bird of prey soars at breakneck speed over the battlefield, diving in to catch Nero's jacket in its talons merely a second before it would have been too late, now playing tug-of-war with the demon's tongue.

“Whoa there, kid! Didn't anyone ever tell you messing with porcupines is a bad idea?”

Nero looks up, wide-eyed and completely baffled.

“Griffon?!”

Pulled by another sharp tug, Nero aims at the tongue and fires several rounds into it, causing it to sever in the middle and subsequently release Nero from its grasp.

V feels light-headed from relief, actually stumbling in place once he lets go of the breath he never realized he'd been holding. He doesn't sway too far, however, because materializing from the darkening blue pool at his feet is the body of another fierce predator.

Shadow roars angrily, causing the remaining Empusas around V and Nico to skitter about, intimidated.

Griffon swoops around, dropping Nero near his sword before banking to rejoin his master.

“Oh, man, you would not believe the nonexistence I've had,” he crows, as if musing on a particularly trying day.

V can't help it. He stares at them, disbelief and dreadful hope seizing his throat.

“Uh, V? Buddy? You good?” Griffon asks, flying in a tight circle around him. “Two arms, two legs, a head. Looks like everything's in order. What's the problem? We're a little surrounded, if you haven't noticed.” Even Shadow turns to look at him curiously, ready to receive an attack order.

So he gives it.

“Carve a path.”

With a wave of his cane, Shadow sets to work on the remaining small-fry. V then motions to Nero and his current enemy. “See if you can soften this one up from the inside,” he tells Griffon.

“Oho!” Griffon laughs, propelling forward. “Fire in the hole!”

Sounds of Griffon's lightning and Shadow's spikes tearing through demons fill his ears with the music of carnage he never thought he'd hear again.

“Yo! How the hell did you manage to do that?” Nico asks him, yards away as she fires.

“I haven't the faintest,” V breathes out, examining the (for now) empty etched lines that once more decorate his skin.

-

Getting the beast to stagger is a lot simpler with Griffon's attacks. Even as the bird swoops and dives to evade Astar's thorns, he's always quick to capitalize on an opening Nero creates, shooting off lightning into the vulnerable maw of this new demon.

“Set 'em up!” Griffon shouts, releasing another powerful shock.

“Knock 'em down!”

Nero swings down in a diagonal strike while the creature convulses, his sword catching it in the neck. Its hide is ridiculously thick, stopping Red Queen's slice before it can make it all the way through. Undeterred, Nero lets go, sprinting up to one of the marble pillars of a crumbling archway. He runs up the side a ways before pushing off, jumping toward the stumbling monster and letting gravity and his weight do work when his boots come down on the hilt. The sword pushes the rest of the way through, severing muscle and bone as it goes.

The head hits the dirt and rolls, the body swaying side to side before it collapses is a cloud of dust and pollen.

“How dare you!” Astar cries, finally charging out into the fray.

“About time! I was getting tired of kicking your dog like an asshole!” Nero taunts, resting Red Queen on his shoulder. “Sorry, by the way. Think you're gonna need a new one.”

“There won't be enough of you left to feed the worms when I'm through with y- ack!”

Pillars of shadowy needles shoot up from below, piercing Astar in their soft underbelly. They are raised up off of their arachnid legs, each one twitching out to find purchase. Nero turns and sees V glaring up at the demon, his eyes dark with contempt. Behind and to the side of him, Lady is mounting Kalina Ann on her shoulder.

“'The modest rose puts forth a thorn.' Die.”

The rocket streaks forward and this time its target has nowhere to run. An explosion of gore rains down on the lush grass and flowering bushes. Nero has to skip back a few steps to avoid getting any on his boots. He watches tiny fires pop up here and there and hopes they don't spread or anything. The last thing he wants to do today is play fire-brigade. He put his sword away and can't help but smile despite yet another kill getting snatched out from under his nose.

He turns fully to V, more than ready to hear an explanation for this new turn of events. Before he can even ask, though, a dark blur rushes past him, pouncing on V with enough force to push him to the ground.

-

“Looks like somebody missed you,” Nero says, laughing as Shadow licks her master's face. V groans, and even has the air pushed out of his lungs when his familiar settles her weight along his front. He surrenders himself to her ministrations, as there's little he can do to stop her.

Well, that's not at all true. Regardless, he allows it.

He is a bit embarrassed when the other four circle around, looking down at his prone form with varying degrees of amusement. Sighing, he lets himself fall back into the grass and awaits whatever mocking is to come like a martyr resigned to death.

With a loud flapping of his wings, Griffon lands on the ground just above his head.

“I'll tell ya! Nothing feels quite like livin'!” He waddles the remainder of the way forward and, as has always been his custom, rests atop V's face as if warming an egg.

Hearing the others snicker above him, V is hit with the urge to throw Griffon into a boiling pot of some questionable stew, almost as much as he wants to clutch him to his chest and weep in his feathers.

The feelings cancel each other out.

He taps Shadow, indicating his wish for her to move, then gets a hand under Griffon's body to shove him off of his face. They both return to their resting states once he sits up. The neon blue light doesn't return, rather they bleed into his skin in familiar black ink. When Nero offers him a hand up, he takes it.

“So, Mr. Magician, how'd you pull a bird out of your ass?”

“Trade secret,” V quips, dusting the dirt off of his clothes. Nero looks decidedly unimpressed.

“Oh, let him have his mystery,” Trish says. “His image is incomplete without it.”

Before Nero can argue, Nico walks up and smacks him in the head.

“Ow! The hell was that for?!”

“For bein' stupid! You think I make these just to be accessories?” she asks, pointing to Overture hanging from his belt. “You didn't need Chickee to do the work for you, princess. Hell, ain't you got wings, too? Why'd you let that critter toss you around like a chump?”

“Hey, back off, alright!” Nero raises a finger, gearing up to let her have it, before he realizes she's right and loses steam. “I... could have done that. Yeah. But your cheap ass only gave me one, okay? I'm saving it!” He's not doing a great job at justifying himself and seems to know it, judging by the self-conscious way he shifts his weight and gestures behind him. “And I... might have forgotten about those.”

“Dumbass!”

“Gimme a break, I'm not used to the whole devil thing yet!”

“Yes, Nico, we should be more understanding,” V finally speaks up. He rests his cane in the crook of his arm and gives Nero a smirk. “After all, youthful exuberance is no match for experience.”

“Isn't that the truth,” Trish chuckles. She pats Nero on the arm as she walks toward the crater Kalina Ann made of Astar.

“I've got experience!” Nero shouts defensively, getting flustered now that he's being ganged up on. “I've got loads of experience, you guys are just being dicks!”

“Babies are so cute when they get mad,” Lady says as she walks past him, pinching his cheek in the process. Nero petulantly smacks her hand away. V decides to be merciful.

“'If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.' We've a ways to go yet, perhaps there are things I could teach you before our journey's end.”

He knows he's simply avoiding thinking about his development, fearful that if he tries to unravel his familiars' reemergence, the universe will rip them from him out of spite. Such would be his lot and it would not surprise him. Instead, he's already formulating critiques in Nero's methods of controlling the battlefield.

“That is, of course, if you're open to-” When V looks back to Nero he sees that his flush of embarrassment now coats his entire face, and he's looking at V like the man just slapped him.

“I know things!” Nero insists through gritted teeth. V feels like they may no longer be on the same page.

“I'm sure,” V says slowly, eyeing Nero's reactions with curiosity. “I merely mean to suggest that some refinement might not be remiss. One should always strive to hone their technique. Practice.”

Nero opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again, fails again. Then he makes a sharp turn on his heel and stomps over to where the ladies are gathered. V blinks, tapping his cane against his arm a moment before following, finding the ebb and flow of Nero's moods beyond him.

“The gate is this way,” Trish calls to them as they catch up.

The walking path they take is lined with the defiled, flowering bodies of those Astar had captured. Nico keeps her eyes firmly planted on the heels of Lady's shoes, her mouth set in a grim line as if she's close to being sick. V feels pity for the girl, but finds he only shares a fraction of her disgust. The loss of life is regrettable, a number of stories have met a gruesomely tragic end at the hands of an apathetic monster. Yet, despite this, V can see the macabre beauty in them. Perhaps, being the human aspect, he should not be able to regard them with such artistic detachment. Or perhaps it is because he is human that he is able to compartmentalize so well.

Nero suggested before that this had been a potential fate of his. V finds himself thinking it a lovely way to die.

“Yeesh, why are poets always so obsessed with this kind of stuff?”

V startles, shocked at hearing Griffon's voice in his head once again.

“C'mon, buddy, happy thoughts. Fresh mice. A good preening. I'll even allow staring forlornly into the rain on a cold day. Just for an hour, though. Too much will give you bad brains.”

V ducks his head and smiles. Impudent beast.

“Here we are,” Lady says, bringing V's attention back to the matter at hand.

On a paved intersection of branching paths, a crude circle of glyphs is carved into the stone. The size of it suggests Astar must have had a time squeezing through, but demons are a determined lot when they wish to be. For now, however, it appears inactive.

“Alright, it's just the three of us from here on out,” Trish says, looking to him and Nero.

“Don't you worry,” Nico says cheerfully to mask her discomfort. “Me 'n Lady'll hold down the fort!”

“And we'll see what we can do about getting these people down and giving them a proper burial,” Lady adds, turning to examine the bodies around them to get a better idea of how to go about it. Nico gives her back a horrified look, but bravely swallows her nausea and nods in a stiff motion.

“Y-y-yeah, sure,” she says weakly. “'Cuz that's how I wanted to spend our t-time alone together...” Nero gives her a sympathetic shrug and she flips him off.

“Do you still have the piece of the Yamato with you?” Trish asks him. Nero raises his hand, letting human skin burn away to reveal his Devil Bringer. He focuses on the palm and wills the fragment to manifest. “Good, this will save us time,” she says.

Nero closes his fist around it, letting its power sink into his arm. He approaches the center of the ritual circle, using a foot to feel out the area before tapping it against a certain spot.

“Paydirt.”

With a strong, downward slash, he lets his claws rend the air just inches above the ground. The glyphs glow and four shimmering gashes form in the fabric of space, pulling and bleeding into one another to create a singular hole. It's just large enough for them to step in one at a time.

“We'll be back in time for dinner.” Nero gives Nico a half-hearted salute before dropping into the portal and disappearing.

“Make it a late dinner,” Trish says before doing the same.

V moves to take his turn when Nico waves at him.

“Look out for our moron, 'kay? Don't let him do anything too stupid,” she says, hands at her hips. V smirks.

“No promises.”

Her exaggerated eye roll is the last thing he'll ever see of the human world, and he finds himself thankful for it.

-

Nero lands fluidly, despite the shifting of gravity within the portal, catching himself on the unforgiving terrain of the Underworld before pushing up to stand. This is his first time seeing the bizarre plains of Hell, the twisted landscape giving the impression of a skinned animal writhing in pain.

Sheesh, no wonder demons are always trying to make it topside. This place sucks, and he's been here less than a minute.

Trish and V land off to his side and the shimmering portal above them closes. They're on what could be considered a plateau, giving them a decent full-circled view of the area surrounding them.

“That's new,” Trish says, walking to the edge. Nero follows her line of sight, seeing a dark, walled-off fortress maybe a mile in the distance. “That structure wasn't here yesterday.”

“How does demon real-estate work, exactly?” Nero asks her. Trish merely shrugs. Alright. Sure. What's one more unanswered question added to the list.

“I am curious,” V says. “How is it that this particular collective was able to appear out of nowhere.”

“Not nowhere,” Trish corrects him. “You should think of certain regions as if they're depths of the ocean. The further down you go, the more monstrous devils become, molded by the pressures of survival. However, this also means it's difficult for them to find their way back up. To do so would require an immense change in density to the layer above it, which...” her words trail as she gestures to the sea of mutilated demon corpses littering the wastes, the remnants of Dante and Vergil's super fun adventures in Hell.

“This family really does love creating its own problems, huh?” Nero asks, his tone bitter.

“Yours wouldn't be the first, I'm sure,” Trish tells him, but it's not exactly a comfort.

Nero sets his sights on the fortress ahead and sighs. The first place to start looking for his uncle and father would be there. They'll kill two birds with one stone with an assault on the keep; find his family, destroy the Retinue.

“How many are supposed to be between us and Queen Bee?” he asks.

“I only know of three: Astar, Hell's Blossom; the Infernal Composer, Dantalion; and Libatio, the Vintner of Suffering.”

“Quite the decadent sounding bunch,” V comments.

“Their mistress was a decadent lady, from what I hear. She delighted in excess and wanted to turn the mortal realm into her own personal pleasure palace. Of course, that means nothing good for anyone but her.”

“I imagine it was Sparda's rebellion that put an end to those dreams,” V speculates, and Nero turns to him, surprised. Sometimes he forgets that Sparda wasn't just an idealized mythical figure that the people of Fortuna prayed to for safety and enlightenment. That he was, in fact, very real and very powerful.

And also his grandfather, apparently.

“As good a guess as any,” Trish says.

“Alright, enough yacking. We're burning daylight.” Nero pauses, squinting up at the sky. “Or whatever this is. The sooner we finish here, the sooner we can go home. I'm already sick of this place.”

-

The walk to the fortress is eerily quiet in the wake of the slaughter Dante and Vergil left. Nero finds himself wishing something would jump out at them, just for a little excitement here and there, but he's out of luck. Leave it to those knuckleheads to redefine what the word overkill means. V summons Griffon and sends him to fly ahead as a scout.

“We should count ourselves lucky,” he says as they approach their destination. “The brothers may have been caught unaware, but we at least have the blessing of their hindsight.” Something about that sparks a memory in Nero's brain and he snaps his fingers excitedly.

“'If others had not been foolish, we should be so.'”

V turns his head to him, eyebrows raised. Nero grins and points to the book at V's hip.

“I might have skimmed it a bit,” he says in false nonchalance, completely aware of how proud of himself he sounds.

“And did you find much wisdom in it?” V asks, amused.

“I liked the illustrations,” Nero says jokingly. He ignores the way Trish briefly glances back at them, since he can't quite give name to the knowing look in her eye.

“Then you should keep it,” V says, finality clear in his words though his tone is conversational.

“But I gave it to you,” Nero says, suddenly feeling anxious. V looks ahead and smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

“And I am grateful. But by the end of today, it will be a moot point.”

Right. Because when all is said and done, V will return to Vergil, and that'll be that.

Nero feels a knot form in his stomach, a sense of foreboding settling heavily in the space between his ribs. He thinks about the silly plans he made to take V shooting, the pointlessness in wondering what it would be like to press along his back and help him line up a shot, or what he would look like after a successful bullseye. He thinks about how nice it's been with him, V, and Nico back together, their dynamic slipping over them like a well-loved sweater that hadn't been worn in a while.

He thinks about how much it's gonna hurt to lose it for a second time.

“It would please me if you kept it,” V says, his voice quiet and meant to be heard only by him.

“Okay,” Nero says hollowly. V tilts his head in appreciation to his acceptance.

“You guys aren't gonna believe this!”

Griffon comes flying back to them, having completed a reconnaissance flight around the structure. V holds out an arm and he takes perch there.

“What's the state of things?” Trish asks.

“Some weird shit's happening around the back. Handful of lesser demons marching toward the fortress, but something's weird about 'em.”

“Explain,” V says.

“I dunno, it's like they're possessed or something. Movin' like a bunch of zombies and rabid animals, uh... more so than usual. I could hear music coming from inside, though. Maybe they're just having one heck of a shindig.”

“Think that might be our Composer?” Nero asks Trish. She frowns and seems worried.

“Probably. We need to be careful. I don't know the nature of their powers, so we're still blind to whatever it is we're walking into.”

“Not to sound inexperienced or whatever, but we're not getting anything done by standing here, right? I say we kick down the front door and start trashing the place. It's what they did to us,” Nero says.

“I'd call it foolhardy, but you Sparda boys have a knack for making it work,” Trish laughs.

“Then let's make a nuisance of ourselves,” V says, summoning Shadow at his feet. He points his cane to towering gates ahead of them. “Ring the doorbell, won't you?”

-

Demons guarding the courtyard take time to dispatch, and Nero finds himself rethinking how to engage certain foes; they're in Hell now and the enemy has home field advantage. But he's taken the playful ribbing from earlier to heart and is attacking with more focus, trying to be more economical in his movements and less centralized in his attention. Doing so means he takes fewer surprise attacks from behind and leaves him less open to ambush from the side.

He's thankful when only one demon is left standing though, because there's nothing quite like going to town on a motherfucker without having to worry about taking a scythe to the back.

Once the Nobody in front of him drops a mask and staggers, he grapples it by one of its arms and drags it into a spin, then launches it into the tall, heavy doors of the entrance proper. The collision is strong enough to force them open and kill the demon at the same time.

Like he said. Economic.

“Knock, knock!” he calls into the dark, echoing chamber. He, V, and Trish walk in cautiously, each scoping out a direction for any signs of danger. Though the outside resembles a deranged interpretation of a castle, the inside looks nothing like what Nero expects. A vast, empty hall opens before them, the room dotted with columns and nothing else.

“So much for decadence,” Nero says. “Where's the spread? No chaise lounge, no naked statues. Not a single ugly Renaissance painting. And I definitely don't hear music.”

“What are you talking about? It's coming from over there,” Trish says, moving ahead and to the left of them. Something in her voice, however, causes Nero and V to glance at one another.

“Uh, Trish? I don't hear anything,” Nero says, then asks V, “Do you?”

“No,” V says, his wary eyes still following Trish.

Toward the back of the expansive room, three hallways diverge from one another. Trish lists to the far left one, her movements becoming stiff.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Nero jogs to catch up to her, noting the far-off look in her eyes. He waves a hand in front of her face, but she doesn't respond. “Trish, there is no music, okay? Snap out of it, you're starting to freak me-” He cuts himself off when a chord of beautiful strings fills his ears. It's incredibly distant, but now that he's closer to the corridor, he can finally make out the sounds of someone playing. V must hear it now too, because he cocks his head to the side, trying to identify the melody.

Nero steps in front of Trish to try and block her from moving forward. He grabs her arms to try to shake her out of whatever trance she's in, but the moment he lays hands on her, she attacks.

The punch to his throat is rude as hell but it's the bone shattering kick to his chest that sends him flying. V rushes forward to grab her from behind, attempting to lock her arms at her sides, gripping his cane around her front to keep hold. This doesn't even faze her as she ducks inward and plants her feet, throwing her weight into V's torso. She bull-rushes him into one of the pillars, freeing herself from his hold while he's stunned. He barely manages to dodge fist she buries into the stone at his back, or the next one, or the next. He summons Shadow between them, giving himself some distance when she's pounced to the ground.

Nero has gathered himself back up at that point. Shadow circles the woman, having received no other order than to keep her away from V.

“Damnit, get a hold of yourself!”

Not wanting to do Trish any real harm, he avoids drawing his sword or his gun, going in with a haymaker instead. The fact that he manages to catch her solidly on the jaw speaks to her lack of control. Thankfully, the hit seems to have knocked some sense into her and she stumbles back, blinking rapidly. Bringing a hand up to cup her face, she looks at him.

“Did you just hit me?” she asks, incredulous. Her shocked tone makes Nero suddenly feel like a bad man.

“I-” he stutters. “But you were- I didn't mean to-”

In a flash, she upon him, sweeping his leg and then using her own with lightning fast reflexes to force him to the ground before gravity can do it for her, the impact hard enough to crack the floor.

“At least have the nerve to follow through,” she says, looking down on him in every manner.

“Got it,” he wheezes out when it's obvious that she's still no longer in her trance. She unplants her heel from his chest and allows him up, rubbing her forehead as if fending off a migraine.

“What just happened?” she asks.

“You appear to have been under enemy influence,” V tells her, laying a hand on Shadow's head as she comes to sit next to her master's legs.

“I heard a song and then...,” she recalls. Frustrated, she shakes her head. “How is it that neither of you were affected?”

“Dunno,” Nero says as he rubs what has to be a broken sternum. “But I'm gonna say maybe one of us should take this one and you take that one.” He points to the far right corridor. He then turns to V. “Flip you for it?”

-

The middle path is his.

V summons Griffon to join them, the high ceilings and wide space allowing him a comfortable amount of room to stay airborne.

“Man, this place gives me the creeps. Nothing about it looks right.”

“I suppose the decor does leave something to be desired,” V agrees, letting his cane punctuate his steps in a rhythmic fashion. It helps to keep his mind from wandering.

“It's definitely no Mallet Island, that's for sure.” Griffon circles suddenly to hover in front of V. “Uh, not that that's, you know, a negative or anything! Lots of stuff here is better than Mallet Island, hehe...” V gives him a withering glance through his white hair.

“Relax,” V tells him. “I don't even think of that place anymore.” And it's true. Since his rejoining with Vergil, not once have the memories of his time there plagued him. It was the one mercy of his suffocating isolation; no nightmares, no dreams.

“Huh, now that you mention it... I don't really know what happened last time. Things get fuzzy after the kid wasted Malphas,” Griffon contemplates.

“Haven't you realized?” V asks him. “You are not the same.”

“What do you mean, not the same?”

“I've been told that Dante put an end to the three of you after Urizen's defeat.”

“Are you saying I'm a copy of a copy?” Griffon groans. “Way to make a bird feel cheap!”

“I wouldn't put it that way,” V assures him, running his hands gently around Shadow's ears and she walks patiently beside him. “I'm not sure what part of me gave you form, but... I am thankful for it. The two of you are rather useful.”

“You can just say you missed us, V. I won't even make fun of you for it, I swear!”

“How generous.”

“It's weird, though. I do feel different,” Griffon says. V looks up at him.

“Different how?”

“I dunno. It's not a bad different. Just not the same. We definitely didn't come from your nightmares, I can tell that much.”

Shadow makes a low vocalization that rumbles pleasantly. Whatever she's expressed causes Griffon to burst into a cackling laughter.

“Oh, that's rich! Why don't you pull the other one!”

Irritated, Shadow takes a swipe at him as he banks by her, but Griffon evades and continues to laugh.

“Well?” V asks.

“Love, aha! Kitty cat here thinks we're made out of love! What's next? Angel tears and rainbows? Hey, V! Check the next time I'm knocked into stalemate; maybe I'll explode into little tiny unicorns! Haha!”

Shadow makes a pouncing strike this time, coming much closer to dragging Griffon out of the air.

“Hey, watch it!” He takes perch on the arm V offers, shaking out his ruffled feathers. “Uncalled for, missy!” Shadow bares her fangs at him and growls.

“That's enough,” V says, exasperated. Once he's sure they're not about to start fighting again, he lets Griffon take flight once more and continues down the path. He's quiet for a moment while the bird grumbles above him and then says, “'The most sublime act is to set another before you.'”

“Huh? You say something?”

“When I summoned you, Nero was in danger,” V clarifies.

“You're not suggesting what I think you are... are you?”

“I was helpless, unable to do anything. I wanted the power to protect those that I... am fond of, so I willed it into being.”

“Are you trying to say we really are made up of-”

“Of my desire to defend those who matter to me,” V finishes.

“Yeah, okay...” Griffon says, unconvinced. “We'll stick with that one. It sounds better, if you ask me.”

V stops when he sees a smaller hallway open to his left. The corridor he's in continues forward still, but there's little illumination to determine just how far. And from this hall he can hear the distant melody of a new song. This must connect to Nero's path.

Indecision grips him.

He has his own area to investigate and should do his part. But there's something in the music's change that worries him. The somber strings from before have shifted to something more bombastic, a quick and energetic symphony that ironically does very little to put him at ease. He and Nero were not affected before...

But what if it simply had not been either of their songs.

At this thought, V darts down the connecting corridor.

“Whoa, hey, V! Where you goin'?” he hears Griffon ask in a panic.

He doesn't wait up. His pets will soon follow without question. Fear grips his uncertain mind and, yes, perhaps he is being irrational. If Nero is fine, then he shall turn back and press on with his punishment being time wasted. That, he can live with. Should his fears be founded, however...

The music grows louder, not just due to distance covered, but is rising naturally in a crescendo. He reaches the main hallway and checks to his left and then the right. No sign of Nero from the direction of their starting point, so he must be ahead. V runs, the fast tempo of the music matching his growing anxiety. Soon the hallway ends, an open door leading into a brightly lit room that blinds him for a moment after having been in dim light for too long.

“Man,” he hears Griffon pant behind him. “You can really book it this time around.”

Wordlessly, V motions forward with his cane and Shadow stalks forward. The acoustics of the massive room are excellent, allowing the music to feel as if it is coming from all sides while remaining cohesive. At its center, a humanoid figure makes elegant motions through the air with its arms. Several musicianless instruments surround it, many which seemed to be fashioned from the mutilated bodies of other demons, playing to each movement. Lesser demons are stumbling in from a tunnel directly across the room, most of them seeming dazed while others beat their heads against the walls, columns, and even the floor. The bizarre display baffles V as he watches.

“Come in, come in!” the figure exclaims. For a moment V thinks he is the one being invited, but the demon's back is to him as it watches the marching throng enter from the other side. “Come, children! Her Grace requires each and every one of you. Yes, come! Make yourselves useful!”

Now aware that he has yet to be spotted, V hangs back and indicates for his familiars to do the same. Shadow keeps low to what dark edges of the room exist and Griffon flies up to one of the many menacingly pointy chandeliers. From his roost there he must see something immediately, because he does his best to get V's attention, flapping his wings excitedly while using his body to point in the direction he wants V to look.

Amid a group of suffering demons, Nero is crouched over in agony, his head clutched between his hands.

Too preoccupied with trying to determine the best way to get to him, V doesn't see one of Griffon's feathers fall, tumbling gently down to where the conducting demon is finishing the current arrangement. With a fluid motion, it swipes the feather out of the air with long, spindle-like fingers.

“Ah!” Dantalion the Composer rejoices. “More guests!” He suddenly rounds on V, the folds of his cloak swaying dramatically with the motion. Though he has no eyes to speak of, V doesn't doubt that his exact position is known to him. “Good, sir,” he calls to him. “What piece shall I play for you?”

With the music stopped, V can see in his periphery Nero shake himself.

“Oh, but what is this I hear?” Dantalion asks in mock question, a hand coming up to his ear. “Such a sorrowful sound inside of you! Something in the minor key, I believe, yes?”

He turns to his grotesque instruments and raises his arms to begin playing whatever it is he thinks he hears from V. Just as he begins to move, a shot rings out, blowing one of his hands off at the wrist. Nero has pushed himself to standing, blood trailing from both ears.

“But of course,” Dantalion says. “I shouldn't forget about you.”

Rather than shift his performance to match V, he continues his previous arrangement. However, this time the music carries a dark undercurrent to its frenetic melody, and instead of doubling over in pain, Nero eyes lose focus much like Trish's had. A select few of the demons begin to behave differently, thrashing in violent tandem.

A Riot makes a leap at V, but Shadow is quick to aid him, repositioning him closer to Nero. From above, Griffon spits curses as he swoops in to engage in some crowd control, pillars of lightning keeping a group of demons at bay while Shadow begins attacking in earnest the masses of mind controlled puppets that Dantalion has surrounded his orchestra and himself with.

When V approaches Nero, he can see faint twitches in his face. Muscles in his arms and body make minuscule attempts to start a motion before failing. Though he stands in place for the moment, his gun hanging limply in his hand at his side, V can see that the music hasn't taken full control. The boy is fighting the sound that keeps him paralyzed.

V lashes out with his cane, letting it change form to slash at a Nobody in a razor arch before it can take a swing at Nero. Shadow diverts for a moment to push foes back from the two of them, giving them a measure of breathing room before returning to her assault. V grabs Nero by the shoulders and hopes that he's not about to be cleaved in two for his troubles.

“Concentrate!” V shouts. “Push it out of your mind!”

He makes demands but not even he is sure how he expects Nero to do this. As if to mock his efforts, the music gets louder, and another Riot lunges at them. V throws his insignificant weight against Nero to move him, and since Nero can't brace himself, they both fall just as the Riot passes overhead. A swipe of its claws catches V's side and he hisses out in pain even as he scrambles to pull Nero from the fray. Sitting up, he pulls Nero back into his chest, bending over the boy's shoulder to press in as close as he can.

“Focus!” V tries to urge him awake.

Getting no response, he turns desperate. He drags his lips across Nero's cheek, pressing them to the shell of a bleeding ear while covering the other with his hand.

“'Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a heaven in hell's despair.'”

He lets the words fall from memory, adapting a lyrical cadence as he speaks. Dantalion is yet unreachable until his pets can tear at his defenses, and beyond slaying the demon outright, V's not sure what else he can do but give Nero's consciousness something else to latch on to. He's so absorbed in his efforts to keep his voice even and the words perfectly formed that he doesn't notice when Nero's hand clenches into a fist, his Devil Bringer flaring to life.

-

His head aches something fierce, the strings and percussion wreaking havoc on his brain, causing his thoughts to shift and sink like sand through a sieve. Every time he thinks he's got a hold, the tempo changes and his mind is chaos once more. For a brief moment, sharp clarity is given back to him, and he takes a shot at that lanky bastard.

And then, just like that, he's frustratingly whammied again. Only this time it's different somehow. The pain isn't there anymore. Nothing's there anymore, not even the pressure of the clothes on his back or the gun in his hand. He feels like he's been tossed in a void, not knowing which way is up or down. There's no light, no substance. There isn't even that god awful music. There's just silent blackness and his own screams inside his head.

Is it his screaming? He can't tell. He can't identify anything. It's not there. Nothing is.

Is this what V felt?

“Cessation of existence isn't such a scary thing when you're forced to live its stark alternative.”

Fuck.

Fuck!

Panic and rage seize Nero's heart. He wants out. He wants to beat that shitty demon into a bloody stain, he wants to tell Dante to go fuck himself, he wants to give his father the ass-kicking of a lifetime, and he wants-

He wants to see V. Fuck, he wants to see V again, to see the slant of his sardonic smile and to hear the sound of his voice.

“'-but a pebble of the brook warbled out these metres-'”

“... V?”

Sensation rushes back into the void violently, taking with it the numbness in his body and the fog clouding his mind. He feels a warm breath at his ear, the vibrations of words soothed by a soft press of lips. Fingers grip at his hair and his chest, and he can feel a rapid heartbeat against his back.

Is he dead? Is this heaven?

“Fuck you, ugly!”

Griffon's harsh squawk and the subsequent crackling explosion of electricity breaks that delusion real quick. Reality checks back in with the subtlety of a freight train. He comes back to himself just in time to see a Hell Antenora make a windmilling charge at him.

Not just him. He hears V swear behind him upon seeing the incoming danger.

Popping his devil form has never been more instinctual or effortless.

Ignoring V's startled gasp, Nero surges forward, stopping the blades of both cleavers in his hands. The Antenora pushes with all its strength but Nero doesn't budge. He curls the fingers of his wings into fists and starts to pummel the monster in front of him. He pulls at the cleavers, tearing them from gnarled hands, then grasps them in his own, making vicious and messy swings. With each cut they strip flesh from bone, and when he's done, Nero kicks the demon a few feet away before throwing both oversized knives into its eviscerated body.

And then he sets sights on Dandalion.

Suddenly the manic arrangement stops, and the Composer snarls. He changes tactics, now letting a melancholic symphony build. Nero turns burning orange eyes to V when he hears the man groan, seeing him lean on his cane, a hand covering his face. Griffon and Shadow dematerialize, returning to tattoo his skin.

“V!” Nero calls. “Don't let it-” He's cut off when the sharp, bladed end of the whip just barely misses his head. V snaps it back before making a horizontal slash. Nero deflects with his wings. “V, c'mon, don't make me fight you!”

V doesn't listen, or rather, is incapable of hearing him. He stalks forward with single-minded intent, lacerating other demons only when they get in his way. He's wounded at his side, but gives no indication of feeling it in any motion he makes. Frustratingly, he's positioned himself between Nero and Dantalion. Nero grits his teeth. All it took to snap Trish out of it was a little love tap, right? Nero looks down at his hand and wonders how much more demon hide is gonna hurt than human flesh.

“Damnit! Fine, just don't kick my ass for this later!”

This time when V lashes out with his whip, Nero lets it catch his forearm. He grabs at it, the blades barely sinking into the palm of his hand. He yanks the whip with enough force to pull V forward before he drops the cane. But when Nero makes to grab him with his other hand, V drops and rolls, ending up behind him. The sound of his long discarded gun being leveled at him is the only warning he gets to dodge before a shot is fired at his head.

The recoil knocks V off-balance and Nero capitalizes on it, circling around him and grabbing skinny arms in place. V's nowhere near strong enough to fight Nero off under his own power, but he struggles all the same. Carefully, Nero brings the hand V still holds Blue Rose with down by his head, the bullet cylinder inches away.

“Sorry, this is gonna suck,” Nero says, pressing V's finger down on the trigger with his own. The bullet fires uselessly into the ceiling, but it's the painfully loud report that causes V to shout. He lets go of the gun, hand coming up to clutch at his ear as he falls to his knees. Nero has about a second to feel like an utter bastard before he makes the decision that he needs to put an end to the real problem now and let guilt bitchslap him later.

Terrified at losing his last line of defense, Dantalion runs from the rostrum.

“Get back here, coward!”

Nero rushes forward, hefting up a fleshy pedal harp and hurling at the retreating demon. It crashes into him, sending him sprawling across the ground. Nero makes an enormous leap to him, landing mere feet away and causing crater-like impressions in the polished stone.

“You know,” Nero says angrily. “I expected a little more out of a group with a name like Accursed Retinue.” He takes an intimidating step forward. “But so far? I don't think I'm impressed.”

“Libatio! Libatio, I need aid!” Dantalion cries. But even as he tries to crawl away from Nero, no aid comes.

“Be a man, damnit. Stand up!” Nero tells him, bending down to grab him by the collar of his cloak and yank him up, annoyed with the pathetic shaking. He lets his devil form fall away. “Answer me and maybe I'll let you go find your friend. You seen two guys who kinda look like me? One's a jackass, the other's also a jackass but stuck up?”

“The blood of Sparda's kin will be the wine Her Grace sips in the Eden we create for her!”

Nero sighs in irritation, flapping his fingers and thumb together in a mocking mime.

“Yack, yack, yack. Why do I bother?” He reaches for Red Queen. “I don't even get to feel good about this one.”

It takes one diagonal strike to bisect the demon from shoulder to hip.

Times like this, he misses big dumb brutes like Goliath. At least demons like him had raw strength to back up stupid gimmicks and could take a beating.

The sound of V's cane tapping against the floor causes him to turn sharply. The man stands there slumped, his face scrunched up in pain as he cradles the side of his head with one hand. Nero jogs over to him and starts checking him for damages. There are the claw marks at his side which, thankfully, don't seem deep, and no doubt a blown eardrum. Nero worries when he sees blood at V's mouth, lifting his chin to check that he hasn't bitten through his lip. But when V finally opens his pale green eyes to look at him, Nero remembers that it's his blood.

Because it was V's voice at his bleeding ear that brought him back.

Suddenly aware of how close he's standing and all of the places he's touching without permission, Nero pulls away from V like he's made of molten iron. He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and gestures to V's ear.

“That's... my fault. That was my bad. Sorry.”

V watches his mouth as he speaks, making Nero self-conscious in a whole new way.

“I'm going to assume,” he says, slightly louder than Nero thinks he means to, “that that was an apology.”

Nero nods emphatically and doesn't look him in the eye for a while.

-

Having reached the end of Nero's assigned path, they choose to backtrack together down V's. They still haven't found hide nor hair of the brothers Sparda, but the fortress is huge, so there's still plenty to check. They're trek is a quiet one, mostly to spare V's healing eardrum, but also because Nero... can't get his thoughts together.

Dantalion was a little bitch, but the shit he did to Nero's head won't leave him alone. Not for his own sake, though that experience is definitely going to be a memory he drowns in Nico's moonshine and prays never resurfaces. He'll get over it. It only lasted a minute or so, even if it felt like a lot longer.

No, the real problem is V. Nero wants to ask, he's itching to. He wants to know if it was the same, because if so... if so, that's fucked and not at all something V deserves. There's hell and then there's that, and Nero wants nothing more than to make sure it never happens, consequences be damned.

“You seem agitated,” V says suddenly as they walk. Nero shrugs, wishing he wasn't such an open book to literally everyone.

“S'nothing,” he lies. V gives him a disbelieving look and Nero shrugs again. “I mean, obviously it's something. I just... I don't know where to start. I don't know how to-” He gestures to his mouth, exasperated.

“Your words fail you,” V surmises.

“Yeah, well... we can't all spit verses at the drop of a hat. Most people can't phrase how they're feeling the way you do.”

“On the contrary. I, too, often find it difficult to say what's on my mind.” V taps his book. “It's why I lean so heavily on the familiar words of another.” Nero's a little surprised to find he's pretty sure V is being sincere.

“If it makes you feel any better, it always sounds like you know exactly what you're saying. In the most pretentious way possible.”

V chuckles.

“Then my ruse has thus far been successful,” he says, before giving Nero a playful smirk. “Try not to give me away.”

Nero stops walking. V does as well a couple of steps later, looking back at him curiously.

“I don't want you to go,” Nero says. It's simple and it's selfish, but it's true. It still seems to take V a moment to understand him, but when he does, he looks back mournfully.

“Nero...”

“I don't think you want to go, either,” he presses.

“What I want is ultimately irrelevant. I'm not even meant to exist.”

“That's bullshit and you know it.”

“It is a fact,” V says coldly, turning all the way to face him. “As much as I despise it, it is still my reality. When we find what remains of Vergil, I'll have no choice but to merge with it once more, and then-”

“And then what? You get shoved back into your dark little corner forever? You said so yourself, V. It's not seamless. You don't just stop being, you get locked up. Is that really what you want?”

“I told you, what I want-”

“Matters, okay?!” Nero insists, taking a step forward to get in V's face about it. “It matters! If not to you, then it does to me!”

“Enough...” V demands quietly.

“Look, I found my words, alright? And maybe they're nothing fancy, but at least they're honest.”

“You need to stop now, Nero.”

“Not until you admit it.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what? Asking you to tell me the truth?”

“Stop treating me like I'm real!”

Nero stares at him, stunned. Has he ever heard V shout like that?

V, for his part, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. When he exhales, it's a slow and tired sound.

“It's only making things harder, don't you see?” he asks, his voice much softer now. “It's confusing me. That's the truth.”

Nero eyes dart across his face, as if trying to find proof otherwise. Then he puts a hand on V's chest, resting it there for a moment before sliding it upward, letting the palm curl around the column of his neck as two fingers press in slightly, his thumb placed tenderly under his chin.

“Feel that? Pulse is fast. 'Cuz you're pissed at me, right? Probably enough that you wanna take a swing at me. You telling me that's not real?”

V says nothing but looks at him with pleading eyes.

“You can if you want,” Nero goes on. “I've been saying a whole bunch of stuff you don't wanna hear, so if decking me will make you feel better, have at it. Might even sting a bit, in spite of those twigs you've got for arms.”

“... I imagine I'd do myself more harm,” V says in self-deprecation, letting Nero know that the angry tension between them is fading.

“Yeah, well, no more of that. Try something else, just don't knee me in the balls.”

“I'll collect another time then.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in that maddening smile of his and Nero can't help himself anymore. He shifts his hand, moving it to hook gently at the back of V's neck, pulling him closer as he leans in to kiss him.

A hand on his chest stops him when his lips are just a hair's breadth away.

-

Oh.

Oh.

V knows his eyes are wide when Nero goes statue still under his fingers. Quickly, the boy backs away from him then pushes past, his heavy footfalls echoing down the corridor at an angry pace.

V stares at the space he vacated, hand still hovering.

Oh, what has he done?

Stiffly he turns to watch Nero's retreating back, wondering who he's more upset with, V or himself. It takes considerable will power to start moving again, though he doesn't attempt to catch up. He swears he can still feel Nero's breath on his lips and hand on his neck. He shouldn't know what they feel like, but the reality of what just happened - what almost happened – leaves him unbalanced and completely out of his depth. Given the somewhat mortifying nature of the encounter, V's surprised Griffon hasn't given his unwanted opinion.

“This is solidly a you problem.”

Clearly.

He opens his book, attempting to ground himself in its well-worn pages.

They've obviously allowed certain... sentiments to grow beyond their natural boundaries. And perhaps that is his mistake. Nero is young and hot-blooded. He gives himself over to his emotions without care or pretense. It could be he finds this form of V's desirable; when they first met, had V not presented himself in the guise of a stranger, despite knowing full well the high probability that their lineage was linked? He can't fault the boy for indulging in a lingering eye upon a mere acquaintance.

Yes, the blame is most certainly his own. He's inadvertently confused Nero, done little to remind him of their relation, and left his actions far too open for interpretation. And as much as he relishes Nero's attention and affection, he shouldn't-...

He shouldn't. Simple as that.

V rubs at the phantom heat of Nero's hand on his skin and steadfastly ignores the way it makes his chest ache. It isn't fair. None of this is fair. Not Nero's misplaced feelings or his hurt. Not even how much V jealously wants to own both, the good and the bad, and delight in it all.

The book snaps closed, not a single line read.

He really is a shameful shell of a man.

-

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he is so fucking stupid!

Humiliation boils in Nero's stomach so intensely that he thinks he's going to be sick from it. What the fuck did he expect to happen back there? V's rejection had been kind compared to the bitchslap he really deserves. Hell, maybe the bitchslap is still coming; he ran away like a fucking child before V had the chance.

Shit! Fuck! Why is he so bad at this?

He's so caught up in his own head that he almost runs into Trish just as she steps out of a connecting corridor to the right. He makes an aborted grab for his sword before he realizes it's her, throws his head back in a groan.

“Gee, glad to see you're doing just fine, too,” Trish snipes, placing a hand on her hip. Nero just raises his arms wide before letting them drop heavily. “Alright, why are we in baby mode this time?”

“Bite me.”

“Any luck?” V asks from behind, and Nero makes the conscious choice to not look back at him.

“There's a path leading down to a cellar back this way,” Trish says, pointing to the hall she just existed. “I could hear some pretty nasty things coming from it. Figured it wouldn't hurt to regroup. What about you guys? Find anything?”

“'Her Grace' will find herself with one less attendant,” V tells her.

“Sousa's conducted his last march. This vintner guy should be all that's left.” Nero looks down both paths, weighing the options. “Do we raid the wine racks or find out what's at the end of this one?”

“I vote we deal with Libatio sooner rather than later.” Without giving them an option to make their own suggestions, Trish heads right. Unwilling to risk being left alone with V, Nero follows her with no complaint. He remains hyper aware of the cane taping with each step behind him.

The stairs leading to the cellar are massively wide and the architecture of the ceiling leading down is generous to say the least. It's less a basement and more a proper dungeon.

“Please be big, please be big, please be big,” Nero mutters under his breath.

When they make it to the enormous door, he can start to make out the sounds Trish referred to; there's a punctuated rhythm to the crushing, squelching, and splashing just ahead. It takes all three of them to push the door open enough to allow space for them to enter. It opens up to yet another impressive room. Metal vats dot the space and casks line the walls. Toward the back, a gargantuan demon hefts a hammer the size of Nico's van over its head before bringing it down on corpses piled in a massive wooden tub. From the side, blood and other gross fluids are forced out of a spigot and into a waiting vessel.

“Finally! A contender!”

Nero makes to walk right in, but V's cane blocks his path. Nero follows the line where it points left. Strung upside down on one of the side walls is Dante, his slit throat bleeding out into a sizable bowl underneath him, painting his face and hair a bright red. Sturdy chains keep him immobile, each length buried into the stone. He's still alive, teeth gritted together in what looks more like annoyance than real agony.

“That's not how you do a keg-stand, old man!”

Libatio pauses mid-swing and Dante opens his eyes. Seeing the three of them, he smiles wide, showing off blood-stained teeth. He tries to say something, but there's a blade in his neck keeping his wound open which causes more blood to bubble out, so instead he moves one of his pinned hands to flip Nero the bird.

Sufficiently convinced that his uncle is, more to less, doing okay, Nero faces the enemy in front of them. The demon's rhino-esque head regards them patiently, letting his hammer rest near his flanks.

“The work is almost finished; the essence is nearing refinement,” its deep, rumbling voice tells them. “Duchess Erzébet will receive you when she is ready, not before.” He lifts his hammer again, continuing his labor.

“You know, I keep hearing about this chick,” Nero says, sauntering forward. “Sounds like she knows how to party. Why don't you call her up and we'll see how many tequila shots it takes before she's jumping in a pool naked.” He puts his hand up to his mouth in a stage whisper. “Personal record is six.”

Libatio snorts angrily.

“You will not speak of the Duchess this way,” he growls out, and when he turns to face Nero more fully, his steps cause the room to shake. Nero glances back at the others; Trish is standing a few paces away, her sword already drawn, while V has been making calculated steps toward Dante, taking advantage of the diversion.

“There's nothing charming about a girl who doesn't know how to have a little fun,” Trish goads. Nero gestures to her.

“Right? I thought this Erzébet lady knew how to cut loose!”

“Cease wagging your disrespectful tongues!” Libatio roars. Nero smirks, letting the skin once again burn away from his right hand as he shoves it down into Overture, shaking it out as it sparks to life.

“Make us.”

-

The tremor of Libatio's hammer crashing into the ground forces V into a crouch to maintain his balance. Once the vibrations have settled, he dashes to the wall where Dante is retrained. His cane makes a sharp sound as he jams it into the hole where a chain is fixed, wedging it in and attempting to wrench it free. It takes a fair amount of digging, but eventually a link gives, falling away and causing Dante's body to sag against the others.

V glances over his shoulder as he works on another one. The room may be impressively large, but so is the monster Nero and Trish are fighting. In his rage, Libatio lets his hammer collide with several vats, at one point even crushing a line of casks which break open and flood the room with the stench of fermented blood.

With another chain removed, Dante manages to wrest an arm free, grasping at the metal in his throat and pulling it out. He coughs and takes a few stuttering breaths, most of which only produce a gurgling sound around his wound before it begins to close.

“I was... wondering when you'd... bring the cavalry,” he manages to say with a choking laugh. V pauses to look at him, not comprehending. Had it been Dante who sent him through the portal?

Nero's excited whooping draws his attention again, watching the boy ride the hammer in Libatio's arching swing to then jump in front of his head and let Overture discharge a burst of electricity directly into his face. Trish covers the ground, viciously attacking at the monster's oversized legs.

“I'm glad the kids are... having fun...” Dante wheezes. “This vacation was starting to bum me out.”

With a final leveraging of his cane, V dislodges the last necessary chain. Dante brings his hands down to the stone floor and kicks off the wall, upending himself until his feet touch ground. He sits in a crouch for a moment, arms resting on his knees as he waits for his body to finish healing. V opens his mouth to ask if he's alright, thinks better of it, then frowns.

“Where is Vergil?” he asks instead. Dante looks up at him through shaggy bangs.

“In worse shape than me,” he says. He pushes up to stand, stretching this way and that to relieve the soreness in his muscles. “But now that you're here, we can fix him up, no problem.” Dante pats him heavily on the shoulder, and V does his best to refrain from bitterly shoving the hand off, though it's a near thing. “Hey, you two!” Dante calls to the others. “Hurry it up, already! You shouldn't bully people like that, it's downright mean-spirited!”

Nero makes another aerial assault, and just when the hammer is raised above Libatio's head for another powerful strike, he fires Blue Rose until the chambers empty completely, the bullets tearing through tendons the size of shipyard ropes. Libatio loses hold of his weapon, the heavy mallet coming down on his head in a sickening crack. Nero lands on top of it, his added weight pushing the demon forward to tumble into the vat of corpses. With a practiced flip, Nero manages to jump off before he's dragged down into it as well. Upon landing, he turns excitedly to the rest of them.

“Judges?”

“Hmm,” Trish thinks. “A six maybe.”

“Oh, come on! That was awesome!”

“For an amateur.”

“You just don't know how to appreciate style,” Nero says, holstering his gun.

“Is that what the kids call showboating these days?”

“That's what it's always been called!”

Dante laughs as he walks over to them, using his already filthy shirt to wipe the blood from his face. He exudes good cheer, but V watches him closely, sensing something just under the surface. There's a line of tension in his body that isn't usually present.

“Took you guys long enough to get here!” Dante says, leaning back from the piercing glare Trish gives him. “I sent you an invitation and everything.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder to V. Nero's eyes flit between them, a frown forming quickly on his face.

“You tossed him into Red Grave?” he asks, and V can feel barely contained anger from where he stands.

“Sure did,” Dante says, either ignorant to his nephew's growing rage or not bothered by it in the slightest. He doesn't even look surprised when Nero grabs him by the lapels of his jacket.

“What the hell, Dante?!” he shouts. Trish steps back, shocked slightly by the strength of his outburst. “Do you have any idea how jacked up he was when he got there? The hell did you do?”

V doesn't need to ask what Nero means by this. He's seen and felt the telltale signs of Nero's energy in his body, meaning a transfer of power must have happened at some point, probably in effort to keep him alive.

“Calm down, would you?” Dante asks with the patience of a man weary by time. “Let me explain before you bite my head off, alright?”

Nero glares at him a few seconds longer before letting go of Dante's jacket and giving him a shove for good measure.

“What happened? And where's my father?”

-

“Hey, Trish, you mind checking out where these things go?” Dante asks, pointing to the essence filled tubes that run along the walls from the processing cellar to somewhere else in the keep.

“What? Now?” she asks. She clearly wants to stay and be filled in. Dante gives her an apologetic smile and a shrug. She looks at him for a while before seeming to realize that he's asking for a moment to themselves, the Spardas. Sighing, she relents. “Fine.” She stalks off, task at hand.

Once she's gone, Dante cracks his neck.

“Man, I could really use a bath,” he says lightly. Nero crosses his arms impatiently while V continues to level him with an unamused glare. “Alright, alright. Relax. C'mon, follow me. Pretty sure Tiny tucked Verg away over here.”

He leads them to an antechamber. More fluid filled tubes line the walls, diverting demonic essence to some yet unseen place. A smaller room opens up, and set into an open stone sarcophagus is the blue, incorporeal form of Vergil. The energy from his prone, chained form is being siphoned off into grooves carved into the floor.

Dante moves to lean over his brother, checking for any changes since the last time he saw him. How long ago was that? A couple of days? Yet everything seems as it was, though that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Within Vergil's chest, he can still make out fragments of the Yamato where it had broken off.

“The hell are they doing to him?” Nero demands. Dante sighs.

“Apparently Erzébet's body was torn apart and scattered all over the Underworld. Not just her body, her soul, too. They need essence to restore and revive her.” He looks back at them. “You gotta have a hell of a lot of power to do something like that.”

“How'd they get the drop on you?” Nero asks. “These guys haven't exactly been Urizen levels of bad.”

“Well,” Dante says, sitting on the side of the sarcophagus as he looks up and to the side. “I think we were on our six-hundredth rematch. Not gonna lie; I had a hell of a charley horse.” Nero scrubs a hand over his face.

“You wore yourselves out fighting like idiots and got ambushed,” he translates. Nodding to himself in foul-humor, he laughs bitterly. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Why was I severed?” V speaks up, tired of waiting.

“You guys met that weirdo, yet? With one with his own background music?” Dante asks them.

“Dantalion. He's been dealt with,” V tells him.

“Good,” Dante says emphatically. “That dude's an asshole. Got into Vergil's head pretty bad. Started making him... I don't know, it was like he was trying to pull himself apart.”

“And you didn't stop him?” Nero asks. Dante throws up his hands.

“I tried! But before I knew it, he was already making like a shish kabob and then out popped your old man's emo phase,” he says, gesturing to V. “The sword broke shortly after that, and believe me: he's gonna be pissed about it.” He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a longer piece than the one that had been embedded in V. “I figured we were kinda screwed, and I didn't want them to get a chance to destroy you before we could fix him, so I did a little magic trick and made you disappear.”

“Don't quit your day job,” Nero mutters. “V was practically dead when he landed. You're lucky I was there to find him at all.”

“He looks fine to me.”

Nero looks ready to fight, but V places a hand on his shoulder to keep him from starting a brawl. There's a tense moment where Nero half-turns his head, not quite looking at V but acknowledging him all the same, the muscles in his jaw jumping from his barely contained rage.

Dante looks between them. He's not sure what it is, but he can sense something has shifted. He just can't tell yet if it's good or bad. Glancing down at his brother's incomplete body, he has an uneasy feeling that he knows the answer.

“Well, okay,” he says, standing and clapping his hands. “Let's get the ball rolling, huh? Step right on up,” he says to V, gesturing to the sarcophagus like a carnival barker.

When Nero steps in front of V to block him from view, Dante knows that they're about to have a Problem, capital P.

-

“Not like this,” Nero says, placing himself between V and his uncle.

“Nero...” he hears V say behind him.

“What do you mean, not like this?” Dante asks. There's little good humor in his voice now.

“I mean... isn't there something else we can do? A way they can both live?”

Dante looks at him like he's crazy.

“Live? Kid, this isn't Vergil,” he says, pointing to the ghostly form. “This and that,” he says, pointing at V, “make Vergil. They're incomplete without each other.”

“Oh, yeah?” Nero turns to look at V, who has a complicated expression on his face, a mixture of sorrow and doubt and a little bit of rage. “He seems pretty complete to me.”

“I'm starting to lose my patience here.” Dante's tone has turned decidedly cold, a silent, slow building fury clouding his expression.

“I've already fucking lost mine!”

V grabs Nero's arm and drags him away before the argument can come to blows. He's a bit surprised when Nero lets himself be pulled, turning to V with a face full of sincerity.

“You don't have to do this, okay?” Nero insists.

“'A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.'”

“Say it in your own words! Please!”

“I mean that you are ignoring the consequences of what you're saying. We've been down this path, we know its end,” V tells him.

“Yeah, so what? We'll deal with the problems as they come. Just say it,” Nero begs again. “Say you wanna stay and I'll help you, even if I gotta kick Dante's ass all the way back to Red Grave City.”

“As if, brat!” Dante says behind them.

“Even if you don't want me,” Nero, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. “It'd be enough if you just wanted to stay. Please, V... Just say it.”

V bites his lips before looking Nero in the eye, fondness and regret present in equal measure.

“Of course I wish to stay,” his tone matching Nero's. “That was never a question.” There's hope in Nero's eyes, and V knows he's the worst kind of man for putting it there. “But I cannot act selfishly.”

The hope is replaced with anger as Nero turns his head away, but V leans to follow him, forcing their eyes to meet. Without breaking contact, he reaches for his book and holds it out. Nero glares down at it with wet eyes, his jaw tight as he swallows. V presses it forward when he doesn't move to take it from him.

“You promised,” V reminds him.

Nero's eyes dart back up to him, full of betrayal that V knows he deserves. Numbly, Nero takes the book, not stopping V as he moves to pass him. He doesn't even jerk away from the hand that rests just a second too long on his arm. When he walks up to Dante, the man is looking at them with an analyzing eye, moving between them curiously. When V is standing next to him, looking into the sarcophagus with an expression kept intentionally blank, Dante speaks to him quietly.

“When that demon messed with Vergil's head and he cut you out the second time, he kept screaming about a 'sorrow that wasn't his.' You wanna tell me what that's all about?”

V does not.

“Ask him yourself,” he says. Dante glances at him for a moment before moving away.

“Fair enough.”

He listens to the man walk over to Nero and pat his back.

“C'mon, let's give 'im some alone time.”

There's no struggle. Nero lets his uncle pull him back out into the antechamber, silent and broken. V closes his eyes.

“'I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot, and then I'd die in peace and be forgot.' But there will be no peace for me, will there? I will only be forgotten.” He stares hatefully down at his other half. “Then never forget this: you owe me everything.”

He raises his cane and brings it down with a spite-filled heart.

There's a burst of memory. Of Vergil and Dante's time since destroying the Qliphoth. Waves of demonic hordes, sparring in the wastes, banter that had shifted from animosity to something more befitting family. He sees broken moments of the Retinue presenting themselves, hears the cacophonous music that drove Vergil mad. The pain of his separation. The desperation in Dante's eyes.

But then it ends.

There's a resistance to him, making his arms shake with the effort he has to put into driving himself in. But the opposing force is too strong. Light flares in bursts, blinding him in quick flashes before instigating a final push, knocking V back. Sprawled on the floor, he sits up in utter confusion.

Has he been rejected?

His tattoos pulse blue along his skin. Holding an arm up, he watches the color dance like a heartbeat before they fade into black again. Understanding settles into his brain and a breathy laugh escapes him.

He wasn't rejected. He is incompatible.

He's almost faint with the relief he feels.

The decision is no longer his burden to bear. It had in fact been taken from him the moment Nero saved him, forcing energy into his body and giving him life. Even if he wanted to return, he couldn't. The pieces of himself have been reshaped into something that will not fit.

How freeing such a thought is.

Laughter bubbles up from his chest, edging on hysterical as he sits on the ground, shaking with it.

His moment of theatrics hasn't gone unheard. Nero rushes back in, fear clear on his face when he sees V knocked on his ass. He immediately drops down next to him.

“Hey, you okay, what happened?”

V's near euphoric expression must baffle him further, because he can't seem to decide if he thinks V is hurt or not. He's thrown further still when V rests their foreheads together and smiles.

“I'd like this back, if you'd be so kind,” he says, reaching into Nero's jacket and taking the book. Nero searches his face, utterly bewildered but seemingly unwilling to back away from him.

Dante marches in, steps quick and heavy. He looks to V and then to the sarcophagus, his mouth set in a hard line. Moving around his nephew, he takes V by the arm, pulling him up. Nero is immediately on his feet, grabbing Dante by the jacket again.

“Back off!” he snarls. Dante glares at him silently before looking back to V.

“Need a hand?” he asks in false helpfulness, his jaw hard set.

“You're about to get mine in your face, you hear me?”

“What seems to be the problem here, V? I don't see my brother,” Dante says, ignoring Nero's threat.

Despite the bruising grip around his elbow, V just smiles. Holding a hand up, he lets his ink flare with Nero's energy for him to see. A second later, Dante lets go of him. Blinking, some of his anger is exchanged for mild confusion. He points to V but looks at Nero.

“Why are you inside of him?”

Nero's face cycles through a handful of emotions in the breadth of a couple seconds, his face turning bright red.

“That's-! That's not-!” he stammers. Dismissing Nero's crisis, Dante looks back to V. There's a frustration there and he almost seems lost, letting his head hang for a moment. V can clearly guess what he's thinking.

What now?

But Dante, ever the wildcard, surprises him by laughing.

“Well, it never can be that simple, can it? Alright, kids, let's go announce ourselves to our hostess and tell her how much we've hated our stay here.” He looks over to the sarcophagus. “I'll be back for you in a minute. Don't go anywhere.”

And with that, he leaves the room, whistling a tune that echoes through the hall. Nero makes a face as he watches him leave.

“I'm never gonna understand that guy.” He turns to V, unsure but hopeful. “You are okay, right? Like, nothing is-” he makes a small wave at the sarcophagus, “-I mean, you're not gonna start falling apart again, are you?”

“I feel... fantastic,” V admits as he taps his cane against his shoulder, and then, because he's feeling just a little cruel, says, “You are inside of me, after all.” He catches a brief glimpse of Nero's burning face before he turns to leave the chamber, smiling to himself when Nero calls out,

“Gimme a break!”

-

“Look at you, new lease on life! Dare I say, is that a spring in your step I see?”

V is in too good of a mood to let Griffon's teasing get to him.

“Oh wow, you really are flying high.”

“There's work yet to do,” he says aloud. “Don't get distracted.”

He and Nero catch up to Dante just as the three of them reach the end of the middle path. It opens out to a courtyard, walled in near the back of the keep. The gardens in the area are similar to the territory Astar built, the same blossoms and rose bushes decorating the space. At the center is an elegantly built mausoleum. The intricately carved stone is blemished by the garish metal and glass of the pipelines that have been situated around it, pumping essence to something inside. Dante walks up next to Trish who is admiring a statue that stands to the side of the structure, depicting a finely dressed and beautiful woman.

“Hello, gorgeous! Now I really wish I had taken that bath,” he says. Trish doesn't bother looking at him when she says,

“Trust me, we all do.”

She pulls something off of a stone bench while Dante raises an arm to sniff himself.

“Look what I found lying around,” she says, tossing him his Devil Sword. He catches it with a triumphant laugh.

“Reunited and it feels so good.”

V breaks off from them, circling to the mausoleum's side. They should set to work destroying the pipelines, before it's too late to do so. Nero is already ahead of him, glass shattering around him as he takes swings at their bases. Curiously, V notices, Dante doesn't help. Instead, he seems focused on the glyphs and sigils that have been etched into the building's front, running his hands over them with a look of concentration.

“Let's get this over with,” Nero says. “Nico's probably raiding my red vines stash as we speak.”

“How are we related?” Dante quips. “Red vines? Seriously?”

“Didn't ask you, old man.”

Trish looks like she's about to throw in her two cents in when the ground beneath their feet rumbles. Cracks splinter up the sides of stone walls, shaking loose debris. V and Trish step back a bit while Dante and Nero keep close. The rumbling subsides slowly and then stops. They all wait a beat, but nothing else happens. None too subtly, Dante coughs into his hand before stepping up to knock on the sealed door.

“Room service!”

The roof of the mausoleum explodes upward into the sky. A red pillar begins to stretch out from the top, impossibly bigger than what the structure should have been able to hold. Finally reaching full height at several stories in the air, the wide centipede-like body curves toward them. There is something resembling a face that opens a wide maw and hiss at them.

“Ssssspaaardaaa!”

Dante looks up at her, then to the statue, and then back again.

“This is the worst case of false advertisement I've ever seen.”

“You defile my home with your ssssstench!” Erzébet screeches.

“There's no need to be rude,” he calls up to her. “Look, I know Sparda ripped up your dress and said you couldn't go to the ball, which-” he holds up his hands in concession, “-I admit, sounds like a dick move. But I hear you're no better, so where's that leave us?”

“The Traitor tore me asunder! Dashed my soul to pieces and left me to rot!”

“Yeah,” Dante says. “Yet here you are.” V looks at the back of his head, suspicious of the slight change in his tone.

“And here you die!”

Erzébet rears back before striking forward, her horrifying mouth opened wide. V, Nero, and Trish dodge back while Dante stands there. He seemingly allows himself to be swallowed in one fell swoop. V can already guess his plans, even as Nero and Trish charge in, their swords drawn and ready. It takes less than a minute for the Devil Sword to puncture outward, cleaving open one of the segmented portions of Erzébet's abdomen.

“Why are all the high class ladies such man eaters?”

“You call this high class?” Nero asks him, jumping up the side of ruined mausoleum to gain altitude. “You've got some questionable taste!”

“You assume he has any taste to speak of,” Trish says, throwing her sword in a devastating spin.

V summons Griffon to provide air support.

“Whoa! Now that's a juicy worm! Is it my birthday?”

“Technically,” V says. Griffon cackles as he flies forward, unleashing lightning into whatever vulnerable parts he can find.

He has Shadow come to his aid when large chunks of debris and demonic flesh begin to rain down on the courtyard. He maintains an eye on everyone, at one point directing Griffon to give Trish a winged boost up to reach an exploitable gap in the monster's protection. And it's perhaps because he is set back that he gains a particular insight, not being distracted by the demands of close combat.

Erzébet does not seem to be slowing down. There are what should be crippling gashes all along her massive, insect-like body, but her attacks aren't flagging. If anything, the vicious swipes of her many legs and the flailing of her movements are only increasing in their power and intensity. Each appendage that is removed is almost immediately regrown, some coming back with more armor like hide. Even with three devil hunters attempting to tear her apart, she's only growing in strength, as if each attack made against her only reinforces her defenses, her body adapting to the flow of battle.

A particularly powerful thrashing of her head sends Trish flying over V. She hits the ground hard, her sword getting knocked away as she rolls. V only has time for a quick glance to check her condition before he hears Nero cry out in a pained groan.

She has him skewered on her protruding mandibles. He struggles, aiming Blue Rose and firing into her face. She flails again to shake away the pain, resulting in Nero coming loose. He drops to the ground, managing to catch himself before taking a knee and breathing hard, and arm wrapped around his torn side.

V grimaces, wanting to go to him, but knowing that doing so would only put them both at risk, instead sending Shadow to wait at his side should he need to be moved. He commands Griffon to fly at Erzébet's face, electrocuting and distracting her as Dante continues his assault atop her back.

Suddenly the demon begins to shudder violently, skin tearing as the body grows larger. Prehensile tentacles explode out from along her back, lashing out and grabbing Dante before he can get himself to the ground. They hold him high as he struggles, bringing him over Erzébet's horrific waiting mouth once more.

“Sssssuch a powerful bloodline is wasssted in you. I'll take it now.”

And, as before, V finds his power in irrational sentimentality. A demon is about to eat his brother, and that annoys him.

The blue glow in his hair spreads quickly, then scatters into the air with the sharp sound of his snapping fingers.

The roaring impact of Nightmare falling from the sky cuts through all other noise. The golem crashes into Erzébet's body, crushing several sections. The familiar unfolds itself, taking brutal swings at her.

“Hey there, big guy! About time you joined the party,” Griffon calls out, flying over Dante to help wrestle him from the tentacles' hold. Dante grabs hold of his leg, letting the bird pull him up and out of danger. Nero and Trish have also collected themselves, jumping back into the fight with renewed drive.

He can only fuel Nightmare's presence for long, even with his stronger body. Once the others have begun to turn the tides, he lets the golem fade, black bleeding into his once white hair.

When the overwhelming damage is too much for her changing body to keep up with, Erzébet begins to panic, redoubling her efforts to capture and devour.

“No! No, no, no! Not again!”

Dante enters his devil form and flies up at her. He dodges serrated legs attempting to claw him out of the sky, making clean cuts all the way up. Once again above her head, he goes into a dive, using his sword to cleave her all the way down on one side. Nero has followed his lead, doing the same to the other side, leaving the separated pieces of her front and back to slump in opposite directions.

The eviscerated pieces of her reek with the essence of a thousand demons. How unfortunate for her that the descendants of Sparda have achieved greater power than even he wielded.

V calls his familiars back into his skin as Trish joins him. They wait together as Dante and Nero land, both returning to normal. Nero drops to sit on the ground while Dante braces himself on his knees. Both look exhausted. After a moment, Nero throws his head back and shouts into the sky,

“I'm starving!”

“Man, I could really go for a large pepperoni with mushrooms,” Dante groans. “Extra cheese.”

“We had that yesterday,” Trish tells him.

“I didn't,” Dante says, pointing to himself. “I don't think I've eaten in... what day is it?” He leans over backwards to crack his spine. “Ah, doesn't matter. The answer is 'too long' no matter how you shake it.”

“Can we go home now?” Nero asks, pushing himself up.

“Yeah, kid, keep your pants on. Lemme go grab the ghost of Christmas Past and then we can put this place in our rearview.”

“What do you intend to do?” V asks him. Dante gives him a glance that's difficult to read as he walks by.

“Don't worry about it. Duchess Butterface gave me an idea.”

“What, seriously?” Nero asks.

V pointedly looks at the destroyed mausoleum, able to pick out one stone which still bore fragments of glyphs. Given the state of the rubble, it would be almost impossible to piece it all back together. Dante catches his doubtfulness and just taps the side of his head.

“Just gonna take a little bit of prep! Trust me!”

-

The journey home is a much shorter one, thankfully. Nero wants nothing more than a hot dinner and a hotter shower, but Dante and Trish have kicked everyone out of the office while they set up their super special demon ritual or whatever. Nero's not sure how it's gonna work, but he figures they'll let the rest of them know when it's all ready. And honestly, that's fine. Things are turning out pretty well. His father is probably gonna be okay and V...

V gets to be okay. Somehow that makes all of the bullshit they've been through lately worth it.

Nero's in the middle of a search when V enters the van. He spares the man a glance as he checks under a magazine and finds nothing.

“Hey, Lady get you patched up?” he asks. V runs a hand down his side and nods.

“It was nothing quite so serious. I imagine the persistent ringing in my ear that I'll be hearing for the next few days will be the more aggravating aspect of my injuries.”

Nero hears the teasing tone V uses but he still makes a guilty grimace.

“I did say I was sorry about that,” he reminds, picking up a discarded jacket and then putting it back down again when nothing is beneath it. V cocks his head as he rests his cane on the couch.

“Lose something?”

“Aha!” Nero holds up the empty bag of red vines he found next to the soldering iron. “I knew it.”

“Tragic,” V comments. Nero throws the bag away, running a head through his hair, trying to ignore how hungry he is. Trish and Dante have got maybe half an hour before he skips out for a burger or something. Crossing his arms, he leans against the door to the van's bathroom.

“So,” he asks. “How's it feel?” He doesn't elaborate, but knows V understands. The man walks over to lean against the opposite wall.

“Liberating,” he says, and Nero can tell it's the truth.

“Yeah, I bet.” Without really realizing he's doing it, he reaches out to run a strand of V's black hair through his fingers and smiles. “You did it again. Keep pulling miracles out of your ass like that and Fortuna's gonna canonize you.”

V feigns contemplation.

“What would I be the saint of, I wonder.”

“I dunno, but I bet you'd have a dope looking icon.” Nero finally notices that he has his hand in V's hair, his smile dropping with his arm as his body language turns awkward. V watches him patiently. “Sorry. I don't mean to... to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“You enjoy touching me,” V says, as if simply stating a fact. Nero crosses his arms defensively, but knows he's in the wrong.

“I won't do it again,” he promises.

“Oh, please say you will.”

The timbre of V's voice causes a shudder to run through him and he looks up, shocked. There's something dark in his eyes, tempting and seductive. Slowly, V pushes from the wall to enter Nero's space and Nero has a hard time catching his breath.

“This saint of yours has no right to make demands, but-” V says, his face leaning closer to Nero's, sliding by to speak in his ear. “'He who has suffer'd you to impose on him knows you.' I seem to remember being owed a measure of recompense for my mercy.”

Nero's jaw works uselessly, but nothing comes out. He's not sure he has enough blood in his brain to string two sentences together.

“What was your limitation, again?” V asks, sly and calculated.

Suddenly his knee is pressing up into Nero's crotch, the pressure of it wrenching a moan from his lips. Nero shoots an arm out against the wall just behind V's head to steady himself, closing his eyes to the spark of pleasure running up his spine. V's own eyes watch him carefully, drinking in each new tortured expression Nero makes with every rock of his leg.

“It was this, correct? Something else, then,” he teases, cruelly removing his knee from between Nero's thighs, leaving him feeling deprived. “Maybe instead-” V is cut off by a strong hand and very insistent lips.

Nero realizes a little late that he's gone in too fast, too aggressively. His fingers hold V's jaw still while Nero is doing his damnedest to swallow his face like some hormone ravaged teenager, his tongue practically half-way down V's throat. He eases up on his grip with every intention of pulling back and taking things down a notch. He's stopped almost immediately, fingers raking through his short hair as greedy hands lock him in place. V returns his assault, that silver tongue claiming his mouth this time, the wet slide of it igniting a fire in Nero's gut.

“Hey, are y'all- whoa! Uh. Oh. Wow! Okay then...”

Nero distantly hears Nico enter the van, but only has the wherewithal to hold up a finger and ask her to wait, because V's teeth on his bottom lip refuse to be ignored.

Nails scrape against his scalp and down the back of his neck, leaving hot trails in their wake that only urge him on. Becoming mindless to his surroundings, Nero drops his hand to V's leg, lifting it under the knee to bring it around his waist. He presses in with his hips, using his weight to pin V to the table behind him. Something clatters to the ground.

“Not on my goddamn workbench! Alright, that's it! Break it up before I make a no hanky-panky rule for the van!”

An oil stained rag hits the back of Nero's head and he finally manages to pull out of V's orbit. They're both breathing heavily, and Nero feels a bit less like a sex crazed idiot when he sees that V is equally disoriented. He steps away and grabs the rag from where it fell to his shoulder to toss it back to Nico, not missing how V subtly shifts to hide the tent in his tight pants or the way he drags fingers across swollen lips.

“What do you want?” he asks Nico impatiently. She glares at him, hands on her hips.

“Stow the attitude, Casanova! Trish says they're ready. It's time to get this over with so we can all move on with our lives.”

V pushes himself away from the table, straightening his clothes as he clears his throat.

“Let's not waste time, then,” he says, brushing by Nero with a hooded glance before exiting the van. Nero doesn't follow him right away, hoping that letting some distance build between them will help quell the heat flaring under his skin. The last thing he needs is for Dante of all people to get wind of how keyed up he is.

“So, uh...” Nico says, leaning over to look outside, making sure V is out of earshot. “Not judgin' or nothin', but ain't he... kinda-sorta your daddy?”

“Don't ever say those words to me again.”

-

There's a glowing blue ghost in the shape of his father just lying in the middle of the Devil May Cry office and Nero realizes that this isn't even the most bizarre thing he's seen today. The pieces of the Yamato that had been broken off inside are now resting on Dante's desk, along with the piece from his jacket. Sigils and glyphs have been carved into what was once a still fairly decent hardwood floor, and Dante looks to be finishing up bleeding onto every single one of them.

Still. It's still not the weirdest thing he's seen today.

“Alrighty!” Dante says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, Dr. Faust atop his head just to be dramatic. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending today's resurrection. No flash photography, please, and remember to-”

“I'm leaving in ten seconds to get something to eat if you don't hurry the hell up,” Nero says.

Dante drops his hands by his side dejectedly.

“Does no one care about showmanship anymore?”

“You're just wasting our time,” Lady grouses. Nero cups his hands around his mouth.

“Boo, get off the stage!”

“Hey! Nobody likes a heckler!” Dante says, pointing a threatening finger at him. Sighing, he frowns. “Fine. I am still going to need a lovely assistant.” He holds a hand out to V who doesn't move from his spot against the wall and gives him a look that's decidedly unimpressed. “No seriously, come here. I need you a minute.”

V begrudgingly approaches.

“Okay, so, here's how this is going to work. All I need from you is just the tiniest itty-bitty bit of your human essence. We take that essence, slap it into this bad boy here, set at 350 degrees, and then bake until golden brown. You follow?”

“You're going to transplant a fraction of my being into Vergil's demon energy, and then let it grow and spread until it fills in the cracks I left behind, thereby making him whole again,” V translates.

“Ain't that what I just said?”

“And how shall we be transferring this essence? Through blood?”

“God, no. I'm so sick of blood. I am blooded-out for the next, I don't know, week, maybe,” Dante says.

“Then what do you propose?”

Nero does not like the way Dante winks at V in that moment. Faster than anyone can blink, Dante pulls V into a tango posture, then dips him comically low before planting one on him. It takes both Trish and Lady to hold Nero back.

“What the hell, you creep?!”

V plants a hand square on Dante's face and shoves him back. Dante goes easily, stepping back. Nero breaks free from the girls and makes a charge at him, fist raised. Dante throws his hands up, pointing to his face, which now looks like he's trying to hold his breath underwater. He signals a time-out to Nero with his hands and then moves to bend down next to the form on the floor.

Then Nero has to watch his uncle lock lips with his father, real kiss-of-life shit.

Maybe now's not the time to be a hypocrite.

The glow begins to fade, energy dispersing to leave behind something solid. Dante sits back on his heels, watching as his brother reforms. Trish and Lady are walking around him, trying to get a better look. Nero, even with all of his issues, also stands with worry in his heart. For all he wants V to be with him, he has no desire to see his father snuffed out completely. They're family, after all, and Nero's just not the kind of guy to hold a grudge that cruel.

The last of the energy ebbs, leaving Vergil in its wake. Everyone is quiet for a moment, waiting.

“... Well?” Nico asks, coming around Lady. “That it?”

“Yep!” Dante says cheerfully.

“He's not waking up,” Nero points out.

“'Course not. Weren't you listening? He's gotta bake,” Dante says. “This stuff takes time. Essence doesn't just metastasize overnight.”

“That's a really unfortunate way of putting it,” Lady says, scrunching her nose.

“Alright, you voyeurs, show's over. Somebody order a damn pizza before I start eating this rug.”

-

Nero finds himself, once again, standing outside of a door like a coward. He raises a hand to knock, thinks twice, raises it again, thinks a third time. Why does his bravado fail him at the stupidest of times over the stupidest of things.

“Come in or don't, just stop doing what you're doing,” he hears from inside the room. Nero winces at being caught, but is thankful to be spurred into action. He walks inside, taking in the way Dante has moved an antique leather chair up to his bed, now occupied by his comatose twin. The man looks tired as he watches his brother sleep.

“Just wanted to give this back, I guess,” Nero says, holding up the Yamato fragment he had been holding onto. He sets it on the dresser next to the door. “And I wanted to see if everything was still good.” He looks to his father. “He's gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah, kid, don't you worry. He'll be fine,” Dante tells him with a rough grin. “I'll make sure of it this time.”

Nero shifts his weight, feeling a little unsure. There's something about his words that make them seem heavier than they should be. Darker. More possessive.

Dante cocks his head.

“What's the matter? Your old man'll be back in action soon and Pinocchio gets to be a real boy. What's with the long face?”

“I guess I just wanted to ask,” Nero says slowly. “If we hadn't found another way, if V had been the only way... what would you have done?”

Dante looks at him for a moment, pinning Nero down with his eyes.

Then he gives him a dangerous smile.

“I guess I'da brute forced it.”

Nero feels his blood chill.

“Get some sleep, kid,” Dante says, turning away from him to resume his vigil. “It's been a long day.”

Nero backs out of the room quietly, pulling the door shut, standing in the hallway dazed.

Sometimes he forgets that Dante is actually kind of terrifying.

His trek back to the spare bedroom at the other end of the building is a pensive one. Honestly, his uncle was right; it's been a fucking long day and he just wants to crash. He's only just closed the door when V walks out from the bathroom, once again with a towel draped over his hair and nothing else.

Nero, to his credit, doesn't turn around this time, but he does throw his eyes up to the ceiling and keeps them there.

“That's how people get colds,” he says, his voice a bit strangled.

“Is it?” V asks, clearly uncaring.

“It's kinda bad for my heart when you do this,” Nero admits.

“Well, we certainly can't have that. What should be done?” V teases, stepping closer. Nero smiles ruefully up at the light fixture.

“You're not gonna put any clothes on, are you?” he asks, slowly lowering his gaze. He lets himself stare; he's allowed. Whatever reasons V had for denying him in the Underworld seem to have all but evaporated with their return.

“Perhaps my lack of clothing would be less out of place if you removed yours,” V says, walking a slow, appraising circle around him. Nero huffs out a nervous laugh, feeling on display for V's evaluation.

“Poet's giving me lines. Didn't know you had any like that.”

“There's still quite a bit we don't know about each other,” V says, coming to stand in front of him again. Nero hopes that smirk means he hasn't been found wanting.

“Yeah, true. How 'bout this? What kind of music do you like? Don't say classical. I didn't really have an opinion about it before, but I sure as hell got one now, and it can fuck right o-”

V stops his rambling by stepping in close, pressing his still damp chest into Nero's threadbare shirt.

“Why don't we start with something more... intimate?”

The way he slides to his knees is a sight Nero is going to see in every wet dream he has from now until judgment day.

-

There's something so delicious about finally having the boy underneath him. Even as V lowers himself again and again onto his cock, the aching fullness inside of him is only half as rapturous as watching Nero fall apart.

“Now, now,” V breathes, capturing the hand that had subconsciously made to grab him. Nero groans, having a hard enough time keeping his hips still, making small thrusts up before V puts a stop to them, sinking down and rocking. V brings the offending hand to his mouth and bites at calloused fingers.

“Good boys do as they are asked,” V says, nipping sharply at the pad of his thumb. “Don't you want to be good for me?”

“V, man, c'mon, I'm dying here,” Nero whines.

“My request was a simple one; let me please you.” V moves the hand to his thigh, letting Nero dig his fingers into the straining muscle there. The dull pain of it draws a moan from V, making him bite his lips as he redoubles his efforts to ride Nero's cock. He presses hands down on a hard chest for better leverage. The headboard starts to shake a bit, occasionally hitting the wall behind it after a particularly strong downward thrust.

“Fuck!” Nero throws his head back into the pillow, eyes shut tight. He must be close, V thinks, letting his sadistic nature set in as he slows his pace again. “No, no, no! Come on!”

“So eager.” V licks his lips, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Despite his teasing, he knows his own endurance is wearing thin. His legs burn with exertion and he can feel the beginnings of orgasm tingle through his limbs. “Have you any idea what you've given me?” he asks, circling his hips in the way that makes Nero cry out every time. “Any idea what you've done for me? Let me do this for you.” He bends down to lick at Nero's lips, his breathing becoming choppy and fast, and tries to appeal to Nero's unique sensibilities. “Let me venerate you.”

It takes little after that to tip them both over the edge. For V, it's been too long since he's experienced any sort of pleasure like this, let himself feel like this. The sensations are too raw and too powerful for nerves that have only known pain and atrophy for so many years (years that are becoming slowly fading memories, time spent suffering that is not his own, not anymore).

Oh, but this. This sweet release that washes over him as he comes, clenching down on the length inside of him, causing Nero to make such a lovely sound... This is his and his alone.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, slumped over panting into Nero's slick torso. Once he's managed it, he pushes himself up on arms that feel a bit weak, fully intending to remove himself from his perch. But when he moves, there's an ache inside of him and his rim pulls on a still hard cock. He raises his hips, confused. He's certain that Nero came, can feel the too wet slide when lifts himself as proof of it.

Bruising hands grab his hips and pull him down.

V throws his head back, white hot pleasure ravaging his overstimulated body as Nero thrusts into him. Startled, V looks down and stares into burning orange eyes.

The next thrust destroys his balance, making it easy for Nero to switch their positions. V's back hits the mattress, his black hair fanning out across white sheets. Nero pushes in again with brutal strength and V convulses.

“W-wait-!” He plants a hand on Nero's chest, trying desperately to regain some control. At first he believes Nero listens to his plea, that him pulling out means he realizes that V needs a moment before they can start again. V lets his body relax, his limbs falling limp in their exhaustion.

And then Nero flips him over. V's dragged back onto his cock, a gutted sound falling from his mouth as Nero leans over, his tongue darting out to taste the sweat on V's neck.

“My turn?” he rumbles into V's ear. His hips are dragged up, bringing him onto his knees. But just as he gets his trembling arms underneath him, a second pair of hands force his upper body into the bed. Nero's wings hold him by the head and shoulder, pinning him there as Nero begins to drive into him with punishing motions.

V is incapable of drawing a full breath, each gasp punched out of him without warning. So soon after climax, everything is too sharp, too real. Pleasure maxed out occasionally dips into the sweetest pain the likes of which he's never before felt. His mind struggles to keep up. The ache of his hips barely resisters, but he does distantly hear the obscene sounds their copulation is making in the harsh slap of their seed-covered skin and the vulgar way Nero reenters him every time. V smirks wetly into the pillow, his eyes rolling back.

How foolish of him. He shouldn't have bothered trying to give Nero pleasure; he should simply let the boy take it.

Every point where he and Nero are connected burns. He thinks he hears Nero call out his name, but it's beyond him to comprehend it. All he can hope to do now is hold on for dear life and delight in giving his body new ways to categorize 'too much.' If he's not careful, he'll develop a taste for this. A need.

The spectral hand at his skull grips tighter, mindful of its claws as it makes him turn his head to the side. Nero kisses his cheek, then slides to the corner of his mouth.

“I'll be good for you,” he swears, slowing his pace but not stopping entirely. “I'll be so fucking good for you, V. Just let me...” He doesn't finish his request, choosing instead to lick the stain of overwhelmed tears on V's skin. He bites playfully at the swell of a cheekbone, trailing small nips down all the way to his neck. The way Nero's warm body almost totally covers V's is somewhat comforting; with complete disregard to his pride, he is held here with nowhere to go, expected to do nothing but submit himself to Nero's desires and find his own reward in the act.

And, oh, he does.

The dry orgasm makes him tremble and twitch. His gasping is swallowed by a greedy mouth and tongue. Nero pushes himself deep (too deep, too deep), using his grasp on V's hips to keep him there as he again comes inside. Those hands are the only thing holding V up when his body sags completely, nothing more than a marionette with cut strings.

His vision darkens at the edges, his thoughts quiet and undemanding. The only thing he comprehends is the peppering of kisses along his tattooed back and the gentle caress of too many hands. Nero's chest presses against him, arms coming around his torso to hold him close.

“You good?” he asks. His nose nuzzles into the space behind V's ear, waiting for a reply. “C'mon, tell me, use your words.”

V takes a moment to consider how very rude this is of Nero, expecting him to be coherent after that onslaught to his senses. He shall have to teach him about the finer points of a silent afterglow next. Nevertheless, he searches his memory in an attempt to find the verse best suited to assuage any doubt Nero may have. A human thumb rests on his lips.

“Your words, V.”

Irritably, V bites the thumb in petulant retribution before soothing the indentations with his tongue.

“More,” he challenges.

And Nero gives.

-

“Okay, but seriously, what kind of music do you like?”