The wind cut through the ruined courtyard, carrying dust and the faint metallic scent of blood. Broken stone crunched underfoot as Dante rolled his shoulder, lifting Rebellion to rest lazily against it. Across from him, Vergil stood perfectly still—Yamato angled downward, its edge catching what little light filtered through the gray sky.
Vergil’s gaze didn’t waver.
“You aren’t ready,” he said, voice calm, measured—like a verdict already decided. “You’re impatient. Hot-tempered.” A faint shift of his stance, precise as a drawn line. “And more importantly… I’m better than you.”
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then Dante laughed.
Not a chuckle—something sharper, louder, echoing against the broken walls like a challenge thrown back at fate itself.
“Ha! Oh, you know something, big brother…” He tilted his head, a grin spreading across his face, equal parts defiance and thrill. “I’ll have to disagree with you on that one.”
Steel sang.
Vergil moved first—of course he did. A blur of blue and silver, Yamato flashing forward in a clean, lethal arc. Dante barely caught it, Rebellion snapping up just in time. The impact cracked through the air like thunder, force rippling down his arms.
“Still rushing in,” Vergil muttered, already repositioning, already calculating.
Dante twisted, shoving him back. “Still talking too much.”
They clashed again—faster this time. Sparks burst between them, each strike sharper than the last. Vergil’s movements were flawless, every step efficient, every swing deliberate. Dante’s were wild by comparison—unpredictable, almost reckless—but never without purpose.
Two styles. Two philosophies.
One collision.
Vergil vanished.
Dante’s grin didn’t fade. “There it is.”
A flash—then pain. A shallow cut opened across his side as Vergil reappeared behind him, blade already drawing back for another strike. Dante spun, firing Ebony and Ivory in a rapid burst. Vergil deflected effortlessly, the bullets splitting against Yamato’s edge.
“You rely too much on instinct,” Vergil said, advancing.
“And you think too much,” Dante shot back.
They met in the center again, blades locking. For a split second, they were face to face—close enough to see it.
Not just rivalry.
History.
“You left,” Dante said, quieter now—but no less sharp.
Vergil’s expression didn’t change. “I evolved.”
Their swords slid apart.
And the fight exploded again—faster, harder, louder. The courtyard couldn’t contain them anymore. Stone shattered under their feet, shockwaves tearing through the air as brother met brother, neither yielding, neither stepping back.
Because this wasn’t just a fight.
It was a question neither of them could walk away from—
—and neither was willing to answer first.