Chapter Text
The front of Devil May Cry was a chaotic mess of orange lights, cheap cobwebs, and a hand-painted sign that read: “DMC’s First Annual Halloween Bash! Candy, Booze, and Maybe Demons!” Dante stood proudly at the doorway, a plastic vampire cape draped over his shoulders and a jack-o’-lantern the size of a motorcycle tire cradled in his arms.
“Perfect,” Dante said with a grin, setting the pumpkin on the counter beside a half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Nothing says Halloween like a demon hunter with a flair for the dramatic.”
From the couch, Nero groaned. “Nothing says ‘idiot’ like a grown man wearing a plastic cape and glitter fangs.” He didn’t even look up from the handgun he was cleaning, his tone dry as desert sand.
Dante struck a heroic pose, cape flaring dramatically. “Jealous much? Come on, kid, lighten up. It’s Halloween! Best night of the year. Candy, costumes, chicks dressed like sexy vampires—what’s not to love?”
“What’s not to love,” Nero mimicked, rolling his eyes. “You’re treating this like some frat party, Dante. You do realize that half the demons we fight probably love this holiday too, right?”
Dante shrugged, already digging into a box of fake skulls and rubber bats. “Eh, demons love every night. Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun.”
The front door creaked open, a gust of cold October wind rushing inside. The atmosphere shifted immediately, like someone had flipped a switch from playful chaos to quiet tension.
Vergil stepped into the room.
Unlike his twin, he wasn’t dressed for festivities. His dark coat billowed behind him, silver-white hair gleaming in the dim light like a blade. His piercing blue eyes swept over the cluttered shop with a look of restrained disgust.
“…What is this?” Vergil’s voice was low, edged with disdain.
Dante threw an arm out dramatically. “Welcome, big bro! You’re just in time to witness history—Devil May Cry’s very first Halloween party. Grab a costume, grab a drink, and try not to kill the vibe.”
Vergil’s lips curled ever so slightly. “Halloween party,” he repeated, each syllable like venom. “You’re decorating your place with gaudy mortal trinkets while the veil between realms thins around us.”
Nero set his gun down and frowned. “Here we go…”
Dante leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, utterly unfazed. “Relax, Vergil. It’s just plastic pumpkins and cheap booze. The only veil I’m worried about tonight is the one covering the punch bowl.”
Vergil’s eyes narrowed. “You fool. Tonight is not mere mortal frivolity. Samhain—the night mortals call Halloween—marks a time when the boundary between the human world and the demon realm is weakest. The foolish rituals these humans perform mimic ancient truths… truths they no longer comprehend.”
Nero sat up straighter. “Wait. You’re saying the trick-or-treaters outside are… what, playing with real fire?”
“Not yet.” Vergil’s gaze swept over them like a hawk eyeing prey. “But left unchecked, their collective ignorance could create fissures. It is an opportunity… for those strong enough to seize it.”
Dante groaned loudly, rubbing his temples. “Here we go. You just had to turn my candy-and-beer night into a lecture on doom and gloom, didn’t you?”
Vergil didn’t even flinch. “Dante, while you waste your talents arranging tacky decorations, forces beyond your comprehension stir. We could harness this night’s power. Imagine it—a ritual that would allow us to command legions of demons without needing to tear open a permanent gate. Control, not chaos.”
“Control,” Nero echoed, his voice sharp. “You mean domination. Classic Vergil.”
Vergil turned his head slightly, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “Call it what you wish, Nero. The fact remains: with the proper offerings, we could strengthen our hold on this realm. For once, we wouldn’t need to react to demonic threats—we would dictate the balance of power.”
Dante grabbed a handful of candy corn and tossed it into his mouth like a challenge. “Yeah, hard pass, bro. I just wanna get drunk and hand out candy to kids. Maybe scare a few teens with my devil trigger. You know, normal brotherly bonding stuff.”
Vergil’s gaze lingered on him, calculating. “…Perhaps you misunderstand. I am not asking.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Nero stood immediately, his hand on the hilt of Red Queen. “Hold up. If you’re about to suggest what I think you’re about to suggest—”
“No one asked you, Nero,” Vergil said, his tone like a blade slicing cleanly through words.
Dante stepped between them, holding up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, let’s all take a breather. No need to start a family feud in the middle of my party setup.”
Vergil’s voice softened, almost persuasive. “Dante… I know you crave excitement. Power. This holiday offers more than cheap thrills. Help me perform this ritual, and I will ensure it remains… contained. Controlled.”
Dante squinted at him. “You’re seriously trying to pitch me on demon magic like it’s a business deal? What’s the catch?”
Vergil’s smirk widened slightly. “The offering required is… substantial.”
“Substantial like what?” Dante asked suspiciously.
Vergil didn’t answer immediately, and that silence was enough to make Nero curse under his breath.
“Substantial like a human sacrifice, isn’t it?” Nero snarled.
Dante froze, halfway through unwrapping a chocolate bar. “…Wait. Back up. What?”
Vergil’s tone remained calm, almost clinical. “A single mortal life given freely, at the height of this night’s power. The release of their essence would bridge the worlds for but a moment—long enough to bind our will to the rift.”
“Absolutely not,” Nero said instantly, stepping forward. “You’re out of your damn mind, Vergil.”
Vergil regarded him coolly. “Do not pretend morality is absolute, Nero. Mortals die every second of every day. Would you truly hesitate to sacrifice one to prevent countless more from perishing in future conflicts?”
“Yeah, because I’m not a psychopath!” Nero snapped. “And you’re not sacrificing anyone while I’m around.”
Dante swallowed the rest of his candy bar, his expression suddenly deadly serious. “…Vergil. I thought we were talking about some harmless Halloween ritual. You’re saying you wanna murder someone to power your little demon trick?”
Vergil tilted his head, as if mildly insulted. “Murder is such a crude term. It is… ascension.”
“Uh-huh,” Dante said, crossing his arms. “Well, my vote’s still no. Find your cosmic power trip somewhere else.”
For a moment, silence filled the shop, broken only by the faint sound of kids laughing outside as they went door to door.
Then Vergil’s smirk returned—cold, cunning, and entirely too confident.
“Very well,” he said smoothly. “If reason will not persuade you, perhaps… incentives will.”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “Incentives? What kind of—”
Vergil reached into his coat and, with a flourish, produced a small, perfectly chilled glass dish covered with a silver lid. When he lifted it, the unmistakable scent of strawberries and cream filled the air.
Dante’s eyes widened. “…Is that a strawberry sundae?”
Vergil’s smirk widened. “With extra syrup. Your favorite.”
Nero stared at him, utterly horrified. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re bribing him with dessert?”
Dante’s gaze darted between the sundae and his brother, his resolve visibly crumbling. “…I mean, it has been a long day…”
“Dante!” Nero barked. “You cannot seriously be considering this!”
Dante winced. “Relax, kid. I’m just… keeping an open mind. Besides, it’s just one ritual, right? How bad could it be?”
Vergil’s eyes glimmered with victory. “Indeed. How bad, indeed.”