Archive of Our Own ^beta

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By his reckoning, it had been a decade since he'd crossed the portal to defeat Agrossax. After his defeat, the demon hunter had remained relentless in his quest to return to his shop, yearning for another bottle of whiskey. He probably owed Lady and Trish an explanation—and many. But his greatest wish was to simply return, drop Rebellion's weight on the floor, flop down in his usual red armchair, and doze for a good three days... hoping no demon had turned Devil May Cry into a hellish nest in his absence.

Rebellion let out a long sigh against his back. Literally.

"Tsk..." Dante murmured, watching another red and rocky field unfold before him. "Red sky, rocks, sulfur. As if it were new." Lesser demons, sensing the aura Dante exuded, scuttled away like rats from a fire. He no longer bothered to kill for fun; he was too tired for that.
But then... something unexpected.
A rift opened in the air before him. A spinning greenish circle, glowing with a comforting light—strangely comforting, considering the place.

Dante paused.

"That's strange... usually portals need to be summoned by someone. Or something."

Nothing came out. No demons, no obvious traps. Even the demons behind him retreated further. Rebellion, impatient, muttered inside his mind:

"Screw whoever summoned them! This is our chance to go home!"
"Screw whoever summoned it! This is our chance to return home!"

"I wouldn't trust it that much..."
The Rebellion's central jewel glowed brightly, as if the sword were irritated by its wielder's caution. Dante tightened his grip on the hilt.

"Of course, but what's the alternative? Stay here until we turn to ash? Even if we're far from the shop, it's still better than this... Mundus cesspool."

Dante snorted. The word "cesspool" convinced him more than he would have liked.
He leaped through the portal. And, as expected, it closed behind him. Nausea followed soon after, like a good hangover.

Emerging from the portal, Dante found himself faced with a terrifying sight: a mansion in flames. The smell of smoke and the echoing screams instantly transported him to the darkest day of his life, the fire that claimed his mother's life.
When he looked ahead, his body froze.

A mansion in flames.

Flames... like those from so many years ago. Like the fire that claimed Eva's life. Like the night he lost Vergil. Like the screams that echoed as he hid in a closet in fear. He heard screams again. High-pitched. Feminine. Without hesitation, he ran toward his private hell, his demon-hunting and protective instincts igniting. Amid the flames and smoke, he made out a blond figure, surrounded by demons. It was a woman who looked like... his mother.
Alone. Surrounded by demons.
Her eyes gleamed.

Mother...?" The word escaped his lips before he could even control it.

He lunged like lightning. The Rebellion cut through demons like paper. The monsters hadn't expected a Sparda to be there. Much less this one. He pulled the woman by the arms, ignoring the heat around them. She coughed, weak, but still alive.

"It'll be okay, ma'am," he said, almost with a wry smile, trying to calm his own racing heart. It was her. Or someone very much like her.

Eva was coughing, covered in soot, but she still managed to stay conscious. Her eyes were wide, still in shock from what had just happened.

V-Vergil..." she whispered, desperately urgent. "My son is still in there!"

Dante's eyes widened. It made his stomach churn. The name, the tone in her voice, the scent of fear… it all transported him back. It was like hearing his own mother, calling for a brother he couldn't save. He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
His muscles moved before his brain could process it. Instinct took over. The mansion floor creaked beneath Dante's feet as he walked through burning corridors. The heat didn't bother him—he'd already faced hell head-on. He slid through the rubble like a crimson shadow, his eyes staring blankly into the void, until… Screams.

Children's screams. Screams of despair.
Dante kicked open a door and found a sight that tore his heart in two.

A boy. Alone. Tiny, with spiky white hair, wearing a singed blue coat. He was surrounded by deformed demons—shades of Mundus, skeletal and with fangs dripping with acid. Little Vergil stood firm, gripping a kitchen knife in both hands. The glow of the amulet around his neck shone, protecting him... for a short time.

Stay away from my mother!" he shouted, his voice cracking with rage and fear.
Dante exploded.

He leaped into the group of demons like a storm. Rebellion cut the first one in half before he had time to react. The second one had its neck crushed by a flurry of swift kicks. The third was impaled against the wall, pinned by the blade.
Vergil looked up, confused. The man before him… looked like him.

Who are you?" the boy asked, amid the smoke. Dante simply held out his hand, ignoring the question.

"This isn't the time for this, brat. I'm here to get you out of this. Do you trust me?"
Vergil hesitated for a second. But there was something about the man—in his voice, in his gaze. Something... familiar.

The little boy nodded, swallowing his fear. Dante picked him up with a quick movement, as if he were a natural extension of himself. But then... another scream. Fainter. More distant. Higher-pitched.
Dante froze. He knew that sound.
Eva had said "my son," not "my children." But his instincts told him otherwise. Something was wrong.

He closed his eyes for a brief second and felt it. As if he were part of the very fabric of that world. As if Sparda's blood echoed between realities. There it was.
Another pup.
Another boy.
And he needed him.

Hold on tight, little blue," Dante said, throwing Vergil over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes (much more gently than it looked). "There's another little brat around here, and we're going to find him." Vergil, even though he was afraid, clung tightly to Dante's neck.
As the mansion crumbled around him, Dante sprinted down the steps as if hell were at his back—and it was.

Dante's footsteps echoed down the cracked hallway of the mansion, now crumbling. With the little boy clinging to his shoulder, he descended the broken stairs as if he were walking through hell blindfolded—guided only by something he couldn't explain.

Instinct.

There was another child there. He felt it in his chest like a strong beat, like the tinkling of something familiar vibrating in the air. As if Sparda's blood was trying to reach... himself.

The heat was rising, the smoke was making Vergil cough, but the hunter didn't stop.

"Just one more..." he muttered to himself.
And then he saw him.
Crouched behind a cracked stone altar, in a room that might once have been a shrine. Fire licked the walls, and two demons crawled slowly toward the child. One of them was already reaching out to grab him. The boy clutched something to his chest—half of an amulet.

"Get away!" the boy shouted, trying to sound brave, even as his eyes filled with fear.

But his voice trembled.

The hunter acted without thinking.
With a quick spin, he threw Rebellion like a spear. The blade pierced the skull of one of the demons, piercing it until it embedded itself in the wall. Then, Dante leaped with the precision of a feline and crushed the other with a kick reinforced by demonic strength. The creature burst into dark flames, screaming as it was banished. The small cub stood paralyzed, staring wide-eyed at the silver-haired man in the red coat.

...Who are you?" he asked breathlessly.

The older boy approached calmly, bending down to his level. Now with a twin in each arm—one on his shoulders, the other in front of him—he smiled wearily.

"Long story, brat. But right now... you just think I'm the guy who kicked your problems' asses."

Little Dante looked at the other boy on the man's shoulder. He recognized the blue coat. The cold eyes. Vergil.

V-Vergil?! Are you okay?"

"I am now... I think," Vergil replied quietly, trying to hide his relief behind a proud pose.

The little boy looked at the man again. He didn't know why, but something about him made him feel safe.

"Mommy... is... is she okay?"

Dante nodded, extending his hand.

"He's waiting for us outside. Let's get out of here before this turns to coal."

Without hesitation, the little boy held her hand. Tightly. As if clinging to the only hope in the world. Eva struggled to her feet, still breathing heavily. When she saw the red figure emerging from the burning mansion, tears streamed down her face.

"MY CHILDREN!" she run to the trio.

Vergil recognized her first. He stretched out his arms toward her.

"Mom!"

"Vergil!" She ran to him, hugging him tightly, as if she would never let go. Soon after, little Dante clung to her legs, and Eva fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around both boys. Her cries were silent, but deep. The kind of cries that come from the soul. Dante stood, watching in silence. He must have been tired. He was dirty, his clothes singed, and his heart heavy. But... for the first time in a long time, he truly smiled.

Eva was still shaking. She was crying so hard her vision barely made out their forms. But what her eyes saw now was more real than any dream.
Her children. Alive.
And a stranger... who seemed anything but strange. She clutched Dante and Vergil to her chest, burying her face in their silver hair, feeling the warmth of their bodies like an answered prayer. Even with their singed clothes, even with the small scratches on their faces—they were there.
"My boys... my babies..."
And for an instant, time stood still.

The silence was broken only by the sound of Rebellion returning on its own—with a metallic "clang!"—to its owner's hand.

Eva looked at him through tears.

"Who… who are you?"

Dante hesitated. The words stuck in his throat. Saying "I'm Dante from the future" or "I'm from another reality" seemed as absurd as it was pointless. He looked at the two little ones hugging their mother, then at her exhausted expression.

Then he shrugged, giving her a lazy, cynical half-smile—his classic emotional disguise.

"Just an old wanderer who happened to be here at the right time. You can call me… Anthony or Tony if you prefer."

Eva blinked a few times. That name… it sounded like an inside joke she hadn't yet heard. But for some reason, she believed it. Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the way he looked at his children as if they were everything in the world.
She didn't question it.

"Thank you… Tony."

He nodded, turning his face away for a second. Maybe to hide what was going on inside. Maybe to avoid her gaze. Maybe... because he didn't know what to do now. It was then that Rebellion—always inconvenient—decided to mentally manifest, a hoarse, metallic laugh echoing in the back of his mind.

"Damn it, Dante... we're in another dimension."

Yeah, I get it, Sherlock."

"You just introduced yourself as Tony. Seriously? Is that what you're going to do with this family now? Like... Tony, father of two and unemployed?"

"Better than saying, 'Hi, it's you,' only with more trauma and wrinkles."

The sword laughed louder, thoroughly enjoying himself.

I'm just saying this isn't normal, man. What the hell is going on? How did we end up here?"

Dante leaned against the wall, watching little Dante and Vergil playing with the few toys they'd found in the warehouse. They seemed so normal. Almost as if their lives were peaceful, with no hell lurking around them. As much as this was a relief, he knew this was just the beginning. He'd saved them. But what would come next?

"Yeah, I know, it's not very clear, but... it seems I ended up here for a reason. And I'm not one to shy away from trouble."

"Of course not, 'Tony.' That name is a joke, by the way."

Dante let out an amused laugh.

The name is the least important thing, Rebellion. I just didn't want them to know who I am, yet. Especially not her."

"Ah, Eva... your father's wife. Now you have to explain yourself to her, don't you think?"

He frowned thoughtfully. The sword's tone wasn't wrong. Eva deserved to know the truth, but... what would he tell her? Would she think he was a ghost from the past? How would she react to seeing another son of Sparda?
As Dante pondered, he sensed a presence.

"No need to look back. I'm here," Eva said, interrupting her thoughts.

Dante turned. She was standing at the entrance to the warehouse, her eyes still teary, but with a shy smile on her lips.

"Are you okay?" the hunter asked, standing up and walking over to her.
Eva nodded, a little shyly. Her expression was one of gratitude, but also of something else. Curiosity.

"I don't know what happened to you... or how you got here. But something tells me you're not from around here."
Sparda's son smiled. It was time to explain himself, at least a little.

"Like I said... I'm just a wanderer. I got here by chance, trying to escape my problems. I'm not from here... this..." he made a broad gesture, indicating the surroundings, "...it seems like everything I know has turned into a nightmare."

Eva looked at him more intently now. Her mind was trying to piece things together, but she didn't know where to begin.

"So... you have a purpose here?"
Dante hesitated for a moment. He didn't know what to say. He didn't have a clear purpose, but something inside him told him he shouldn't leave. Not yet.

"I don't know. I just know... maybe I came here to make sure you're safe."

Eva looked at her children, still playing and smiling, completely oblivious to what had happened. She felt a wave of warmth flood her chest. She looked back at Dante, grateful, but also startled by the depth of his words.

continued

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□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎□▪︎ The falling rain turned the previously chaotic environment into something melancholic, with the flames of fire slowly dying out the demon hunter looked around for a sign of civilization, in his childhood Dante and his family lived near a city of course they had to walk there, but all he saw now was the vast green field. There was silence, a silence that seemed to mock him. After so much time in hell, hearing the sound of rain and smelling the wet earth was... surreal. "Funny... After ten years of screaming, this seems like a dead dream." He turned slowly, his eyes scanning the countryside. As a child, his family had lived near a town. A short ride by carriage or horse was enough, especially when Sparda was still around. But now, all he saw was green—vast, endless, as if the world had forgotten where he came from. The sound of repeated sneezes woke Dante from his thoughts, turning to the woman to identify Eva. —that version of her, younger and more vivid than the memory he carried—was sitting on a piece of stone covered by her wet cloak. She clutched the two boys to her chest, trying to protect them from the cold and damp. Vergil was awake, alert, but silent. Little Dante's face was flushed, his eyes watering, and a thin line of color ran from his nose. Vergil, on the other hand, tried to remain rigid, but coughed softly, struggling to hide his discomfort. 

"They'll get sick," Eva murmured, not looking at him. Dante walked over to her, removing his heavy red coat and handing it to her without a word. Eva hesitated, but took it. The gesture didn't seem just polite—it felt all too familiar. "Thank you… Mr. Redgrave." 

"Just Tony will do," Dante replied, dryly, but not harshly. Of course, even though they were the same person, there was still a difference. Dante and Vergil never got sick as children, but should the same be said for those children? The hunter knew that even demon hybrids as cubs were vulnerable to diseases from the demon world. Even though these children were human-demon hybrids, unlike Dante, they were more prone to illness. Rebellion clinked softly inside its sheath, as if whispering. "I'd recommend finding a place to spend the night." Dante rolled his eyes, responding in his mind. "Wow, you're worried now?" The sword seemed to vibrate with disdain. "Imbecile. Who do you think has to listen to cubs crying and bothering without the option to escape? ME. Not you." He snorted, running a hand through his wet hair. "Okay, okay… you have a point." He walked over to Eva, crouching down beside her with a slight smile, even though the worry was lingering in his eyes. "Hey... can you walk? I think we'll have to find a real place. This place is more like a crypt than a shelter, let's get out of here. There's a town a few miles away... If my memory serves me right."

"On foot...?" Eva whispered in disbelief. "I'll carry the little one, your other son... can walk. You too." Eva nodded slowly, as if still trying to figure out who to trust. The truth was, despite seeming like a stranger, there was something about "Tony" that made her feel safe. Dante helped her to her feet, and with one last glance at the broken altar of the old church, he pulled Rebellion onto his back. He looked up at the cloudy sky, the rain already becoming a persistent drizzle. Their steps would be slow with children, but he knew this kind of place. If they were still lucky—and if this universe hadn't completely screwed up—maybe they'd find an old lumberjack's cabin, an abandoned shack, something with a roof and four walls that didn't whisper wails from hell. But deep down… something told him they were already being watched. And he hated being right about it. Dante walked ahead, his little self sleeping in his arms, breathing heavily. Little Vergil walked beside his mother, silent, watching "Tony" with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Eva kept her eyes on the mud, concentrating on each step. For hours, they walked along the abandoned trails, cutting through stretches that were once farm fences and were now just ruins. "You knew this area?" Eva asked softly. "I grew up around here... a long time ago." "So... was it really from here?" "Yes." The mud sank underfoot with each step, and the low mist began to rise with the dampness of the ground. The rain had stopped, leaving a smell of wet earth in the air, and the sky was beginning to reveal small slivers of pale light between the clouds. Dante walked ahead, Rebellion at his back, eyes alert for any sign of movement—human or otherwise. Behind him, Eva walked silently, Vergil holding her hand tightly. Despite her visible fatigue, she held her head high. When Dante slowed so they were walking side by side, she seized the moment of calm and spoke softly

"Tony… thank you."

 Dante looked away, feigning a casual smile.

 "For what?"

Eva bit her lower lip before answering, as if still trying to grasp the weight of what she felt.

"For saving us. For coming back. I... I thought I'd lost everything." She looked at her children for a moment and then continued: "And then you appeared. In the midst of that hell... like a bolt of lightning piercing the darkness. I know you didn't know us. That you could have turned your back, like so many others. But you didn't." Dante was silent for a few seconds. Her voice, though low, echoed strongly in his head. He wasn't the type to receive thanks. He usually saved the world with a mocking smile and a catchphrase. But that woman—his mother—thanking him as if he were a stranger stirred something he'd kept locked away for a long time. 

— Hm… He scratched the back of his head, awkwardly. — Well... let's just say... standing around and watching a demon rip a child off by the leg doesn't really suit me. Eva laughed softly. It was a sweet, tired sound, but real. She looked at him again, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You remind me of my husband."

The demon hunter paused for a moment, as if something had caught in his chest. He disguised it by taking a look around and then summarized his steps.

"Well... the guy must have had good hair, at least." She smiled again, but there was something else in that look. As if her heart wanted to remember, to recognize... but her mind wouldn't allow it.

"Still... Thank you, Tony." Dante just nodded, looking out at the horizon. Because if he said anything else... maybe his voice would betray everything. 

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The creaking of the ancient doors echoed through the silent hall of the abandoned church, as Dante pushed one of the rusty wooden sheets with his shoulder. The interior was covered in dust, fallen stones, and pieces of pews that had rotted over time. Light filtered through the broken windows in thin beams, casting a soft glow on the cracked altar.

"Yeah... it used to be more sacred," he murmured, surveying the place with practiced eyes. Eva entered slowly, the two boys nestled in her arms. Vergil was fast asleep, but little Dante was still sniffling, his face still a little hot from the fever. Eva hesitated, but Dante was already taking off his coat. "You can put them over there, in a corner where the ceiling is still intact. I'll... try to fix something." She nodded, murmuring a barely audible "thank you." The hunter walked away, heading to a corner of the church where some boards were still firm. He began pulling out what was left of the benches, stacking wood with a vague plan of setting up a simple shelter. Maybe a fire, something to warm up. Maybe even a wind barrier. But nothing fits as it should. The piece he used as a base gave way when he placed another on top. The boards splintered, and what looked like a piece of fabric on the floor crumbled at the touch.

CLANG!!!

Rebellion, stuck in the ground beside him, emitted an irritated buzz. The sword's mocking voice rang inside his mind.

"You're terrible at this."

Dante rolled his eyes, keeping his expression firm.

"Are you seriously going to stand there playing architecture critic?"

"I was forged to slay demons, not to watch some idiot build a hut out of rotten wood. That's offensive."

"And I'm a demon hunter, not a boy scout. Give me a break." "Do you want them to freeze to death out of pride or incompetence?" "Now you sound like my brother. What a pain." Huffing, Dante kicked a plank that refused to stay in place and decided to improvise in a less ambitious way: he dragged part of the most intact benches.

To form a sort of windbreak, he stacked more boards to create a more enclosed area and covered a dry corner with his jacket, where Eva could lie down with her children. Minutes later, he returned to her. Eva was sitting with the two little ones sleeping against her chest, her eyes half-closed, fighting fatigue. She looked up as he approached. "I got... something," he murmured, almost embarrassed. "I certainly wouldn't win any architecture awards, but I should be able to hold out until tomorrow." Eva smiled gently, and even tired, there was something serene in her face. 

"You did more than enough, Tony. More than I could ask for."

 He looked away. Rebellion groaned inwardly.

— "Pathetic. You could have conjured a shelter with demonic energy. Instead, it looks like you tried to build an altar with twigs." Dante responded only with a muffled grunt as he sat on the floor, crossing his arms and resting his head against the cold wall of the church. The church was plunged in darkness. The sound of rain hitting the cracked roof mingled with the soft whisper of the wind, creating a melody that lulled the small family to sleep. Dante stood guard near the entrance, arms crossed, eyes half-closed. The dim moonlight illuminated the dust particles floating in the air. He glanced at Eva and the two boys—the little ones were finally asleep without moaning, their chests rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

That was when Rebellion broke the silence, his deep, impatient voice emerging in his mind: "She knows what she's doing." Dante blinked, surprised by the seemingly... gentle comment. "Huh?" 

"The human. Eva. She's treating the cub's fever with precision. Body position, temperature control... Basic Eva skills."

 The hunter arched an eyebrow. "Have you become an expert on human mothers?" "Sparda read aloud. "Books on raising human children. Cub care. Even sentimental fools need to learn how to keep a hybrid alive."

Dante was silent for a moment. The image of his father, the legendary Sparda, reading childcare manuals with seriousness... it was almost surreal. Almost funny. "He read to you?" "To me. To himself. And he described every detail as if it were a battlefield. 'Feverish reactions in demonic hybrids can develop in a matter of hours.' I remember." Dante let out a low whistle. "So you're practically a nanny with a blade." "Imbecile." "Now listen. There's a human presence to the south. Faint smoke, the smell of salted meat. Small village." Dante rose slowly, his eyes narrowing in the direction Rebellion indicated, even though the sky outside was still too dark and cloudy to see anything.

"How long have you been walking?"

 "Hours. You won't arrive before dawn. And the little one doesn't have time. If he's going to get help... there's only one way." Dante understood immediately. The blade stuck in the ground seemed to pulse as if sensing his hesitation. 

" Devil Trigger, right?" 

"It's the only way." The hunter looked back at Eva, who was now fast asleep, exhausted. One of the boys—little Dante—stirred slightly, his cheeks still hot. He cursed softly.

 "Damn... It's just a childhood fever, it shouldn't be that dangerous." "You survived by chance. Not by force." Dante took a deep breath, his aura beginning to vibrate, still contained. The demonic mark on his back tingled slightly. He closed his eyes.

"I'll be quick. They won't even notice I'm gone."

 "Hurry, before she wakes up. And try not to blow anything up this time." Dante reached out, picking up Rebellion and spinning her around once before slinging her over his shoulder. 

"Give me a vote of confidence, will you?"

 "After you nearly burned down the entire forest trying to 'cook' a rabbit the last time you activated demon mode? Never." The hunter just chuckled softly, a blue glow beginning to encircle his body as the Devil Trigger began to activate. The trail of demonic energy briefly filled the church with a vibrant whisper before it vanished into the darkness of the night, fast as lightning. The village was nearly dead at this early hour. Most of the windows were closed, lights were off, the smell of burning wood still lingering in the air. Dante—or rather, Tony Redgrave—was quickly approaching the only building with any life left: a small shop with a crooked, blinking sign.

"Dona Nélia's Pharmacy — 24 Hours." Dante stopped in front, frowning. He stared at the flickering sign. "Seriously?" He pushed open the glass door, which creaked too loudly. Inside, a radio played some old country music softly, and an elderly woman with white hair and a stern expression sat behind the counter reading a dime novel. She looked up. She didn't even notice the sword at his back. "Flu, fever, or demonic curse?" Dante's eyes widened in surprise. The woman pointed to the counter with a pen. "They're all there, that's what we use around here." Dante blinked in disbelief. 

"Okay. I'll pretend this is all normal." He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a few coins—the last ones he'd saved from his missions before the commotion began. The woman examined the coins as if examining ancient relics.

"Hmm. This still applies... at least in small towns." Dante grabbed a bottle of medicine, some compresses, and some tea bags that promised "spiritual balance."

 "Thanks, Dona...?" 

"Nélia. Now hurry up. I felt the demonic energy coming up the mountain. You must smell like Sparda." He froze for a second. "Do you know that name?" "Who do you think sold him chloroquine when the boy was first sick?" Dante declined to hear more. "Okay. It was a pleasure, bye."

As soon as he left the pharmacy, Dante's senses alerted him: he was no longer alone. On the corner, shadows distorted in the dim light of the streetlights. A growl echoed down the narrow street. Three hooded demons emerged from the darkness, their eyes glowing and their claws long and black. 

"Sparda..."

 "We found you..." 

Dante lifted the bag of medicine with one hand. "Look, if you could just wait a second... this is for a feverish child, okay?" The demons growled louder, advancing slowly. Dante sighed, lowering the bag to the ground carefully, as if protecting a fragile vase. 

"Okay... I get it. Let's settle this the classic way." In a flash, Rebellion was in his hands. His body glowed with the trace of the Devil Trigger partially activating—just enough to give them pause. "But just to be clear: I'm not Sparda. I'm just his handsome son." He advanced, blade in hand, as the creatures roared and leaped at him.

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Dawn was beginning to give way to a grayish-blue hue in the sky when Dante returned to the ruined church. His boots echoed softly on the worn stone floor, and the cool morning breeze made his overcoat sway slightly. He still carried the medicine bag carefully, as if it were something sacred. Eva, who had been sleeping curled up with the children, woke at the sound of his footsteps. Her eyes were tired, but there was immediate relief in seeing him back. She hurried over. "Tony..." she whispered, taking the bag from his hands carefully. "Did you manage...?" 

"With a touch of miracle and a bit of luck," she replied with a tired half-smile. 

"I don't know how, but there's a pharmacy open in that dump of a village. And the lady there... has probably sold elixir even to the devil." Eva chuckled softly, surprised by his good humor. Wasting no time, she prepared the medicine and knelt beside little Dante, who was sweating and mumbling with fever. Gently, she held his head and helped him swallow the thick liquid. "Shh... it will pass, my love. Mommy's here..." Sparda's son watched silently, his eyes fixed on Eva's face. Even amidst the fatigue and pain, she was... strong. Strong in a way he wasn't. Not anymore. The sword on his back vibrated slightly.

"I don't sense a single demon lurking around. I mean... you marked your territory?" Dante arched an eyebrow, snorting softly.

 "What kind of question is that, huh? I'm not a dog..." "You're Sparda's son. And Sparda used to do that. When he wanted to protect an area, he would release energy from Hell just to let you know: 'My territory, if you touch it, you're dead, you might have done the same without realizing it.'" Dante rubbed his face with one hand, exhausted. "Great. Besides being a babysitter, medicine delivery man, and target for a confused demon, now I'm urinating hellish energy all over the territory. Perfect." Eva glanced over her shoulder, curious.

"Did he say something?" "Nothing much," he replied, turning his gaze back to her. "He just won't shut up." She didn't understand, but smiled slightly before focusing back on her son. Little Dante was starting to breathe more easily, and the fever already seemed to be receding. "Thank you... again." Dante just shook his head. It was nothing. I mean, it was everything. But he didn't know how to say it. His eyes returned to the sky, where the sun was threatening to rise. For now, they were safe. The church was silent, broken only by the faint sound of wind passing through the broken windows and the quieter breathing of the children. Eva moved away from the children to sit beside Dante, who was keeping her alive with scraps of wood. She watched him for a moment. The man before her was a strange presence: protective, yet distant. Strong, yet wounded. She still called him Tony, but deep down... something didn't fit.

"I..." she began hesitantly, "I thought a lot last night. While you were gone." Dante didn't answer immediately, just gently stirred the ember with a twig, keeping a sharp eye on it. Eva hugged her arms, as if trying to contain something greater than the cold. "You appeared out of nowhere. You saved me and my children. You fight like... like him." Her blue eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Like Sparda." Dante remained still. The ember crackled. "He sent you, didn't he?"

 Silence.

"I don't know how he knew where I was, or if I was still alive... But you... you're proof he never forgot us, right?" The demon hunter clenched his fists. The words were there, stuck in his throat. Telling the truth would be crushing. But lying? He'd been doing this ever since he saw her. Ever since he smelled the familiar scent of the Eva he'd lost, but... it wasn't the same. He exhaled slowly.

 "...Something like that."

Eva closed her eyes for a moment, overcome with emotion, as if that were enough. As if hearing that Sparda still cared for her—even if through someone else—helped her bear everything she'd lost. "I... dreamed about it sometimes. That he was still out there. That he would send someone..." She laughed weakly, covering her mouth. "I didn't think that 'someone' would seem as... broken as I do." Dante let out a melancholic smile. "You'd be surprised what hell does to us." Eva looked at him, trying to read him, but there were too many shadows on his face. She didn't know that the man before her was her own son. That he was Dante—the real one—and that by a twist of cruel fate, he had found his mother again, alive... but from another world. From another story.

"Thank you... for being here. Even if it was on someone's orders." Dante nodded slowly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "I'm sorry, Mom..." he thought. "I should have gotten here sooner. I should have saved you..." But all he said was: "I'm not going anywhere." Eva leaned her head against the wall, finally allowing herself to rest. And Dante stayed there, holding inside a pain he could never share with her.

 ■▪︎■▪︎■▪︎■

The night was deepening, and soon it would be morning. The storm had passed, and the clouds had parted sufficiently. The children, now a little stronger thanks to the medicine Dante had brought, were huddled beside Eva, wrapped in a torn but warm blanket. Eva stroked little Dante's hair with a tenderness only a mother could offer, her eyes fixed on the sky visible through the broken stained-glass window. She began to sing softly. Her voice was fragile, but there was a quiet strength in it, something that transcended time and pain. The melody was ancient, a lullaby with words almost forgotten: In ancient times, when the world wept, A silver warrior descended from the heavens. With eyes of fire and a heart of light, He faced darkness, never worthy..."

Dante stopped where he was, his back to the scene, but his body froze. He walked among men, hidden in the veil, He gave up his sword, he fell like a defendant. But his promise still echoes in me: 'I will fight in the shadows, until the end'..." Eva smiled, even with tears in her eyes. "If one day the world crumbles beneath the ground, And monsters raise their darkness, The hero's blood will be reborn—And the light of Sparda will guide us..." The song ended in a whisper. Rebellion, pinned to Dante's back, pulsed slightly. Her voice, softer than ever, echoed in his mind: "She still believes in him... even after everything. Even after hell." Dante didn't answer. He simply closed his eyes.

Rebellion continued: "Maybe... this is enough, just for today." Dante took a step forward, but stopped. Silently, he stared at Eva's silhouette, hugging her children. She didn't see him there. To her, Tony was a stranger—a protector sent by someone who was already gone. And perhaps it was for the best. He turned and walked to the church entrance. The night breeze touched his face, cool but curiously light. Rebellion rested against his back, asleep. And for the first time in a long time... Dante felt peace. 

To be continued...

Chapter Text

The sun shone through the cracks in the broken window, reflecting off Rebellion's blade, which gave off a cold glint. To the sword, this wasn't light, it was humiliation. Four small, insistent hands slid over the hilt, dragging the heavy blade across the wooden floor. Each scratch echoed in the sword's consciousness like an insult.

"You little brats... I've cut through demons that would make you weep just by hearing their name," Rebellion complained in his metallic silence, writhing with energy, trying to make his displeasure clear.

But the two cubs were laughing. The smallest of them, mini Dante, was trying to lift his sword with all the strength his childish arms could handle, while mini Vergil, more restrained, pulled in the opposite direction, as if they had been vying since childhood for the right to wield the legacy of the father they never knew. Rebellion let out a low hiss, sparking in the air—almost as if he wanted to slap them both.

But of course... where was Sparda's damned son when they needed to get this sorted?

Oh, yes. In the woods, relieving his bladder.

Leaving a legendary sword alone with two curious and stubborn children!

This was the demonic sword's thought as the two cubs fought to see if they could lift it like their mother had told them in their father's stories.

It wasn't long before one of the cubs, the youngest and most restless, tried to lift the sword larger than itself. Sweaty little hands closed around the hilt, and Rebellion vibrated in protest, holding back a scream of indignation.

"A sword forged to cut down hell's generals... now used as a toy by a diapered brat! If Sparda were here, I—"

Rebellion interrupted her own internal lament. Where, after all, was the progenitor of these little creatures? The sword could almost swear Eva had disappeared on purpose, leaving her alone with the little pests.

"Wonderful... from a chosen warrior, I've become a plaything for puppies," Rebellion muttered to herself.

Little Dante tripped over his own foot, and the heavy blade fell to the ground with a resounding clang. Mini Vergil's eyes widened, but instead of fear, a proud smile escaped.

"I can handle it better than you, Dante," he said with a hint of arrogance.

"You achieve nothing!" the younger brother retorted, pulling back the hilt.

The sword vibrated again, sparking even more strongly, and a crack echoed through the room—as if to say, "Let go of me immediately, you ingrates!"

If it were just appearance, it would be fine: the light hair, the blue eyes... they even reminded him of his father. But personality? Personality, definitely, came from his mother. They both had that impulsive boldness of Eva, that way of defying the world with innocence, as if nothing were too big for them.

"Impressive... Sparda only left physical features. Everything else, those kids took from their mother. And, for heaven's sake, how could she find that... cute?"

Vergil, with a more serious expression, pulled on his brother's sword, as if to "correct" his incorrect grip. Dante, laughing, tried to pull it back. The blade sparked slightly, a silent warning, but neither of them seemed to care.

Rebellion vibrated in exasperation.

"Eva, you foolish lover... you left a piece of yourself in them. And now, I'm left to endure."

When the bearer returned, accompanied by Eva, with some berries in his hands, Eva was already smiling in relief, calling to her children, who ran toward her, clinging to the hem of her dress.

But, in a matter of seconds, the twins' eyes were drawn to something else.

Not to the berries.

Not to their mother.

But to him.

Dante—or rather, Tony—was right behind, his tousled white hair glistening in the weak sunlight after the rain. His presence seemed larger than space allowed. The boys stopped suddenly, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Their gazes went straight to the sword leaning against the wall of the abandoned church. Rebellion, motionless until then, began to vibrate with a low hum. The jewel on its hilt glowed brightly, as if it recognized something.

Little Dante took two steps, fascinated. Vergil followed him, silent, but his blue eyes reflected the same strange attraction.

"Hey, boys…" Tony murmured, a forced smile appearing. "This isn't a toy."

Vergil looked up, straight into his eyes, too serious for his age. It even reminded him of his own brother's demon hunter—some things don't change even in another universe. Impressively, the mini alternate version of Vergil remained silent, while little Dante approached his blue twin.

"You're not fooling anyone," the boy said suddenly, his voice thin but firm. "My brother thinks you're our father... but I know you're not."

Tony blinked in surprise, almost dropping his lit cigarette.

"Heh... you're smarter than you look."

Vergil didn't smile. He approached with small but determined steps.

"So who are you? You're not just any stranger," the boy said, finally breaking the silence. His childish voice was firm, almost authoritative. "You're our blood. I can feel it."

"Boy... you have too much imagination."

"It's not imagination." Vergil stepped closer, holding up his mother's broken amulet. "My brother thinks you're our father. I don't think so. But I know you're family. Some kind of relative. Who are you really?"

Rebellion, leaning against the wall, vibrated with a low hum, as if reveling in the tension. Tony sighed, scratched the back of his neck, and chose his words carefully. Before he could respond, little Dante grumbled softly, looking at the hunter while Eva glared at them.

"…Dad…?"

"Okay, listen up... Sparda and I were from the same clan. A pack. We just weren't close. That's why you've never heard of me."

Vergil narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

"That's a little too convenient."

Tony smirked, trying to hide his discomfort.

"Convenient or not, that's the truth I can give you now. The rest... you'll understand when you're older."

Dante, still hugging his mother, looked up at him with teary eyes.

"Even if you're not our father... you won't leave us, will you?"

Little Vergil didn't like the long silence.

"Then why help?"

Tony looked away from Eva, who smiled at him. It hurt more than he'd liked.

"Because... sometimes, even a lone wolf needs to look after the pack."

Vergil was still staring at Tony suspiciously when light footsteps sounded. Eva had woken to the sound of voices and approached, clutching her shawl around her shoulders.

"Is everything okay here?" she asked, with that calm motherly tone that can defuse even the most tense atmosphere, even knowing the subject of their conversation. Little Dante ran into her lap.

"Mommy, this man has the same hair color as Vergil and I!!"

"Hahaha, I see you've already met Anthony. He helped us!"

Little Dante's eyes sparkled as if the newcomer were an honorable warrior like Eva told her father about in her stories!

"Mommy, Tony said he's from the same clan as Daddy!"

Eva blinked in surprise, then gave a soft smile.

"Ah... clan, pack... yes. Sparda told me about these things. He said the oldest demons were bonded like extended families." She looked at Tony, her blue eyes shining with unexpected tenderness. "So that's it? You're part of his pack too?"

Tony swallowed, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Yeah, something like that."

Vergil, arms crossed, grumbled, "

"Mommy, you never mentioned we had other relatives."

Eva tilted her head thoughtfully.

"It's true... I never mentioned it, but Sparda was always secretive about his own life, who knows? He never told me he had other relatives or even a clan." She stroked her son's hair and concluded, with firm calm, "If Tony says he's pack, then he is."

Tony hid his desire to laugh, allowing only a wry smile to escape.

"See? It's confirmed. Big families are hard work, kids."

The Rebellion vibrated slightly, emitting that irritated buzzing only he could hear.

Rebellion: "Children grow. If not guided, they become prey... or monsters. You know that better than anyone, Tony Redgrave."

The hunter gritted his teeth, but didn't answer immediately. He watched Eva, smiling, humming as she smoothed her children's hair. The peace of that scene hurt him more than any physical wound.

"You talk as if I were some kind of model father," he replied bitterly. "I've barely taken care of myself until today."

Rebellion: "It's not about being a father. It's about surviving. And to survive, we need to return to that mansion. Ash doesn't erase everything. There might be something useful... and maybe..."

There was a pause, as if the sword itself was weighing the weight of its next words.

Rebellion: "...maybe we'll find my echoes. Me... and Yamato from this reality."

Tony looked up, as if a gust of cold wind had pierced his chest.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Rebellion: "If Sparda existed here, and apparently his counterpart also exists, there's a counterpart to me and Yamato too. And you know what it means for Yamato to fall into the wrong hands."

The silence between them stretched. In the distance, Eva laughed as the boys ran in circles. A pure instant... an instant he knew wouldn't last forever. Tony sighed deeply, dipping his cigarette into the wet earth with the toe of his boot.

"Damn it... you never let me forget, do you?"

Rebellion: "I'm your blade, not your conscience. But if the silence weighs on you, maybe it's because you know I'm right."

He ran a hand over his tired face and murmured,

"Eva will kill me if I talk about going back to that house."

And Rebellion responded with the which sounded almost like metallic irony:

Rebellion: "She's already killing you... just slowly."

Tony stood still, swallowing hard. Deep down, that half-truth was also half a confession.