Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The stone bridge was cracked and blackened, still steaming from the battle’s aftermath. The scent of sulfur hung in the air, mixing with the sharp metallic tang of gunpowder. In the distance, the portal to hell slowly dissolved, like ink swirling in water—fading, but not forgotten.

Dante leaned back on a scorched lamppost, Rebellion slung carelessly over his shoulder, coat torn, face smudged with ash and dried demon blood. He popped a new lollipop into his mouth, crunching down the stem as Lady sat beside him, clutching her broken rocket launcher like a tired soldier after a long war.

"That time… he really died, didn’t he?" Lady asked quietly, her eyes scanning the scorched battlefield where the White Rabbit’s corpse had turned to dust.

Dante gave a long breath through his teeth. "Yeah... for sure. Guess even demon rabbits run out of lives."

Lady scoffed. "Enzo seemed like a good guy. For a jerk."

"He was." Dante glanced sideways, chewing. "You know... the rabbit was right, in a way. Not about dragging hell to Earth. But the other stuff... the world, people... how it’s all rotting at the edges." He smiled bitterly. "At least this dump’s still here."

"You’re trying to pretend you’re happy again." Lady’s voice cut softly, knowing, sharp as the knife hidden behind her words.

Dante turned his head, flashing a grin like cracked glass. "You know me, babe. I’m always happy."

"I’ve seen you when no one’s looking." She kept her eyes forward, watching the mist rise from the ruined street. "Your jokes are just a façade. You wear them like armor. I’ve seen what’s underneath."

Dante’s grin twitched, the corner of his mouth lowering slightly. "Did you take a demon psychoanalysis course at Darkcom or something?"

"No." Her voice lost its bite, slipping into quiet bitterness. "I just had to watch everyone I cared about die. Over and over infront of me."

For a moment, there was nothing but wind across the broken bridge.

"Me too..." Dante muttered low. "...or maybe not. That damn rabbit said my brother’s still alive."

Lady turned sharply to him, surprised. "Do you think it’s true?"

He shrugged but the grin was gone. "I have no idea. But if there’s even a chance... I gotta find him." His fingers gripped Rebellion tighter. "I'll go after him. You could come along if you want. Like a good old cop duo. Dante and Lady."

"You know my name is Mary... right?"

"Yeah." Dante smirked sideways. "But I prefer Lady. Feels more dangerous."

Lady sighed. "Lady and Dante, not Dante and Lady."

"We’ll see."

He turned, walking past her with that lazy, devil-may-care stride.

And that’s when she moved.

Like lightning. Silent. Certain.

A flash of steel. The hiss of air.
The needle sank into the side of his neck.

Dante stopped mid-step, confusion flashing across his face as his muscles stiffened. His eyes wide with sudden fear, betrayal cutting deeper than any blade. His hand reached weakly for Rebellion—too slow. Too late.

His knees buckled. He dropped to the cracked pavement like a marionette with cut strings.

Lady stood over him, her hand still holding the empty syringe. Her face cold. Controlled. Hating every word she was about to say.

"I have to arrest you, Dante." Her voice was steel wrapped in regret. "Baines was right. You... with that sword... with that power... you’re too dangerous. To Earth. To everyone. I’m sorry."

His eyes stared up at her—blue, angry, helpless—as the world dimmed and the paralytic swept through his veins.

Above them, the sky split.

A deep rumbling, and a sudden pulse of blinding white opened like a wound over the tallest building. A portal. No—the portal—ripping reality like paper, bleeding heat and ash into the night air.

Lady whipped her head up, swallowing fear. "What... the hell is that?"

Then came the sound of jet engines.

Dark silhouettes of military fighters soared into view—F-22s screaming low across the skyline. Missiles launched in a sharp rain of steel and smoke—straight into the portal—vanishing into the hellgate’s mouth as the sky rippled with thunder.

Her eyes widened. "Oh no... they’re trying to blow hell apart from the other side..."

The night trembled. The earth quaked.

And somewhere, far away, something in the darkness laughed.

.

Dante’s Vision

The ground was cold against his cheek. Stone and ash. The smell of gunpowder dissipating.

Then silence.

And light.

A blinding white, endless light flooded his eyes. He tried to blink, but his body would not move. His limbs, heavy, floating, pulled upward toward the glow.

No more city.

No more broken bridge.

No more Lady.

Only Heaven.

But not the Heaven that humans prayed for. This was not peace. It was order—terrible, crushing, flawless. Endless marble halls stretched before him, silent and bright as the heart of a dying star.

Statues of angels adorned the walls—beautiful faces, blind and empty-eyed. Their wings hung frozen in midbeat. Watching.

"Son of Sparda..."

A voice. Echoing like thunder through the glass.

He turned—no, he was turned—drawn by invisible threads toward the empty throne at the end of the hall. A figure stood there, wreathed in golden fire. A woman? No… not human. Not even close.

Her hair was silver-white, falling like moonlight. Her armor shimmered like liquid glass, edged with pure gold. Vast, translucent wings spread behind her—silent, terrible, sharp as blades.

Her eyes burned. Golden and unforgiving. “You were never meant to walk this world,” she said, each word heavy as chains.  “Half-breed. Demonborn. Unforgivable. You stain the land and threaten the balance.”

Dante laughed softly. His voice echoed, soft and distant, in the empty hall. “You are not the first lady to say that, my dear.”

His head tilted, inhumanly precise. Curious. Watching him like a sword about to fall.

"You will be sealed. By my hand, if you resist. By the will of Heaven, if you refuse."

"I guess I'm always the wanted man..." He forced a wry smile, but it didn't seem right in this place. Thin. Weak.

Her golden gaze pierced him. And for an instant—a flash—he saw something strange.

"I saw you... Covered in blood. And light. Smiling at the end of the world."

She walked down the marble stairs—barefoot, without making a sound or leaving a mark. Her hand reached his chest. A cold light seared his heart.

"Tell me, will you fall by my sword, demon? Or will you redeem yourself?" Her touch burned. Hot. Painful. Terrible. Beautiful.

The room shattered like glass.

The light turned to fire.

He was falling.

Chapter Text

Ouroboros Penitentiary.
Darkcom's hidden jewel.

A fortress beneath the earth where demons—the nightmares of mankind—sat chained like animals. Their powers sealed, their forms reduced to helpless shades in glass cells, marked and numbered.

The corridors echoed with human boots, radios crackling orders. Guards gripped their rifles tighter, avoiding the eyes of their prisoners. Fear tasted bitter on the air.

The lights flickered. A distant sound—a metallic shriek—rushed like wind through the tunnels.

WEOOO WEOOO WEOOO— Red lights pulsed. Alarms wailed.

Every demon in every cell turned to the glass, sensing something coming. Something old. Something terrible. The guards shouted, aiming their weapons at the corridor. Too late.

A blur of shadow swept past them—too fast to follow—too precise to be human. A tall figure, horns like a crown, a jagged sword dragging sparks on the steel floor. One swing—and men fell without screams. Necks broken. Chests split.

Blood painted the walls.

The figure stopped in the center of the block. The demons whispered. Hissed. Eyes wide.

The newcomer lifted a hand.

A pulse of dark blue energy surged from his palm—the seals on every cell shattered. Glass exploded. The air filled with shrieks of freedom.

Demons crawled out, limbs cracking and stretching into full form. Fangs gleamed. Claws twitched.

"Your chains are broken," the figure spoke, voice like velvet steel. "Our King... grants you freedom. Mundus remembers you."

The lesser demons roared in approval, bowing, crawling to the floor like insects before him.

The figure smiled thinly.
His horns dissolved into white-blue light. His armor melted into smooth robes—midnight blue, patterned in forgotten glyphs. A human face emerged. Sharp. Cold. Pale.

Vergil.

"I was bound once," he said, eyes narrowing with old hate. "But no longer. Mundus freed me. And now the sapiens—the crawling man-things—think themselves our masters?"

His sword hummed low, the air shuddering around it. "They’ve forgotten the old laws... the law of the strong."

Demons growled low, restless, hungry.

Vergil turned, robe sweeping the bloody floor.

"They will burn. Their false victories will end. They dared to cage us."

He raised sword to the vaulted ceiling.

"Let the storm break. Let the world know We will walk again."

A tearing sound echoed above—steel splitting open—as a rift to Hell bloomed like a wound in the prison roof.

"Go," Vergil said softly. "Feed. Reclaim. Prepare."

The demons poured upward into the world.

Vergil smiled, faint and cold.

"I am the stormy one. And they have no shelter left."

.

Darkcom Headquarters.
Midnight.

A silent hum filled the sterile halls, screens flickering softly as tired guards blinked at countless surveillance monitors. Rows upon rows of cameras—eyes upon the abyss—watching Dante, frozen like a beast in ice... watching the vault that held Sparda’s sword... the sealed amulet... the world’s safety.

The air shifted.

The floor rumbled—soft at first—like distant thunder beneath the earth.

Then the screens began to speak.

A voice—ancient and feminine—slipped through the cables and glass. A whisper of Heaven. Of Judgment.

"He awaits."

The cameras snapped and fizzed. Static bled across every screen. The guards scrambled, shouting, reaching for radios.

And then they saw her.

Audriel.

She stood in the middle of Corridor 6—where no one had entered. No alarms had tripped. No doors had opened.

A figure of pale light and gold. Her silver hair floated as if underwater. Wings shimmered like cracked glass, refracting ghost-light onto the steel walls.

She walked slowly. Calmly. Like time itself obeyed her steps.

The command room froze. Every guard stared as one man leaned closer to his monitor—until her golden eyes turned directly to the camera.

She saw him. Through the lens. Through the walls.

She raised her hand.

A blast of pure white light erupted in the surveillance room. Sparks burst from the screens. Consoles exploded. The lights of Darkcom died.

Silence fell.

In the lowe vault corridors, steel blast doors groaned and bent as Audriel pressed her hand against them. Light cracked from her palm like burning vines, crawling through the steel until the locks melted and the gates slid open with a groan of failure.

Beyond the door—bathed in blue stasis light—hung Dante, frozen in the cryo-chamber. Suspended. Helpless.

His sword, Rebellion, locked in the vault nearby. The Sparda amulet pulsed softly in its containment cube.

Audriel paused. Her sharp gaze softened for a fleeting moment.

She opened her hand.

In a breath, everything vanished.

Dante. The chamber. The sword. The amulet.

Gone.

The vault stood empty.

A thunder of boots. Sldiers burst into the vault room—rifles raised, shouting orders into the dark.

But there was nothing left.

Only silence. And lingering light.

The guards stared in disbelief.

"Impossible..." someone whispered. "She—She took him... just like that...?"

Darkcom Command, Situation Room

Vice President Caldwell slammed a fist onto the war table, his face red with fury as the last report came in.

"How in HELL did they breach this facility?! Two hits at once—TWO—The prison compromised, demons released, and NOW Dante’s GONE?!"

Lady stood against the wall, arms folded, silent as the chaos swirled around her.

"You told me he was secure!" the Vice President barked at the security chief.

"He was, sir! All systems were green—until she—"

"Who the hell is she?!" Caldwell snapped.

No answer.

Lady spoke at last, quiet but cutting.

"She wasn’t human... or demon. She was something else. Something higher."

The Vice President glared at her.

"You knew something like this could happen?"

Lady glanced at the dark screen where Dante’s frozen body used to appear.

"...And now we lost him."

She turned, eyes cold.

"Whatever’s coming... we’re not ready for it."

Chapter Text

Dante stirred.

His body ached, heavy like iron and frost. His skin felt strange—too warm, too real—like life had finally returned after ages locked in ice. His breath dragged in slowly... grass. Earth. Moonlight.

What the hell...?

His eyelids fluttered open.

Above him stretched a night sky—clear, endless, strewn with stars he didn’t recognize. The moon was full and cold, washing everything in silver. Soft grass cradled his back.

And she was there.

Audriel.

She stood a few steps away, bathed in moonlight like some quiet ghost. But she was... different now.

No wings. No divine glow. No impossible height.

Human—almost. Barefoot, toes curling gently into the grass. Her long silver hair still flowed, but her frame was smaller, mortal-shaped. Her skin shimmered faintly in the dark like pearl, her golden eyes unreadable.

Dante smirked, forcing himself up onto an elbow.

"So... Heaven finally sends me a girl with wings?" he rasped, voice low and rough from disuse. "Took you long enough, sweetheart."

Her gaze fell on him. Flat. Unmoved. As if measuring his soul.

"Time works differently... than here," she said softly, her voice like wind through iron bells. "You weren’t... a priority."

A slow, bitter chuckle escaped him. "Gee. Glad to know where I rank in the divine to-do list."

"You are out of danger," she added, calm, almost cold. "That is what matters."

His sharp blue eyes narrowed.

"And what changed, angel? You got bored waiting for the end of days?"

Audriel looked to the sky for a moment, as if listening to a sound only she could hear.

"The time has come," she said simply.

A quiet fell. Even the wind stopped moving.

Dante’s smile faded, curiosity creeping in like shadow.

"Time for what...?"

She stepped closer. Her bare feet whispered through the grass.

"To prepare," she murmured, eyes gleaming gold under the moon. "For the apocalypse."

The word hung in the air, cold and final.

Dante stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking into his bones.

"Great," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse..."

She said nothing. Only watched him—silent, waiting.

A flicker of memory stirred in him—her face, far away, in the frozen dark. A dream... or something deeper.

"Hey..." His voice dropped low, thoughtful. "...You were in my dreams, weren’t you?"

"It wasn’t a dream," Audriel said softly. "You won permission to enter Heaven. For a moment." Her golden eyes gleamed faintly. "You caught the Lord’s attention. He wishes to know if you are... possible for redemption."

A pause. Her gaze sharpened.
"Or if we will have to seal you... permanently."

Dante let out a dry laugh, rolling onto his back with a grunt.

"Figures. Can’t even take a nap without some divine judge watching over me." He glanced up at her, a teasing grin curling his mouth.
"If you keep looking at me like that, angel, I’ll start thinking you’re into me."

Audriel frowned slightly, puzzled. Her head tilted up—trying to meet his gaze despite their height difference.

"Into you? I’m afraid... I don’t understand that sentence."

Dante smirked wider. Oh, this was getting interesting.

"You know... like a man and a woman. Attraction. Chemistry." He winked. "You’ve got that soft mortal look going on. Someone upstairs finally realized guys like me work better when a pretty face shows up to save the day?"

She blinked slowly, absorbing the words like strange data.
"You mean... this body?" She glanced down at herself, touching her chest curiously. "I was instructed to appear this way. It was determined you would be more cooperative toward the opposite sex."

Her golden eyes lifted again.
"But if you prefer, I can change it."

Dante froze. "...Wait. What?"

"We have no gender where I come from. There is no need." Her voice was calm, without shame or care. "We were made for purpose, not reproduction."

Dante stared, mouth slightly open.

"...What a nightmare."

For the first time... Audriel smiled. Barely.

"So tell me, angel... why now? Why pull me out of that frozen tomb, just to dump ‘apocalypse’ in my lap?"

Her expression darkened, turning grave.

"Because you are no longer meant to be sealed." Her voice dropped like thunder before a storm. "You are meant to fight."

The wind stirred again—cold and sharp, rattling the grass. Somewhere far off, thunder rolled low against the sky.

She glanced to the distant hills.

"We should leave this place."

Dante sat up, groaning, cracking his neck as he stood slowly.
"Yeah... sure. But first—let’s find a place to lay low. And shoes for you."

"Shoes?" Audriel repeated, confused.

He blinked. "Seriously? You don’t know what shoes are?"

"I have no knowledge of this world’s customs. I have not been here since the Beginnings."

He stared at her a long moment. Then chuckled low and bitter.

"So you’re that old, huh."

"I suppose so," she answered without pride, only truth.

Dante ran a hand through his hair, glancing toward the horizon.
"Great. Stuck with a barefoot ancient angel who thinks genders are optional... and the world’s ending."

His smirk returned, sharp and tired.

"Just another Tuesday."

Chapter Text

Teleportation.
Of course she could do that.

One blink, one flicker of light, and they stood in the middle of a quiet town square—dim streetlights flickering, the air heavy with the scent of asphalt and late-night rain.

Dante whistled low. "That... was new." He glanced sideways. "You could’ve done that back in the prison, y’know. Saved us the hike."

Audriel sat on a bench without answering—calm, barefoot, staring at the strange electric lamps as if they were stars from another universe.

"Wait here," Dante muttered, cracking his neck. "I’ll get you something to wear before the town guard thinks you’re a lost nun or something."

He glanced down at his empty wallet. Great.

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

A casual brush past a few distracted night-owls… and their wallets felt suspiciously lighter.

Minutes later, he returned—two bags in hand, grinning like a devil.

"Alright, angel-girl. Got you everything you need to pass for human... at least until your next divine glow-stick moment."

He gestured. "Come on. Let’s find a place to stay."

They walked down the street—Dante striding ahead, Audriel silent behind him, barefoot on the pavement as if she felt nothing.

A run-down motel blinked in neon just ahead. Rooms by the Hour. Of course. Only the best for the apocalypse.

Dante paid for one night. The bored clerk barely glanced at them.

They stepped into the room—small, cheap, the scent of old smoke and cleaning bleach lingering in the air.

Dante dropped the bags on the bed and sighed.
"Here. These should fit you," he said, tossing her a bundle of clothes—simple things. Soft shirt, jeans, underwear, even shoes. He wasn’t totally heartless.

Audriel caught the bag lightly and, without hesitation... began removing her robe.

Right there.

In front of him.

Silently.

Cloth slid from pale shoulders and down, pooling at her bare feet.

Dante turned fast, ears burning.

"At least warn me!" he grumbled, staring hard at the cracked motel wall. "What the hell, angel? You don’t just strip in front of a guy like that!"

Behind him, the soft whisper of fabric continued.

"I have no reason to hide my body," Audriel said, calm, distant, utterly without shame. "You implied this shape was pleasing to human males. Why should I conceal it from you?"

He ran a hand down his face. "Because... dammit... that’s not the point..."

Why the hell did he turn around? He could have looked. Hell, any sane man would have enjoyed the view.

But this wasn’t just some bar girl.
This was... an angel.

A weapon of Heaven.

And him—a devil’s son.

It felt wrong.

And tempting as Hell.

"You’re killing me, angel," Dante muttered under his breath, staring at the wall like it held the secrets of the universe. "Pure torture."

A quiet pause.

"Would you prefer I alter this form? Would you find a male body less distracting?"

"No!" Dante snapped, spinning halfway around before freezing as he caught her bare shoulders in the corner of his eye. "Stay like that! I mean—not like that! I mean... just put the damn clothes on already, will you?"

She blinked, tilting her head, golden eyes curious.

"Your species is... strange."

He groaned. "You have no idea."

She dressed slowly—fingers learning buttons, fabric, seams—as he kept his back turned, face burning, mind racing.

The weight of doom on their shoulders. The end of the world creeping closer.

And here he was—babysitting a barefoot, awkward angel who didn't even understand why being naked in a motel room with a man was a problem.

"This is going to be a long apocalypse," Dante muttered.

Behind him, the bed creaked softly as she sat.

"I am finished dressing," Audriel said simply.

Dante let out a breath and turned—only to freeze again.

She sat perfectly still on the bed, wearing the clothes he’d picked—soft, simple, human. Yet somehow the divinity still clung to her like perfume. Bare feet brushing the floor. Golden eyes watching him with quiet curiosity.

"...You kept the shirt loose," he murmured, eyeing the way the collar slipped wide across one shoulder.

"It is more comfortable this way," she said.

His gaze lingered.
His pulse quickened.

"Right. Comfortable." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure."

She tilted her head again.
"Are you aroused?"

Dante nearly choked. "What—no! Jeez, lady—don’t just say stuff like that!"

"I must observe all human responses," she said, as calm as ever. "This is part of my mission."

He sat down hard in the creaky chair, groaning.

"Long apocalypse," he muttered again.

.

The motel room hung in silence.

Dante leaned back in the old chair, boots up on the tiny table, hands folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded as he watched the strange angel in human clothes sitting cross-legged on the bed like a child waiting for instructions.

"So... what happens now?" he finally asked.

Audriel didn’t even blink.

"We wait."

He raised an eyebrow. "Wait? For what, exactly?"

"Second orders."

Dante shifted, frowning. "Second orders? What the hell were the first ones?"

Her calm gaze turned to him, unblinking.

"Watch you. Determine your intentions. Choose whether to seal you or not."

His smile flickered. "Great. So Heaven’s babysitter and executioner. What if I don’t choose a side, angel?"

"You will. Eventually."

"Right." He chuckled bitterly. "Fate, destiny... the usual boring crap."

Silence stretched.

"So," Dante grinned, "since you’re not gonna blast me or drag me back to Hell... I can do whatever I want until your next 'order' shows up?"

"Yes. Until Gabriel commands otherwise."

His grin faltered. "Gabriel. The Archangel Gabriel."

"Correct. He gives me orders."

"Of course he does." Dante sighed. "Wonderful. Heaven’s golden boy’s got his leash on you, huh?"

Audriel didn't answer.

But then—a soft sound broke the stillness.

A quiet, low growl.

Dante’s head tilted.

Audriel blinked, frowning faintly, one hand touching her belly with childlike confusion as the unfamiliar sensation curled through her body again.

"...What was that?" she murmured.

Dante groaned, pushing out of the chair. "That, angel, is called hunger. Your shiny new meat-suit needs food." He grabbed his coat. "Great. Like babysitting a cosmic toddler."

"I require nourishment?"

"Yeah. You need food. Like everyone else now." He pointed at her. "You. Stay here. No glowing, no teleporting, no weird heavenly stuff. Don’t open the door for anyone. Don’t go outside. Got it?"

She tilted her head again. "Why would I leave? You told me to stay."

"Exactly. Good girl." He muttered under his breath, heading for the door. "Freakin’ angel... it’s like taking care of a damn kid."

He yanked the door open, casting one last glance back.

Audriel still sat on the edge of the bed, hands gently resting on her lap, barefoot and patient, golden eyes staring at the door.

Waiting.

For food.

For orders.

For something more.

Dante sighed, stepping into the hallway. "Long apocalypse," he muttered. "Real long." The door clicked shut behind him.

Chapter Text

The motel room stayed quiet after Dante left.

Audriel sat perfectly still on the bed like a statue carved from moonlight, bare feet dangling above the worn carpet. The hum of the old air conditioner buzzed gently in the corner. She glanced around. Walls, ceiling, floor... strange objects everywhere.

Her glowing gaze landed on the black box against the wall—the TV.

She stood, stepping lightly across the room. Her fingertips brushed the buttons curiously.

Click.

The screen flickered to life.

Moans filled the room. Wet, breathless, rhythmic.

Her head tilted.

Onscreen: two sweaty humans, entwined on a bed, moving in ways she’d never seen before.

Audriel stepped closer, mesmerized.

"So this is... human reproduction?" she murmured aloud, studying the scene as if watching a distant, slow ritual.

The man on the screen gave a hard slap to the woman’s backside, making her gasp sharply, twisting beneath him.

Audriel blinked.

"Why does he hit her?" she asked softly, genuinely puzzled. "Did she do something wrong?"

No answer.

She sat on the bed, face glowing softly in the blue light, utterly fixated.

Minutes later, the door creaked open.

Dante stepped in, plastic bag full of greasy food in hand.

"Alright, angel, I got burgers, fries, maybe you’ll like—"

He froze.

Eyes wide.

TV moaning loudly. Audriel sitting politely on the bed, head tilted, watching the very explicit adult film with the innocent curiosity of a child watching National Geographic.

"Oh shit—TURN THAT OFF!" Dante barked, dropping the bag on the little table, stumbling for the remote like a man trying to disarm a bomb.

"But I don’t understand—" she said, her voice smooth and curious, "why is he hitting her? Is this punishment? Or affection? She seemed to enjoy it. Is this normal reproduction technique on Earth? Does it work differently here?"

"SHUT UP!" Dante groaned, face flushing deep red as he stabbed the power button and the screen went black.

Silence fell.

Audriel calmly turned her golden gaze on him, blinking slowly.

"...I thought I was learning about this world," she said, sounding genuinely confused. "You did not tell me not to activate the visual device."

Dante ran a hand down his face, groaning. "I shouldn't have left you alone in a damn motel room... this is why angels shouldn't touch technology..." he muttered, grabbing the food bag and tossing it on the table.

"So that is not standard Earth mating ritual?" she asked softly behind him.

"FOR GOD’S SAKE, NO!" Dante snapped, throwing a napkin on the table. "That was a very specific... very wrong channel... you just happened to pick the worst... never mind."

Audriel tilted her head again. "But the woman smiled. She wanted him to hit her?"

"STOP TALKING." Dante groaned, sitting hard in the chair and burying his face in his hands. "Just... eat your burger. Forget the TV. Forget the slapping. Forget everything. Dear Heaven..." he muttered.

Audriel said nothing, only quietly opening the bag and peeking inside with innocent curiosity.

"Smells... interesting..." she murmured, gently picking up the warm burger, sniffing it.

Dante sighed heavily, eyes still covered.

"Longest apocalypse ever," he mumbled.

.

The room was quiet now.

The TV was off. The shadows of the cheap lamp stretched long on the walls. Outside, the occasional car passed, its headlights sweeping gently across the window.

Audriel sat on the edge of the bed, small bag of fast food in her lap. She poked the burger, turning it curiously in her hands as if unsure whether it was meant to be disassembled or bitten whole.

Dante leaned against the wall, watching her with a strange mix of amusement and discomfort.

“Go on,” he said finally, voice low. “Bite it. You eat it, not study it.”

She blinked, looked at him, then carefully lifted the burger to her mouth.

A tentative bite.

Chewing. Slowly.

She stilled. A flicker of something unreadable passed over her face—like wonder trying to reach the surface of a still pond.

“This is… warm. And salty. And soft.” She chewed again. “Very different from light. Or energy. Or pure grace.”

Dante huffed softly, sitting on the chair near the table. Watching her.

“Welcome to real food, angel. Or... former angel. Or whatever the hell you are now.”

“I was not informed it would be like this.” She took another bite. Thoughtful. “Pleasant. Strange.”

They ate in silence for a while.

He sipped his soda. She bit gently into a fry like it might burn her.

Then he spoke, quiet and a little casual, but the words hung in the air.

“From now on, you’re Audrey.”

She blinked, slowly turning her head to him.

“‘Audriel’ is gonna stand out. And you wanna walk around down here without every demon and curious human sniffing you out... you need something normal.”
A pause.
“‘Audrey’ works. Close enough.”

She stared for a moment longer, then gave the smallest nod.

“If that is what you want. Audrey, then.”

Dante frowned faintly.

“You’re good at following orders, aren’t you?”

She said nothing. Just kept eating, calm, accepting.

It unsettled him. The way she simply obeyed. No question. No thought. Like if he’d told her to stand in the corner, face the wall, and count the paint cracks for hours... she’d do it without blinking.

Soldier.

That’s all she was.

A being made only for command. Not for living.

And for the first time, Dante didn’t like that.

“Don’t you ever... argue?” he asked, frowning. “Question anything?”

She shook her head softly, licking salt from her thumb in an oddly human gesture.

“I follow orders. That is my design. I am not made to doubt the chain of command. Gabriel gives the word. I act. Now you give the word... so I listen.”

“That’s messed up,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “You just... what, live like that? No choices? No wondering why?”

She tilted her head. “Why would I wonder? That is the human way. Not mine. Purpose is enough.”

Dante leaned back in the creaking chair, staring at her.

Silent.

Watching this strange creature—barefoot, eating a burger, glowing faintly in the low light like something that had no place in this dirty world. Something that obeyed because she didn’t know how not to.

It made something in him twist.

“Eat your fries, Audrey,” he said quietly.

She smiled, soft and obedient, reaching for another.

He sighed.

The quiet settled again.

Thunder rumbled far away.

Tomorrow would bring demons. Maybe worse.

But tonight, there was only quiet... and this strange, fallen angel learning the taste of salt and grease for the first time.

Chapter Text

It had been weeks—maybe months—since Audrey rescued Dante from the claws of the American government, dragging his half-dead, half-naked ass out of a black-site holding cell built to contain things like him.

Since then, they moved like ghosts through the backroads of America—city to city, motel to motel, cheap coffee to cheaper whiskey. Dante hadn’t even bothered counting the towns anymore. Names blurred. Neon signs flickered the same shade of weary yellow. Dust. Rain. Cold rooms that smelled of mold and old wood.

And her.

The angel.

Audrey.

She trailed him like a quiet shadow—watching the world with those strange eyes that didn’t belong to this plane. She didn’t speak much. Didn’t eat unless he made her. Slept like she was waiting for a blade to slide between her ribs. And when she did open her mouth… well.

“Why do humans fold their clothes before dying?” A question over pancakes at a diner. A real head-scratcher at 6AM.

Dante only groaned, stuffing more hashbrowns into his mouth. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe they want to meet Death dressed up nice.”

He hadn’t asked what angels thought about dying. He wasn’t ready for that conversation.

This nightwas like the others. Almost.

A rundown motel off some highway where the desert stretched forever. A cracked neon sign buzzed above: “Last Rest Inn”. How fitting.

Dante flipped the door key in his fingers and nudged the door open, pushing into the dark room. Smelled like old cigarettes and sin.

Audrey stepped inside after him, silent as ever.

“Home sweet home... for the next six hours,” Dante muttered, tossing his sword down against the wall.

She glanced around curiously, fingertips brushing the motel lamp, the old rotary phone, the worn-out Bible bolted to the drawer. She picked up the TV remote like it was a relic of the past, staring at the buttons.

“Touch that and you’ll summon something worse than a demon,” Dante warned, toeing off his boots.

She blinked. “You mean... pornography channels?”

He choked on his breath and coughed. "God, you learn fast."

He forgot angels could learn. Worse—they remembered.

Dante slumped onto the bed, sighing into the ceiling. Audrey stood there, unmoving. No orders. No heaven. No purpose. Just... him.

For some reason, that made his gut twist.

"You know," he said lazily, "you’re not bad company, featherhead."

She turned her head, curious.

"I expected you to try and stab me by now. Or drag me back to Heaven for judgment." He grinned. "You’ve got terrible work ethic for an angel."

"I have no orders. I only follow orders." Her voice was flat. Simple. Like reciting scripture.

That bothered him.

A lot.

"You ever think for yourself?" he asked, turning his head to look at her—really look.

She stood there in the dark motel room, bathed in pale streetlight leaking through the blinds. Barefoot. Still in the human clothes he bought for her. Strange and beautiful and lost.

"If I told you to sit in that corner... stare at the wall ‘til morning... you’d do it, wouldn’t you?" he muttered.

She paused.

"Yes," she said simply. "If you commanded it."

He sat up on his elbows, frowning. "Don’t say shit like that."

"Why?" Genuine confusion.

"Because I’m not your God. Or your master. And I don’t need another soldier in my life... I need you to live. Think. Want. Something."

Silence. A heavy, thick pause filled with things neither of them could name. Her gaze dropped, unsure. Like a child scolded. Like a sword told to rust.

Then her stomach growled. A soft sound in the quiet room.

He sighed, falling back onto the bed. "Great. Now I gotta feed you again."

"I don’t need—"

"You’re human enough to get hungry, featherhead. Deal with it." He reached for his coat. "Stay put. I’ll grab food from the gas station down the road. No opening the door, no TV porn channels, no wandering into the void, got it?"

She blinked once. "Understood."

He groaned. Like babysitting a divine toddler.

Still... as the door clicked shut behind him, Dante allowed himself a grin.

He wasn’t sure when, but... somewhere along the way, this wandering life with her had stopped feeling like punishment.

And started feeling like... company.

Maybe more.

Maybe worse.

.

The gas station was lit like every other one Dante had ever been dragged into at 2AM—flickering fluorescents, the smell of burned coffee and despair thick in the air. The attendant barely glanced at him over the rim of a porn magazine.

“Classy joint,” Dante muttered, grabbing a plastic basket.

He passed the sad display of instant noodles. Looked down at the awful sandwiches sweating in their plastic prisons.

"Food of the gods," he sighed, tossing two into the basket.

Why the hell was he doing this?

Dante Sparda. Son of a legend. Slayer of demons. Saviour of worlds.

Buying gas station sandwiches for a literal angel.

He snorted under his breath. Maybe this is Hell.

He grabbed chips. Bottled water. Cheap chocolate bars. She didn’t know what real food was anyway—might as well make the culinary experience complete.

Then he paused.

Tampons.

His eyes narrowed at the shelf.

"...No. Nope. She’s Heaven’s problem in that department."

.

When Dante returned to the motel, the room was dark except for the pale light leaking through the blinds. Quiet. Still.

She was asleep on the bed. Or what passed for sleep with angels.

He stood in the doorway, bag of junk food in hand, staring.

Audrey—Audriel—lay curled, her long hair slipping down her shoulder, hand resting lightly on her chest like someone who forgot how to dream properly. The coat he gave her half-covered her legs. Bare feet. Calm face. Too calm for someone who shouldn’t know what peace even was.

He frowned.

Something about the sight bothered him.

He shifted his weight against the doorframe, eyes narrowing.

She trusted him completely. Didn't question. Didn't speak unless spoken to. Like a weapon without a master. A sword in its scabbard waiting to be drawn.

And that made something deep in his gut twist.

He wasn’t built for this. For looking after lost soldiers of Heaven.

“You’re supposed to kill things like me,” he muttered under his breath.

No answer.

He sighed. Tossed the gas station bag onto the table and rubbed the back of his neck.

Sleep. Maybe tomorrow they’d hit the next town. Or the next demon nest. Or maybe Hell itself would split open and spare him from this slow, strange domestic life.

But not tonight.

Somewhere Else. Somewhere Higher.

Audriel dreamed.

And in the dream stood Gabriel.

Golden, terrible, distant. Wings like knives folded behind his shoulders. His voice cracked the void itself.

“Audriel.”

She fell to her knees. “Commander.”

His eyes burned with light that cut through her.

“Your mission is incomplete. Orders are clear now. You will seek and destroy the Order of Sparda.”

A rush of images filled her mind. Shadows. Cultists. Forgotten texts. Sparda’s name whispered like poison by those who warped his legend. A demonic cult twisting the truth. Planning something dark.

She swallowed.

“They... honor Sparda?”

“They betray him.” Gabriel’s voice rumbled like distant thunder. “They seek to wake what must remain sealed. You will destroy them, root and branch.”

A pause.

“And Dante?”

Her breath caught. “He... behaves human. Eats. Sleeps. Protects people. He shows no demonic corruption. No evil intent.”

Gabriel’s gaze sharpened.

“But his blood remains the same. Watch him. Report. Should the corruption grow... you know what must be done.”

Her chest tightened.

“Yes. Commander.”

The dream broke.

Audrey stirred softly, breath catching, fingers curling against the sheet.

Dante sat on the chair by the window, boots off, coat draped over the backrest, watching her in the pale neon light.

Her face twitched faintly—dreaming of something.

Orders from above?

Did Heaven still reach for her in sleep?

He rubbed his jaw, thinking. Watching.

An angel without purpose. A demon hunter without rest.

What a joke the universe was.

His eyes flicked to the food bag on the table. To the way she curled so small on the bed.

"Should’ve let her stab me when we met," he muttered. "Would’ve saved me a fortune in motel bills."

Still.

He didn’t get up. Didn’t move.

Just watched her.

Frowning. Thinking.

And wondering if one day she’d wake from that dream with new orders that wouldn’t include keeping him alive.

The cheap motel microwave hummed like an old demon with asthma. Dante leaned against the counter, waiting for the sad gas station sandwich to finish nuking, cracking his neck to the side with a tired grunt.

Behind him, the beds creaked. Audrey sat cross-legged, sleep-rumpled, hair tangled, blinking slowly like someone who’d woken up in the wrong world. Again.

He glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Bad dream?" he asked, casual.

She nodded. Staring. "Gabriel spoke to me."

Of course he did.

Dante sighed and cracked open a water bottle. "What’s Heaven want this time? My head on a stick? My soul in a jar?"

She tilted her head. "No. Not yet."

A pause.

"New orders. Find something called the Order of Sparda."

Dante froze, halfway to sipping. Slowly lowered the bottle.

"...Order of Sparda?" His voice dropped, quiet and thoughtful. "That’s a new one."

She blinked, face neutral. "A cult. Humans. They use your father’s name. Gabriel says they are dangerous. To be destroyed."

"Figures." He scratched the back of his head. "Dad's fan club keeps getting weirder by the decade."

The microwave dinged. Dante grabbed the sad, hot mess of a sandwich, tossing it onto the table with two chocolate bars.

"Well... no big surprise there. Seems like every maniac with a robe and candles thinks they can borrow Sparda’s reputation to throw a barbecue for Hell."

Audrey just watched him. Quiet. Curious.

"Tomorrow," he said, sinking onto the creaky chair across from her. "I’ll sniff around. Call some people. Find out where this cult’s nesting. Right now...?"

He slid one of the chocolate bars toward her.

"We eat. And sleep. And try not to dream of flaming swords and angry archangels."

She picked up the chocolate, turning the wrapper slowly in her fingers. Like it was an artifact.

"Is this food?" she asked, genuinely.

"Sort of." He grinned crookedly. "It’s sugar and regret pressed into a bar. Humanity’s proudest invention."

She peeled it clumsily. Took a cautious bite.

Her eyes went wide.

"...Sweet." She sounded surprised.

"Yep. That’s why it’s dangerous. Like most things down here."

Audrey kept chewing, slowly, like trying to decode the flavor.

Dante grabbed his sandwich, took a lazy bite. It was awful. It was perfect.

"You always this serious when you wake up?" he asked around the mouthful.

She blinked. "I receive orders. I must follow them."

He snorted. "You could’ve said 'yes'. Would’ve saved breath."

Her gaze stayed on him, quiet and calm. Then—small. Barely there—a curve at the corner of her mouth. The faintest ghost of a smile.

Dante stared.

"...Was that a joke? Did an angel just make a joke?"

She tilted her head. "I have learned from you."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Great. My legacy. Teaching angels bad humor and bad food. Sparda would be proud."

A strange, warm quiet settled between them. The sound of the city outside, cars humming low. The motel’s buzzing lights.

For the first time in a while, Dante didn’t feel like the world was ending right that minute.

She broke the silence. "You are not afraid of my orders?"

He glanced at her.

"I should be," he admitted, shrugging. "But nah. You’d’ve killed me already if Gabriel wanted that. And until he changes his mind... you’re stuck eating chocolate and gas station sandwiches like the rest of us poor sinners."

Her fingers tightened on the wrapper. "I will obey."

"I know." He sighed. "Just... obey after we sleep, okay?"

Another faint, soft smile. Stranger this time. Almost human.

"Okay."

They ate in the flickering light, quiet, strange and almost... comfortable.

For now.

Chapter Text

The sun was low, bleeding red across the cracked highway. Dante zipped up his jacket as he left the gas station bathroom, rubbing the back of his neck and yawning.

Damn motel coffee. Went straight through me.

He glanced toward the car.

Audrey sat in the passenger seat, perfectly still. Radiant in that strange, untouchable way of hers — like a statue that forgot how to be human.

And leaning against the open window was a woman in leather shorts, fishnets, and enough cheap perfume to kill a lesser demon.

A working girl. Smiling, cooing, calling Audrey “sweetheart”.

Dante froze halfway to the car.

Oh hell. She’s a sin magnet. Figures.

He watched, curious, waiting to see if Audrey would strike the woman with holy fire or quote scripture about fornication and eternal damnation. Instead—

"I’m sorry," Audrey said softly, head tilting like she didn’t understand why this woman was speaking to her. "I am not seeking reproductive exchange."

The prostitute blinked. "Huh?"

Audrey continued, flat and calm. "You are offering copulation. I do not require this service. But thank you for your kindness."

Dante nearly choked on his gum.

Holy shit, she said that out loud?

The woman straightened up, blinking at Audrey like she’d just been propositioned by an alien.

Dante sighed, pushing off the post and heading for the car.

"Forgive me," he said, slipping between them with a crooked grin. "She’s mine."

The woman looked him over, smirked knowingly. "Figures. The quiet ones always get the freaky boyfriends." She winked at Audrey. "Good luck, sugar."

Audrey just stared, expressionless.

The prostitute walked off, hips swaying toward the store.

Dante opened the driver’s door, glancing at Audrey with a tired, amused sigh. "You cannot talk to people like that."

"I was honest," she replied, dead serious. "She offered mating services. I declined."

He scrubbed a hand down his face. "You make everything sound like a biology textbook. One of these days you’re gonna get us arrested."

Audrey turned her head, curious. "For what crime? Rejecting copulation is not illegal."

"Yeah... but being that weird about it should be."

Silence settled as he started the engine, the old radio crackling with static before kicking into some low rock tune.

Audrey folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Did you urinate successfully?"

Dante almost swerved off the damn road.

"Stop asking that," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's weird."

She stared out the window, serene as ever. "I am learning human habits. Bodily function confirmation appears common in some cultures."

Dante sighed again, glancing sideways at her.

"You’re lucky you’re cute, angel."

Audrey said nothing. But the faintest curve ghosted at the corner of her mouth.

The road stretched ahead, quiet and endless, as the car rumbled toward trouble.

.

The road stretched dark and quiet under the wheels of Dante’s old car. Audrey sat straight-backed in the passenger seat, staring at the stars like they were old acquaintances. The hum of the radio filled the silence, crackling out some bluesy tune that suited the tired leather smell and the engine's lazy rumble.

Dante was just thinking about stopping for another coffee—or hell, maybe some bad motel sex just to feel alive—when the phone buzzed in his coat pocket.

Trish.

He glanced at Audrey.

“Keep quiet for a minute, angel. Business call.”

Audrey blinked. “Understood.”

He hit the button on the dash. The car speakers popped, and Trish’s voice filled the cab, smooth and low like cigarettes and trouble.

“Dante. You finally picked up. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.”

“Working. Running. Hiding from the FBI. Usual,” Dante said, smirking. “What’s so urgent, blondie?”

A pause.

Then her tone dropped, sharp and cold.

“You’re heading into Fortuna, aren’t you?”

Dante’s smile faded.

“Maybe. Why?”

“Bad news waiting for you there. Big bad.”

Audrey’s head tilted slightly, listening without a word.

“The Order of Sparda,” Trish continued. “That religious cult? They’ve gone full lunatic. Experiments with demonic power, summoning things they shouldn’t. And their leader... a man named Sanctus. Wants to become some false god. Uses a thing they call ‘The Savior’ — a giant statue powered by hell energy.”

Dante drummed his fingers on the wheel.

“Religious nutjobs with demonic toys. Cute. So what’s new?”

“This isn’t the usual backyard demon summoning. They’ve got power, Dante. Real power. And they’ve been collecting anything and everything related to Sparda.”

That made him glance at Audrey — her expression unreadable in the dark — before looking back to the road.

“Figures. I knew dear old Dad would cause problems even from the grave.”

“Listen carefully,” Trish said, voice low and warning now. “There’s someone else in there. A kid. Name’s Nero. Apparently a demon hunter like us, but... he’s with the Order. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Word is he’s not exactly loyal. Might be playing them from the inside. I don’t have details yet... but try not to kill him.”

Dante chuckled, slow and dangerous.

“Now why would I kill some poor confused boyscout?”

“Because you have a bad habit of shooting first and asking questions never.”

Audrey finally spoke, quiet and clear.

“This ‘Nero’... his name is familiar. You spoke it in your sleep.”

Dante’s gaze snapped to her, surprised.

Trish’s voice cut in. “Wait... who the hell is that with you?”

Dante sighed.

“Long story. I picked up a stray angel. She cooks, cleans, asks weird questions about urinating, and apparently spies on my dreams. You’d like her.”

Audrey nodded solemnly. “I am not a stray.”

A beat.

“...Dante, you are unbelievable.”

“Thanks for the compliment. Anyway, thanks for the heads-up, Trish. We’ll poke around Fortuna, see what this Order’s cooking. If Nero shows up, I’ll play nice.”

“You’d better. And Dante... be careful. Something feels wrong about all this. Worse than usual.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Dante leaned back in the seat, rolling his neck until it cracked.

“Well, angel. Looks like we’re walking into a cult after all.”

Audrey watched him. “The Order of Sparda... they are connected to the reports Gabriel wants. This is why I was sent.”

“Great. Heaven’s approval and Hell’s fury. Story of my life.”

She was quiet for a moment, then:

“Nero. I would like to meet him.”

Dante gave a tired half-grin.

“You and me both, sweetheart. You and me both.”

The car rumbled on into the darkness, toward a city neither of them would leave unchanged.

Chapter Text

When they arrived in Fortuna, Dante did something strange.

Two rooms.

Audrey tilted her head slightly when he dropped both keycards into her hand.

“This is unusual,” she said. “You never took two rooms before.”

Dante gave her a crooked smile, tired and a little wicked.

“You’re a big girl, angel. Time to sleep alone like the rest of humanity.” He winked. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring food. You can poke at that TV you love so much. Try not to blow up the minibar.”

She didn’t understand the joke. She never did.

Inside her room, Audrey sat down on the stiff motel bed, pulling her knees up like a soldier awaiting orders. Dante left, leather coat swinging behind him.

And came back... with food. And a girl.

His room smelled of cheap perfume and sweat and lust long before they made it to the bed.

They kissed. She giggled against his mouth. His hands slid over bare skin, mechanical, practiced.

But the moment her breath hitched and she pulled him closer, Audrey’s face appeared in his mind—stoic, serious, those pale eyes staring like she was judging from the next room.

He paused.

“You okay, babe?” the girl whispered against his jaw.

“Yeah. Fine. Just... tired.”

He tried again. Pulled her beneath him. Kissed her throat.

But it wasn’t her throat in his mind.
It was Audrey’s voice. Flat. Cold. Honest.
As if you touched her, she’d simply blink and say ‘explain this.’

The weight of it soured the moment.

Dante sighed, pulled away.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Not tonight.”

The girl sat up, shrugging, adjusting her skirt. “It’s fine. Happens. Guys do this all the time when they’re fighting with their girlfriend and feeling guilty.”

Dante rubbed his face, snorting softly.

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Sure,” she smiled knowingly. “Whatever you say. I won’t charge you. Good luck, lover boy.”

She left, door clicking shut behind her.

Alone now, Dante groaned into his hands, dragging them down his face.

“Son of a bitch... what the hell is wrong with me?”

He crossed the hall and knocked on Audrey’s door.

It opened instantly.

She stood there, expression blank, white tank top and bare feet, staring up at him like she’d been waiting.

“Are you done?”

He blinked.

“What?”

“Having sex?”

His heart stuttered. “Wait—what? What the hell are you talking about?”

Her head tilted. Calm. Completely honest.

“I have good hearing. Your heart rate was elevated. Your blood smells infected, but only partially... not like battle. Like... mating. Then you stopped. Twice.”

She stepped forward.

“Why did you stop? Did she displease you? Or were you thinking of something else?”

He slapped a hand across her mouth, leaning down fast, close.

“Stop. Don’t say another word,” he hissed low. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t want to talk about this. You understand?”

Wide-eyed, she nodded.

Slowly, carefully, he removed his hand.

They stood there. In the dim motel light. A demon hunter and an angel. Neither belonging in this shitty human world, pretending like they did.

“Good girl,” Dante muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Audrey watched him, blinking.

“Your heart is still fast,” she said softly.

He groaned and shoved past her into the room. “You’re gonna drive me insane, angel.”

She closed the door gently behind him.

Audrey stood still, watching him as he rubbed the back of his neck, sighing deeply.

“Is it because of the woman from earlier?” she asked softly.

Dante froze.

“What?”

“The woman said it’s normal,” Audrey continued, voice flat and calm, as if reading the weather. “That this happens when you fight with your girlfriend. The woman on the phone. Earlier. It’s because of her that you stopped, isn’t it?”

He stared at her, blinking slowly.

“You can hear everything, can’t you?” he muttered, part amazed, part horrified.

She nodded once. “Yes. Is it because of her? Trish, right?”

His stomach tightened. For a moment he almost laughed — what the hell kind of angel was this? Blunt as a hammer, subtle as a gunshot.

He sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face.

“No,” he said finally. “It’s not her.”

Audrey’s head tilted slightly, curious. “Oh. Then... why did you stop?”

Dante stared at her. At those eyes, pale and too clear, watching him like he was some specimen under glass. No judgment. No shame. Just that cold, honest curiosity she always carried.

“I...” He hesitated. Scratched the back of his head.

Why did I stop?

He couldn’t say. Couldn’t put into words that the image of her — standing quiet in the next room, alone, waiting for orders that would never come — had lodged in the back of his mind like a splinter.

He couldn’t admit that the thought of touching someone, anyone, while she sat there like some obedient ghost felt... wrong.

He couldn’t explain that.

So he just sighed and said, low and tired, “I don’t even know.”

Audrey blinked slowly. Studied him in silence.

For the first time, Dante felt like she could see straight through him — all the way down to whatever ugly, twisted thing sat behind the wisecracks and grins.

But she only nodded once, accepting his answer without question.

“I see.”

Then, quietly, as if it didn’t matter:

“Next time... you should take me with you. I want to understand what humans do when they mate.”

Dante groaned and pointed toward the bed.

“Go to sleep, angel. Please. For the love of God.”

“But I don't feel like sleeping” she murmured.

“Then pretend,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Pretend real hard. Or I swear I’ll check into a third room.”

Her lips twitched — almost a smile.

A weird silence settled between them. Oddly peaceful.

And Dante sat down on the edge of her bed, head in his hands, wondering what the hell kind of strange partnership he’d signed himself into.

Chapter Text

The city stank of incense and lies.

Dante crouched on the rooftop beside Audrey, the moon behind him, casting silver light over the great, grotesque 'cathedral' below — the Order of Sparda’s den.

For a while, she said nothing. Eyes locked on the building, jaw set, her expression sharper than usual. Like an old blade uncovered from rust.

It was rare to see her show feeling. Stranger still to see irritation bloom behind those blank, obedient eyes.

“Not a fan of churches, huh?” he muttered, cocking his head toward her.

“This is not a church,” Audrey said, voice low, cold. “It is a mockery. A house of blasphemy, built on the name of Sparda... by humans who believe they understand what they worship. They do not.”

Her hands were clenched tight. Even that was rare.

Huh. So the angel could get pissed.

For some reason, Dante found that reassuring. Like she was finally cracking open the shell of endless soldier obedience and showing something... real.

He stood, cracked his neck, and grinned.

“Stay here. Don’t cause trouble,” he said, walking toward the edge of the roof.

She didn’t argue. She only nodded — eyes fixed on the false church below.

He leapt.

The glass of the skylight shattered beneath his boots as he crashed into the ‘cathedral’, landing hard and heavy before the gasping faithful below.

A robed priest flinched back, raising a trembling hand to ward him off.

Too late.

Bang.

The priest’s head snapped back, blown apart by a single shot from Ebony.

Screams filled the air. Masked soldiers drew their blades, the air thick with demonic power.

Dante cracked his neck again, rolling his shoulders like a man waking from a long nap.

“Alright... time for mass.”

The first sword swung — he ducked, spun, fired. Masked faces cracked and broke as demons revealed themselves beneath flesh and bone.

In the chaos, a sharp, familiar voice rose — feminine, panicked.

“Kyrie!”

A girl with trembling hands and tears on her cheeks ran toward a tall, armored man — Credo — eyes widening in horror at the massacre.

And behind her—

Nero.

Eyes wild, voice desperate. “Kyrie, stay back!”

A young man — lean, sharp-eyed — broke through the crowd, shoving toward the girl.

There you are, Dante thought.

Nero.

He saw the tension in the kid’s shoulders. The anger. The spark that didn’t belong in some holy soldier.

The spark of something else.

Their eyes locked — and in the next instant, Nero was flying toward him.

The clash was quick, vicious. Nero moved faster than expected. Stronger, too.

A blow drove Dante back. Another sent Rebellion clattering from his grip.

And then — the kid caught him. Pinned him against the massive Sparda statue like a sacrificial lamb, impaling him clean through the chest.

For a heartbeat, the cathedral fell silent.

Nero turned, breathing hard. Done.

Then came the voice — low, amused, unfazed.

“Gettin’ better, kid.”

Nero spun around in shock.

Dante grinned, pulling Rebellion free from his chest with a wet, metal scrape. The wound closed as fast as it opened.

“I’d even say I underestimated you.”

Nero’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not human.”

“We’re the same... you, me... and them.” Dante nodded toward the masked soldiers — some now dead, their monstrous faces exposed.

Fangs. Horns. Ash-gray skin. Not human.

“Though...” Dante added, glancing at Nero with a knowing look, “I suspect you carry something a little... different.”

“What are you talking about?” Nero snapped.

But Dante looked up — through the broken glass ceiling. He could see the moonlight.

Dante shrugged, stepping back toward the hole he’d made in the ceiling.

“You’ll learn the meaning soon enough, kid.”

He tipped an imaginary hat.

“But business beckons. Adios.”

And with that, Dante vanished up into the broken roof, leaving the boy to shout after him:

“Hey!”

But the Devil Hunter was gone.

Outside, on the rooftop, Audrey waited in silence — listening to the sound of the fading battle, her expression dark as the cursed church below.

For the first time in her life, she was ready to break orders.

And that made Dante smile when he returned to her side.

Audrey watched as Dante climbed out of the building and walked toward her, blood staining his shirt, Rebellion back in his hand.

He sat beside her, still catching his breath.

“Did you kill them all?” she asked.

“Nah,” he replied, wiping blood from his face. “Let the new guy take a few swings.”

“You let him stab you,” she noted calmly.

Dante smirked. “Everyone needs a confidence boost sometimes.”

She stared at him, tilting her head slightly. “He’s not human either.”

“Nope.”

“A descendant of Sparda?”

Dante didn’t answer.

Audrey looked up at the moon, her expression unreadable.

“They’re breeding monsters in this house of God.”

“Yeah,” Dante said, leaning back against the slanted rooftop, eyes half-closed. “And they’re calling it salvation.”

Chapter Text

Night hung heavy over the city as Dante and Audrey trailed Nero from the shadows, slipping down alleyways and quiet streets. Nero’s pace was urgent — no doubt chasing after answers that burned like fire in his gut.

“Kid’s in a hurry,” Dante muttered, adjusting Rebellion on his back. “Someone forgot their bedtime cocoa.”

Audrey stayed beside him, silent but alert, eyes flicking toward Nero’s form ahead. After a moment, she said softly, “He holds Sparda’s blood.”

Dante’s smirk faltered. He glanced sideways at her.

“You sure about that, feathers?”

“I can feel it. His energy.” She paused, almost frowning. “It’s... imperfect. Raw. Like a branch from a withered tree, but the roots are ancient. Sparda’s... two millennia old, yes?”

Dante grunted. “Give or take a few birthdays.”

“It would be strange if you and your brother were his only legacy,” she continued, calm as ever. “Demons... desire to reproduce, do they not? Like humans. Sparda spent centuries here — it would be improbable that he left only two sons behind. Humans multiply in thousands. Perhaps demons, too, when they remain here long enough.”

She turned to him then, unblinking.

“And from what I’ve learned of you — you also desire reproduction. Frequently.”

Dante choked on a laugh. “Reproduction, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She tilted her head, confused. “Is it not?”

“Oh, angel... no wonder Heaven’s so damn boring. You’ve got the words, but none of the fun.” He grinned wide, leaning toward her. “I don’t think Sparda was busy building a family tree because he wanted grandkids. He probably just liked the... process. Can’t blame him. You seen human women lately? Dangerous curves all over the place.”

Audrey frowned, still thinking. “But you... your urges. Are they because you are half-human? Or because you are demon?”

“Both, sweetheart. Best of both worlds.” He winked. “And I use every damn part.”

She blinked, no shame, no embarrassment — only cold logic. “That explains your constant desire to seek partners in hotel rooms.”

Dante snorted. “Damn right it does. And here I thought angels didn’t pay attention to that part of life.”

“I notice everything,” she said plainly. “You are the only demon I’ve studied in depth.”

“In depth, huh?” Dante flashed his teeth. “Careful how you say that. Sounds like you’re takin’ notes on me for more than just observation.”

“I must understand demon behavior to fulfill my orders. Even your... biological flaws.” She paused, thoughtful. “Desire seems to be the biggest one.”

Dante barked a quiet laugh. “Flaw? Nah. It’s the best part. Shame you angels don’t get to have that fun. Stiff wings, stiff rules... no wonder you’re all so uptight.”

She said nothing, eyes distant as they followed Nero’s silhouette disappearing into another street. But for a second, a spark of irritation — maybe curiosity — flickered behind her blank gaze.

“Maybe Sparda enjoyed that ‘flaw’ as well,” Audrey murmured. “Which is why Nero exists. Proof of your father’s desires... left behind to grow wild among men.”

Dante's smile faded slightly, thoughtful now.

“Yeah... maybe so.”

Nero vanished around the corner.

Dante stretched, cracking his neck. “Guess the old man left more surprises than we thought.”

“We should watch him,” Audrey said simply. “If he’s Sparda’s blood... he’s part of this. Like you. Like Vergil.”

Dante chuckled low. “Great. Another family reunion. Can’t wait for Christmas dinner.”

He holstered Ebony and Ivory with a soft click.

“Let’s tail him, feather girl. No more talk about daddy issues and demon sex drives. For now.”

Audrey blinked. “Very well.”

But she smiled — the faintest curve of her mouth.

And Dante noticed.

.

The hotel room smelled faintly of old wood and cheap detergent. Audrey stood by the window, her gaze distant, cold moonlight casting soft light over her features.

“I must contact Gabriel about this… Nero,” she said simply. “His existence changes the equation. The presence of another with Sparda’s blood cannot go unreported.”

She turned to face Dante, expression unreadable as always.

“While I am away, you are free to engage in reproduction. Or copulation. With any willing female specimen available in this establishment or nearby. I will not interfere.”

Dante groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Gee, thanks for the blessing, feather girl. Real generous of you.”

She tilted her head. “I assumed this permission would improve your mood. You appear… frustrated.”

“Yeah, well, I was trying before. Not that it worked out.” He threw himself back onto the bed, arms behind his head. “But you ruin the mood just by existing.”

She didn’t react. Just gave a small nod.

“I will return shortly.”

With that, the soft glow of angelic energy shimmered around her, and she vanished — gone to report to her superior.

Dante lay there in the quiet, staring at the ceiling.

“As if I haven’t tried this before…” he muttered bitterly. “But you’re such a badass, feather girl. Can’t even get laid properly with you hanging around in my damn head.”

His hand ran through his hair, exhaling hard. It wasn’t like her to tell him to go sleep with someone — that almost made it worse. Like she knew what he’d been trying and failing to do.

He’d had every chance. In cities, in bars, in this very hotel.

But every time, something felt off. Like some cold, invisible hand closing around his gut and pulling him back. And it pissed him off.

And he sure as hell wasn’t ready to admit — even to himself — that it was because of her. The weird angel with no shame, no clue about human ways, and no fear. She’d lodged herself into his world, his job, his space.

And, apparently... his head.

“Shit,” Dante muttered, rubbing his jaw, frustrated. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

But he knew.

And that made it worse.

He sighed, flopped sideways on the bed, and grabbed the remote to drown the silence in some awful TV noise.

“Damn angel…” he muttered.

The room felt way too empty without her.

The door shimmered softly as Audriel returned, stepping into the dim hotel room without a sound. The faint flicker of the muted TV cast pale blue light on Dante, sprawled on the bed with one arm behind his head, idly flipping channels like none of them mattered.

She said nothing at first.

Neither did he.

Until the silence started to itch.

“So...” Dante finally drawled, tossing the remote aside and glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “You said angels don’t, uh... copulate. Damn, what a terrible word, by the way.”

Audriel tilted her head slightly. “It is accurate.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you make cool things sound weird. Like it’s a superpower.” He sat up a little. “But that’s it, huh? No... urges, no desire?”

“We were not made for that purpose,” she replied plainly, standing still like a statue by the door. “Creation, for us, does not involve union the way humans experience it.”

“But you’ve got, you know…” He gestured vaguely at her body, raising a brow. “Parts. Under the armor and righteous glow.”

“Reproductive organs,” she said, as if it was the most boring piece of information in the universe. “Yes. In this body.”

He stared. “Jesus. You can’t just say that like you’re discussing the weather.”

“But it is simple truth.”

“And your real form? The one without all the... flesh and feathers?”

“I have no specific gender in my true form. My being is shaped by my function. This body is constructed for combat efficiency, a soldier’s design. Others are built for different purposes... healers, messengers, guardians. Form follows need. We don’t choose.”

Dante snorted softly. “So you really are a soldier. Never seen you fight, though.”

“You will. If there is need.”

A strange promise, quiet and sharp like the edge of a blade. He filed that away.

“So... what, no curiosity? You’ve been on Earth nearly six months. Not once felt... attracted to anyone?” he asked, watching her carefully, some part of him almost wanting to catch her in a lie.

She blinked slowly. “I do not recognize that kind of feeling. I was not created with that desire.”

“But you feel other things. Hunger. Tiredness.”

“In this body, yes. Sleep, hunger... pain. All responses of this temporary vessel.”

“Then you must feel other things,” Dante pressed, leaning forward now, sensing something strange — something unfinished in her words. “Desire’s not just about sex, you know. Curiosity... fear... want. You’re human-shaped. That stuff comes built-in, sweetheart.”

Audriel was silent for a moment. Her gaze turned toward the TV, the flickering blue shadows dancing across her pale face.

“It is possible,” she finally admitted. “But not... recognizable to me. I do not understand what these feelings are. Not yet.”

Her voice was softer now. Honest. A rare crack in her usual, unshakeable calm.

Dante leaned back again, folding his arms behind his head, a slow grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Scary thought. An angel with feelings and no idea what to do with them.”

She said nothing. But her eyes flicked to him. Quiet. Watching.

And for the first time in a long while... Dante felt more human than demon. And maybe, just maybe... not so alone.

"Guess you'll learn sooner or later," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Earth has a way of dragging that stuff out of you."

Audriel stood there in silence. But for some reason... she didn’t deny it.

Chapter Text

The quiet hum of the bakery filled the morning air, warm with the scent of fresh bread and coffee. Dante leaned back in the wooden chair, watching Audrey sip her black coffee like it was a necessary medicine rather than pleasure.

“So…” Audrey began, putting down her cup. “We’ll keep an eye on Nero for now. His orders will mirror yours — monitor for any sign of evil, corruption... or death.” She said it casually, as if it was no heavier than discussing the weather. “Apparently he isn’t important enough to require sealing... at least not yet.”

Dante raised an eyebrow at her nonchalant tone and smirked, leaning forward. “Sure, sure. But let’s take it slow first, after coffee, huh?” He picked up his glass and slurped the bright strawberry smoothie like it was the most serious task in the world.

Just then, the waitress returned with a tray, setting down Audrey’s sandwich. But she also carefully placed a small, glossy pudding pie in the middle of the table.

“We didn’t order that,” Dante said, eyeing the little dessert.

“It’s on the house,” the waitress replied with a smile.

“Why?” Audrey asked flatly.

The girl pointed to the sign by the counter — Valentine’s Day Special: Free Dessert for Couples.

Audrey opened her mouth, starting to protest. “But we—”

“Thank you,” Dante cut in smoothly, smiling up at the waitress.

“You’re welcome! You two are cute together,” the waitress grinned before bouncing away, humming cheerfully.

Audrey frowned, glancing sideways at him. “Why did you accept? We’re not—”

“Because I like sweets,” Dante said simply, already pulling the little pudding pie toward him with a satisfied grin. “No way I’m passing up free dessert. Especially when it’s pudding.”

Audrey stared at him in silence for a moment, then took a bite of her sandwich without a word, as if weighing whether to say more.

“Besides,” Dante added between spoonfuls, smirking, “it’s kinda nice being called ‘cute together’ once in a while. Even if you’re a terrifying angel soldier with no clue what Valentine’s Day is.”

“I know what Valentine’s Day is. A pointless human ritual driven by biological impulses and commercial interest.”

“Exactly,” Dante grinned wider. “And pudding. Can’t forget the pudding.” For a brief moment, Audrey almost — almost — looked amused.

.

The wind howled as thick snowflakes fell heavily onto the ruined stone walls surrounding the forgotten castle. Dante pulled his red coat tighter around him, boots crunching in the deepening snow.

“I swear, if I freeze out here because you made me wait, I’m haunting you for the rest of eternity,” he muttered, glancing sideways at Audrey, who stood perfectly still, completely unaffected by the cold. Of course.

“Your body temperature is higher than average. You won’t freeze,” she replied calmly, her eyes fixed on the castle courtyard below.

“Yeah, but my patience isn’t,” Dante grumbled.

Down below, the sound of metal clashing snapped their attention back to the scene. A woman with short blond hair, dressed in a ridiculous, skin-tight outfit that screamed trying too hard, moved gracefully through a group of enemy knights. Each strike of her blade was elegant, almost theatrical.

“She’s good,” Audrey said simply.

“Mhmm.” Dante smirked. “That’s Gloria.”

Audrey turned her head toward him, sharp and suspicious. “You know her?”

“Oh yeah. That’s Trish,” Dante said casually, like mentioning the weather. “The woman who called me on the phone. She’s been posing as ‘Gloria’ to infiltrate the Order’s upper ranks. Executive of the Holy Knights, fancy title and all. Doing a little spy work for us.”

Audrey stared at him for a long moment, unimpressed. “And when were you going to tell me this?”

Dante shrugged, smirking wider. “Hey, you’re not the only one around here with secrets.”

“I don’t have secrets,” she stated flatly.

He snorted, pulling out a cigarette but not lighting it, just playing with it between his fingers. “Everyone’s got secrets, angel. Even you.”

“I am incapable of deception. My orders are absolute and transparent,” she said without blinking.

“Sure,” Dante chuckled, sliding the cigarette back into his coat. “And I totally believe you. Just like I believe demons are misunderstood fluffy kittens.”

She shot him a sideways glance, but said nothing.

He grinned. “See? Secrets.”

Below them, Gloria — Trish — finished her display, standing victorious among the wreckage of armored corpses. Dante let out a low whistle.

“Show-off,” he muttered, then glanced at Audrey. “We better keep an eye on our little spy too. You never know which side she really wakes up on in the morning.”

“I thought she was your ally.”

“She is.” Dante smirked. “But like I said... everyone has secrets.”

The snow kept falling, silent and endless, as the two of them stood side by side, watching the pieces of the Order’s puzzle fall into place.

Chapter Text

The bathroom door creaked open, letting out a wave of steam as Audriel stepped into the room, rubbing a towel over her still-damp hair. Dressed simply, barefoot, face clear of her usual stoic composure, she caught Dante’s eye from where he lounged on the bed, flipping channels on the TV.

Without preamble, her calm voice broke the quiet.

“So... that woman is your type?”

Dante blinked, looking over at her with raised brows. “What? Where’d you get that idea?”

“I saw it on television,” she said plainly, pausing to squeeze some water from the ends of her hair. “Men showing interest in women dressed like that... provocative, revealing. Gloria’s attire matches that description.”

Dante snorted, smirking. “Of course this comes from TV. Great education you’re getting there, featherbrain. But why ask? Curious?” His voice dropped, teasing. “Or... are you jealous?”

She blinked, honest confusion flickering in her pale eyes. “I don’t know what that is.”

His grin widened as he sat up on the bed, leaning forward, eyes locked onto hers. “Jealousy, sweetheart... that’s when you don’t want someone you like to give attention to anyone else. Makes you feel... tense. Weird. Almost angry. Like you wanna pull ‘em back and keep ‘em to yourself.”

Audriel’s gaze sharpened, uncertain, something shifting in her chest she couldn’t define.

He stood, closing the distance between them, stopping just an inch too close. His voice softened, low and dangerous.

“Is that what you felt? When you saw me watching Gloria? Did you want my eyes back on you?”

Her breath hitched — the first break in her perfect, unshaken composure. She didn’t step away.

“I...” Her fingers tightened on the towel. “I... don’t know. It felt... wrong.”

Dante chuckled softly, pleased. “That’s jealousy, angel. Careful. You’re starting to feel like us filthy humans.”

She frowned slightly, looking down, uncertain. Something uncomfortable stirred inside her — warmth? Possessiveness? No... impossible. She wasn’t made for that.

“I wasn’t built for such feelings,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“And yet... here you are,” Dante whispered, leaning in just enough for her to feel his breath against her ear. “Questioning. Feeling something.”

For the first time since she had descended to Earth, Audriel didn’t have an answer. And Dante knew it.

He grinned wider, triumphant.

“See? Told you... everyone’s got secrets.” She stared at him, silent — but not denying. Not anymore.

.

The room was as it always had been — bright, endless, pure. Walls of white light, the hush of eternity, the scent of something divine and untouched by Earth’s filth. In the center stood the great statue of angels, wings outspread, gazing down with unreadable eyes.

Audriel stood there, not as the quiet woman in human clothes — but in her true form. Tall, slender, radiant. Her long hair shimmered like threads of silver and gold, cascading down her back. Her wings—vast, perfect—rose behind her, their edges glowing softly like dawn light breaking through clouds. Her gaze, clear as crystal, was troubled.

Gabriel appeared before her, calm, resplendent as ever. His armor shone like polished steel touched by sunlight. His face bore the peaceful certainty of one who had never doubted.

Audriel bowed her head. Her voice, pure and soft, broke the silence.

“I feel that I am no longer fit for this mission.”

Gabriel’s expression didn’t change. No surprise. No disapproval. Only quiet inevitability.

“This was always to be expected, sister,” he said gently. “You are wearing the flesh of Man. You walk among them too long... feelings will awaken. It is the flaw of every vessel. You are not the first.”

Her wings trembled slightly — a sign of distress no human would ever see.

“I have been struggling to control these... feelings. Desires. Longing. Attachment. The human shell is affecting me.” She lifted her gaze, shining and fierce. “What should I do?”

“Your orders remain unchanged,” Gabriel replied without hesitation. “There will be no replacement, Audriel. You must finish your mission. You are strong. You were chosen because you could endure what others could not.”

“But I...” her voice faltered — something new, fragile, breaking through her certainty. “I do not know what is happening to me. I fear I will not be able to finish this. I fear... myself.”

For the first time, Gabriel's gaze softened — barely.

“What are you afraid of, sister?” he asked softly.

Audriel stood silent. Her eyes wavered. Her wings curled slightly inward.

“I... do not know.”

It was the only truth she could offer.

And it terrified her.

Chapter Text

The old hotel room was dim, the smell of rain and old wood lingering in the air. Dante sat on the battered couch, reading the notes Trish had passed to him through a coded message. Audrey stood by the window, silent and thoughtful, her gaze fixed on the snowy streets outside.

“She was right,” Dante muttered, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. “The Order’s building something called The Savior. Big, ugly, and full of demonic juice. Guess what they’re using to power it?”

Audrey turned, eyes sharp. “Sparda’s relics.”

Dante gave a small nod. “And a hell of a lot of demonic energy. The whole place reeks of it.” He leaned back, sighing. “Sanctus must think he’s making some kind of holy messiah... but that thing’s nothing but a demon engine waiting to blow.”

Audrey’s expression darkened, her form tense. For the first time since she’d descended to this mission, she felt true alarm—not for Dante, nor for Nero—but for the balance itself.

“This explains it...” she murmured.

“Explains what?” Dante asked, frowning.

She stepped away from the window, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor.

“The seals,” she said softly. “The ancient locks between Hell and this realm... they are weakening. Cracks are forming because of this.” Her glowing eyes fixed on him. “By using Sparda’s relics—sacred artifacts of demonic and angelic heritage—the Order has broken divine laws. They’ve disturbed the old pact that keeps the Underworld sealed.”

Dante stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in.

“You’re saying this Savior crap could start the Apocalypse.”

“Will, not could,” Audrey corrected coldly. “If the seals shatter, the legions of Hell will flood this world. Earth will burn. Heaven will interfere. It will be... the end of everything and everyone”

A heavy silence filled the room. The storm outside hissed against the glass.

“Well, shit,” Dante muttered, standing and cracking his neck. “Guess we better crash their little messiah party before they light the fireworks, huh?”

Audrey stepped closer, her gaze steady. “We must act soon. Before the cracks widen beyond repair. Or not even your strength will be enough to stop what’s coming.”

Dante smirked, spinning Ebony in his hand. “Good thing I don’t like waiting.”

For the first time, Audrey felt a flicker of fear—not for herself, but for this world. And for him.

The end was closer than they thought.

.

The cold air clung to them as Dante and Audriel stood on the rooftop, following Nero’s frantic trail through the snow-covered city. Below, the young knight sprinted down the street, fury and fear sharpening his every movement.

Audriel remained silent, her golden eyes fixed on him.

Nero’s desperation was obvious. Ever since Kyrie’s kidnapping, his energy had shifted—anger, protectiveness, something deeper. Something she recognized.

Fondness. Attachment. Love.

Human feelings.

He is not so different from Dante, she thought, glancing sideways at the devil hunter beside her, who chewed idly on a toothpick, his gaze as watchful as hers.

For the first time, uncertainty flickered inside her.
Judge or protect?
Was this young man, touched by Sparda’s blood, meant to be destroyed before he became a threat? Or was he something else—something precious in this fragile world?

He carried the Sparda lineage, that was undeniable. And with it, the potential for destruction as great as Dante’s... or Vergil’s. The old order would demand that she end this now, prevent the possibility of ruin. That was her mission.

And yet... she hesitated.

He fights for her.
He suffers because of her.
Is that not what makes him human? Like Dante? Like... you? a quiet voice whispered inside her.

Audriel's fingers flexed lightly, the memory of Gabriel's words heavy in her mind.

"Finish your mission. There will be no replacement, Audriel."

But Nero—this furious, flawed, protective soul—did not yet deserve judgment.

Not yet.

Dante broke the silence beside her, his voice low and dry. “You’re staring holes into the kid’s back, you know.”

She didn’t answer.

“You thinking of smiting him or saving him, feather girl?” he added, giving her a sidelong glance, the edge of a smirk on his lips.

Audriel turned away, expression unreadable.

“I do not know,” she murmured.

And for the first time since arriving on Earth, she meant it.

Chapter Text

Standing before the cold, towering gates of the Order's hidden castle, Audriel felt the weight of the divine pressing down on her.

“We can’t simply destroy this place, not yet,” she said quietly, her gaze distant. “I need to see it all... understand the full extent of their corruption. If I don’t report everything to Gabriel—if we miss something—this could happen again. Somewhere else. By other hands.”

Dante shoved Ivory into its holster, cracking his neck. “You and your reports. Fine. But don’t take too long, feather girl. These fanatics give me the creeps.”

They stepped through the great hall, the echo of their boots bouncing off the marble floors, torches flickering along the walls carved with Sparda’s face—twisted, worshipped, wrong.

At the main corridor, they paused.

“We separate here,” Audriel said, sensing the branching flow of demonic energy in different directions. “I will go to the sanctum. I need to see their heart—the source of their heresy.”

“And me?” Dante grinned. “You gonna leave me wandering like some lost tourist?”

“You’ll look for him. The boy.” Her eyes briefly flickered toward him, sharp and knowing. “I can feel it. You’re as curious as I am, Dante. About what he really is.”

He shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Maybe. Kid’s interesting, I’ll give you that.”

Audriel said nothing more. But in her chest, the quiet unease stirred again.

We are all watching him now, she thought. And something tells me... he may change everything.

Without another word, they split apart—angel and devil—vanishing into the dark veins of the corrupted Order.

.

The deeper Audriel descended into the heart of the Order's fortress, the stronger the stench of corruption became. It was not merely demonic energy that stained these walls—it was something worse. Something that smelled of broken laws and Heaven’s fury.

She reached a vast iron door, locked by seals inscribed with false prayers. A simple touch of her true power shattered them. The door creaked open, revealing the hidden laboratories.

Inside, horror greeted her.

Metal cages lined the walls, filled with wretched things—creatures whose bodies twisted unnaturally between forms. Some bore angelic wings marred by demonic corruption; others had horns and claws fused grotesquely with what were once divine features. Eyes—dozens, hundreds—watched her, pleading, snarling, suffering.

Audriel’s chest tightened.

Blasphemy... monstrous fusion of Heaven and Hell.

Her gaze swept over the worktables covered with stolen relics—feathers from seraphim wings, shards of celestial swords, even fragments of sacred seals. Their energy had been drained, leaving the air thin, brittle, as if reality itself might tear.

She reached for a torn scroll, its holy text desecrated and smeared with demonic runes. The writing spoke of purpose: “The Savior’s creation requires both the light of Heaven and the might of Hell. The seals must weaken, the gates must tremble…”

Audriel’s breath stilled.

So this is why the cracks in Hell have begun to spread. Why Gabriel warned of the Apocalypse stirring early. They’ve stolen from us... and shattered the balance.

The experiments were not merely forbidden—they were unraveling the foundation of existence itself. If left unchecked, this would open the path for Hell’s legions to pour forth... long before their destined time.

Her hand clenched at her side. There would be no mercy. No forgiveness.

But first, she must learn everything.

Gabriel had to know the depth of this sin. Only then could Heaven decide if Earth was still worth sparing.

With cold resolve, Audriel moved deeper into the lab, her glowing eyes reflecting the silent suffering of the abominations trapped within.

.

Audriel stood frozen in the center of the dark chamber, her eyes locked onto the feathers scattered across the cold metal tables. They had once shone with pure light—radiant and untainted—belonging to her kin, her brothers and sisters in Heaven.

Now they were stained. Twisted. Fused with demon flesh and dark magic.

The weight of it hit her chest like iron.

A low, pained breath escaped her lips. She felt it—not the numb, distant disapproval of an angel, but the raw grief of someone who belonged to these people. To this sacred order that had been violated.

How many of her kind had fallen, their forms ripped apart to feed this blasphemous ambition? How many cries of the heavenly host had gone unheard while these humans and demons built their monstrous "Savior" from holy remnants?

She reached out, her hand trembling, and touched one of the feathers. A faint spark of divine light flickered under her fingers—dying, fading.

The pain surged in her heart.

A single tear ran down her flawless cheek, trailing down to her chin, catching the faint glow of her celestial power.

For the first time since she had descended to Earth, she let herself weep.

Not for herself. Not for the mission. But for them—for her kin defiled, their bodies broken and bound into these abominations.

What sin… what horror have you wrought upon us? she thought bitterly. This world, this earth soaked in pride and corruption... they defile even the gifts the Lord gave them. They have broken the sacred law.

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as quiet fury built inside her. An offense against Heaven itself—against the favor and grace granted to mankind—and this was how they repaid Him.

The weight of it nearly made her fall to her knees.

But she stood tall, letting the grief burn and pass, transforming into something sharper. Colder.

I see now… this world is rotting.

A flicker of light passed through her golden eyes.

And in that silent moment, in the middle of the desecrated lab, she swore—this heresy would end. By her hand or Heaven’s. No matter what it cost.

She wiped the tear from her face, her expression hardening.

"Gabriel must know everything," she whispered.

Her wings twitched behind her, shining faintly in the darkness, and with one last sorrowful look at the ruined feathers of her people, Audriel turned and vanished into the shadows—her heart no longer untouched by the world of men.

.

The stone hallway echoed with footsteps—Dante’s heavy, unhurried stride mixed with the sharper click of heels. Audriel turned the corner—and stopped.

There he was again. But this time… not alone.

At his side stood a tall woman with pale skin, golden hair, and piercing eyes that immediately locked onto Audriel. Trish. No longer disguised as Gloria—the demoness revealed in her true form. The energy around her was unmistakable.

Demonic.

Audriel’s gaze hardened, her posture straightening like a blade unsheathed.

Trish smirked. So this is her, she thought. The mysterious woman Dante had refused to explain on the phone, brushing off questions and changing subjects. Now it all made sense. Her golden gaze sharpened, amused.

"You smell like Heaven," Trish purred, circling slightly, "but you're hanging out with the devil? Bold choice, angel."

Audriel didn’t flinch. Her luminous eyes fixed coldly on Trish, no warmth, no diplomacy.

"Insolent demon," Audriel murmured lowly, voice tight with disgust. “Your kind dares to taint the relics of Heaven... and mock what you can never reach. How typical.”

The silence cracked like glass.

Dante blinked. This wasn’t the calm, reserved Audriel he knew. No quiet elegance, no distant curiosity. This was contempt—pure, sharp, and burning.

For a moment, his stomach twisted.
Is this how she looks at me?
He hid the flicker of doubt behind a smirk but it stung sharper than he expected.

"Easy there, feather girl," Trish said, amused but wary. "I'm not your enemy. Not today." She glanced at Dante. "She always this charming, or is this special for me?"

Audriel barely spared him a glance. "I came across your Order’s laboratories. I saw what they’ve done… what they’ve stolen. You may pretend neutrality, but your nature betrays you."

Trish’s playful smile faded, replaced by a more serious glint in her eyes. "I’m not part of their little game. I’m only here to make sure this world doesn’t end. Same as you... angel."

Audriel said nothing. Her gaze lingered on Trish, judging, calculating—but not attacking.

Dante stepped forward, trying to ease the crackling tension. "We’re all on the same side. For now." His voice dropped slightly. "Unless you wanna kill each other and let the world burn."

Audriel straightened, lifting her chin, mask sliding back into place. "I will tolerate this... alliance. But only until the Order falls." Her words were cold iron.

Trish gave her a small, sharp grin. "Tough crowd."

Dante watched Audriel closely, the memory of that disgusted glare lingering in his mind. Maybe… she sees me the same way. But he said nothing. Only grinned lazily, hiding the strange, quiet ache twisting in his chest.

For the first time since she’d come into his life... she wasn’t untouchable. She was something else. Dangerous. Divine. And maybe just a little too close to breaking.

Chapter Text

As Nero and Dante launched their final attack against the monstrous Savior, Audriel stood far above in the shadows of the shattered cathedral dome, her glowing eyes fixed on the battlefield below. Her hands trembled—not from fear, but from the strain of her hidden work.

She wove threads of divine light, invisible to human or demonic eyes, stabilizing the cracks in the seals of Hell that threatened to widen with each pulse of Sanctus' vile ritual. The Order’s corruption, their theft of angelic relics, and the profane creation of the Savior—it was tearing at the boundaries of the world, risking the Apocalypse Heaven feared so deeply.

"I can’t let it break... not yet..." she whispered softly, feeling the weight of her mission crushing her chest.

Below, the battle reached its climax.

Nero stumbled upon Sanctus, who stood with unholy reverence beside the colossal Savior—a grotesque statue resembling Sparda twisted by human ambition and demonic power. Kyrie hung unconscious, trapped in crystal light at the statue’s heart.

“Nero,” Sanctus purred, voice laced with false mercy, “you could surrender... and become part of the Savior’s divine core. Join Kyrie... fulfill your purpose. A holy sacrifice for humanity’s salvation.”

Nero gritted his teeth, defiant. “Screw you. I’m taking her back.”

He lunged—but Sanctus was faster. The trap snapped shut, a prison of divine energy slamming around Nero’s body, locking him in place. The Yamato slipped from his grasp.

Audriel tensed. She wanted to intervene—but she couldn’t. Not without revealing herself. Heaven’s law chained her hands. Her power could only protect the seals... not save the boy.

A flash of light—Credo appeared, eyes blazing with fury.

"Sanctus!" he roared, sword raised. "You used Kyrie for this?! I believed in you... and this is your salvation?!"

"Foolish knight," Sanctus sneered—and in a swift, brutal strike—drove the stolen Yamato blade into Credo’s chest.

Audriel gasped softly, her control wavering.

Credo fell—but before the abyss could claim him, Dante leapt into the air, catching him with practiced ease, landing beside Trish. Both watched helplessly as Nero was dragged into the Savior’s heart—his body glowing, consumed to serve as the core.

The monstrous Savior stirred, awakening with a dreadful groan, wings unfolding. It rose into the air, flying towards Fortuna.

Credo gasped his final breath, clutching Dante's arm. His eyes—burning with desperate resolve—met Dante's.

“Save them... Save Kyrie... and Nero... Please…”

Dante gently lowered him as the light faded from Credo's eyes. The once-proud general lay still.

Audriel turned her face away for a moment. This was the cost of sin. Of mortals and demons alike daring to play with divine and infernal forces.

But the seals held—for now.

Her gaze flicked to the Savior in the sky.

It wasn’t over yet.

As Dante clashed with the monstrous Savior, the battlefield trembled under the weight of demonic and divine forces tearing the world apart. Audriel, watching from above the broken spires, felt something unfamiliar twist in her chest—fear.

Fear... for him.

"Dante..." she whispered.

For the first time since her descent, she felt powerless—not by the laws of Heaven, but by her own heart.

"Please... let me help you!" Audriel cried aloud, her voice soaring into the heavens, pleading desperately for an answer. "Please, Father... I cannot bear to watch this!"

No light shone from above. No angelic host came. But deep within her being, the command—gentle, silent—arrived.

You may act.

A brilliant flash lit the ruinous battlefield as Dante thrust the Yamato into the Savior’s core. A sharp cry of steel and light—Nero awoke, freed from the heart-shaped prison that had held him captive. Gasping, he burst forth, alive and blazing with power.

Before the Savior could strike again—before Nero or Dante could be harmed—a divine presence descended.

The air turned pure and searing.

And there stood Audriel—in her full celestial form.

Her armor shone like the dawn, her eyes radiant with ethereal light, wings vast as the sky unfolding behind her. In her hands gleamed a great spear, forged in the light of the Throne itself. The very air around her stilled.

Nero staggered, eyes wide. "Wh-what is she?!"

Dante stood silent, struck by awe. “An angel.”

“A real angel?!”

“Yes,” Dante said softly, heart tightening. So this... this was what she truly was. So far from him. So unreachably divine.

She turned, gaze burning, and with one swift motion of her spear, stopped the Savior’s attack cold, the demonic colossus frozen under the sheer force of her divine will.

Together—Nero, Dante, and Audriel—struck the corrupted heart of the Savior. Inside the core, Sanctus appeared, grotesque and desperate.

"Sparda... lend me your power!" Sanctus bellowed in fury, clutching the relic of Sparda’s blade. "Why?! Why do you refuse me?! Give me strength to crush them!"

But the blade was silent.

Nero stepped forward, voice calm and certain.

"Because Sparda... wasn’t like you," Nero said. "He had a heart. A heart that could love. Without that, the sword will never answer you."

Enraged, Sanctus lunged—but Audriel was faster. With a single, merciless strike, her spear pierced him, holy light erupting through his form. His scream faded as his existence was wiped away by divine judgment.

Dante grabbed Nero and Kyrie as the Savior’s core collapsed around them, and Audriel shielded them with her wings, the holy energy pushing them free.

But it wasn’t over.

The Savior’s remains trembled—and twisted into a new abomination.

A False Savior, bearing Sanctus’ mocking likeness, rose once more.

"I’ll handle this," Nero said quietly, stepping forward.

Dante glanced at him. “You sure?”

Nero nodded. “Yeah... this is my fight.”

He closed his eyes briefly. "God... I don’t know what I am anymore. But if you’re watching... give me strength to protect the ones I care about."

His Devil Bringer blazed to life—crackling with awakened power. In one final, magnificent assault, Nero unleashed everything—strength, resolve, and heart—shattering the False Savior to dust, erasing Sanctus forever.

As silence fell, Kyrie ran into Nero’s arms. Dante rested Yamato on his shoulder, glancing at Audriel.

She stood apart, wings folding, her divine light dimming once more—her gaze falling on Dante.

He met her eyes, wondering what part of her would remain in this world... and what part would forever belong to Heaven.

But for this moment—they had won.

Chapter Text

The air over Fortuna was quiet at last. The battle’s thunder was gone, the Savior destroyed, and the sky—though heavy with ash—showed faint light breaking through.

Nero approached Dante near the city gates, Yamato in hand. His steps were slow, thoughtful.

“Hey,” Nero called. “Before you go... you forgot something.” He held out the sheathed blade.

Dante turned, glancing down at the sword before shaking his head with a small, rare smile. “Keep it. It’s yours now.”

“What?” Nero frowned. “But this belonged to—”

“To you,” Dante interrupted gently. “That power chose you. Sparda’s blood... his will... they live in you now. Take care of it, kid.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them—the first time they stood not as rivals or reluctant allies, but as something closer to friends.

“Will we meet again?” Nero asked, voice low, uncertain.

Dante only gave a vague smile and a half nod. “Maybe. You never know when things go south again.” He turned, heading toward the distant path that led away from the ruined city.

Before he vanished into the horizon, he glanced back, catching sight of Audriel watching from afar—her heavenly glow dimmed, her expression unreadable.

Nero stood watching him until gentle footsteps approached. Kyrie.

“Nero,” she said softly, her hand slipping into his. “It’s over.”

He turned to her, meeting her eyes—warm, full of quiet strength. “Yeah... it’s over.”

Around them the city lay in ruins, smoke rising from broken spires. But they felt no sorrow. No regret. Only relief, and the strange joy of surviving.

“I thought... you’d be afraid of me. After all this,” Nero murmured, glancing at his glowing Devil Bringer arm.

Kyrie only smiled and shook her head. “No. You’re still you. Always.”

He hesitated, then pulled something from his pocket—the delicate necklace she had given him.

“I think this belongs to you,” he said softly, slipping it gently around her neck.

Her fingers brushed his. She rose on her toes, pressing her lips to his.

The world faded—war, demons, angels, destruction—leaving only the quiet promise between them. They stood together in the broken city, unafraid of what lay ahead. For now... they were free.

From a distant, Audriel and Dante stood watching as Nero and Kyrie held each other beneath the quiet sky. The wind played gently with Audriel’s long, radiant hair; her wings shimmered in the fading light, ethereal and impossible to ignore.

Dante glanced sideways at her, a small grin tugging at his mouth.
“Funny... I almost forgot what you really looked like,” he said quietly.

Audriel didn’t meet his gaze. “Perhaps this form didn’t please you more than the human one I chose.” There was no bitterness in her voice—only cool, distant truth.

But to her surprise, Dante shook his head. His gaze lingered on her—proud, terrible, and breathtaking in her true form.
“You’re perfect like this,” he said simply.

A rare, soft smile curved Audriel’s lips. “Liar,” she murmured, almost amused. With a shimmer of light, her human form returned—smaller, fragile, light hair falling over her back. “This is easier... less troubling for mortal eyes.”

Dante shoved his hands in his coat pockets, eyes still on the square where Nero stood with Kyrie.
“So... what’s the verdict? On him? On me?”

She tilted her head, serene.
“The Lord let you both live. His word goes beyond mine... or the opinion of any in Heaven.” Her gaze turned toward him, steady and clear. “Even if I had chosen otherwise... it would not matter.”

He looked at her sidelong. “And what would you have chosen?”

Audriel’s expression softened. “That you would live.” She smiled gently. “That is enough for me.”

For a moment, Dante said nothing. The faintest warmth stirred in his chest—not lust, not hunger—but something stranger. Rarer. A quiet satisfaction.

“That’ll do, angel,” he said, smiling faintly. “That’ll do.”

They stood side by side, watching Nero and Kyrie kiss below as the quiet settled over the ruined city.

Dante smirked. "So... no kiss for me, huh? Kid gets the girl, gets the kiss... lucky bastard."

Audriel crossed her arms, walking ahead of him with her usual grace. "He saved her. You didn’t save me."

Dante raised a brow, grinning. "Well you saved me, then... guess I owe you one. Come here, angel."

She glanced over her shoulder, face calm but voice sharp. "I'm going to hit you."

He chuckled, falling into step beside her. "Worth it."

But behind the teasing, something softer lingered in his voice—a quiet truth he wouldn’t say aloud. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Some time after returning to his old home and half-abandoned house. The smell of dust and old wood greets him like an old companion. A knock comes at the door. He opens it to find Lady standing there, arms crossed, an awkward look on her face.

"Dante..." she begins.

He raises a brow, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Look what the cat dragged in."

She sighs, stepping inside. "I came to talk. To apologize."

He closes the door behind her, watching silently as she struggles with the words.

"I sold you out to the government. I... broke your trust. I thought I was doing the right thing... but I was wrong."

Dante stays quiet for a beat too long. Then shrugs.

"Yeah. You did piss me off." His voice is calm but firm. "But... I get it. Doesn’t mean I have to hold a grudge forever."

Lady looks at him, surprised.

"You forgive me... just like that?"

"Nah. Took me a while. But I’m tired of dragging old weights. I’ve got new problems now." He smirks. "Besides... I’ve got someone keeping an eye on me these days."

He jerks his thumb toward the side room. Audriel steps out, quiet and graceful in her human form, watching Lady with those unreadable, shining eyes.

Lady stiffens. "...Who’s this?"

"An angel," Dante says simply, watching Lady’s reaction with amusement. "The real deal. Wings, judgment, heavenly wrath—the works."

Lady’s eyes widen. "You're kidding."

Dante chuckles darkly. "Nope. Someone up there is finally watching me." He looks at Lady with a grin. "You’ve missed a lot."

Lady stares between them, at a rare loss for words.

"Don’t worry," Dante adds, patting her shoulder. "She’s only here to stop the Apocalypse. And maybe to keep me outta trouble."

Audriel raises a brow but says nothing.

Lady lets out a slow breath. "Yeah... I've definitely missed too much."

Dante laughs, the sound low and genuine, echoing in the quiet house.

.

They chatted a while—old stories, unfinished business, plenty of teasing jabs at Dante’s expense—before they made their way back to the office where Trish was lounging, looking amused as ever.

"I'm hungry," Audriel said suddenly, the human sensation still strange on her tongue.

Without protest or sarcasm, Dante stretched and headed for the kitchen. "Fine, I’ll get you something."

As soon as he was gone, Trish chuckled lowly. "Look at that. He’s trained already. Careful, angel... hang around him long enough and you’ll turn human in all the wrong ways." Her smirk carried just a hint of something suggestive.

Lady leaned casually against the desk, eyeing Audriel. "Really though. What’s an angel doing wasting time babysitting Sparda’s brats when you could be fixing Heaven’s messes upstairs?"

Audriel turned her shining gaze toward her—cool, calm, and utterly direct. "I owe no explanations to anyone lower in my Lord's priorities."
Her voice was not cruel. Simply... truth.

Lady raised her brows, whistling softly. "Well then. Touchy."

Before another word could pass, Dante returned, tossing a wrapped sandwich onto the desk. "Careful, ladies. She's still holy enough to smite if you talk too much."

Audriel allowed herself a small, secret smile.

.

In the corner of the dusty room, Audriel sat cross-legged on the floor, holding an old, battered jukebox module Dante had dragged out from who-knows-where. The thing looked as ancient as his coat.

“...And this button makes it play,” Dante explained, crouched beside her, his voice softer than usual—almost patient. “You pick a song here... No, not like that—gentle, feather girl. You’ll break it.”

She frowned, poking the buttons too delicately this time, as if afraid the machine might crumble under her fingers. “Humans... create such strange artifacts just to listen to music,” she muttered, confused but curious.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. This thing's got soul.” He grinned, leaning closer to guide her hand. “Here. Like this.”

From across the room, Trish leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, smirking as she watched the scene.

“Would you look at that,” she murmured to Lady, who stood beside her, equally intrigued. “He’s teaching someone without cursing once. A miracle.”

Lady glanced between the two and raised a brow. “He’s even... being gentle. I didn’t know Dante knew how to talk to anyone without being a sarcastic ass.”

Trish chuckled. “I did. But only with special cases.”

They both watched as Dante adjusted the dial, carefully moving Audriel’s fingers with his own. The machine crackled to life, playing some old rock song he probably loved decades ago.

Audriel tilted her head slightly, surprised by the sound, the vibration of music filling the room. A faint, curious smile touched her lips.

“There. See? Not so scary.” Dante’s voice was warm, softer than they’d ever heard.

Lady whispered, amused, “...He really likes her.”

Trish smirked wider. “Too much, maybe. He never teaches anyone his toys.”

Audriel glanced up at Dante, confused but intrigued. “This is... pleasant. I like this ‘music.’”

Dante grinned, sitting back on his heels, watching her with a rare ease in his eyes. “Told you. Gotta trust the human world sometimes.”

Across the room, Trish and Lady exchanged knowing looks—but wisely said nothing. For once, Dante wasn’t hiding anything.

Chapter Text

(After the fall of Fortuna, months later)

Morning light poured through the cracked blinds of Devil May Cry's office, slicing the dusty air with gold. The streets outside buzzed gently—the sound of scooters, footsteps, and late coffee runs—and Audrey walked alone among them now, blending in as best she could.

It had taken months, but the stiffness was gone from her shoulders. Her walk no longer felt like that of a watchful sentinel but of someone... human enough.

She carried the laundry bag on her hip, the plastic warm and fresh from Rose’s laundromat. A small ritual she had inherited because Dante slept in late—"Night shift only," as he liked to call it.

Rose, the sharp-tongued old woman who ran the laundromat, had greeted her the usual way:

"So... how’s the big guy?"
"He's fine. Working a lot lately."
"Tell him to take it easy or he’ll lose you."

Audrey didn’t correct her anymore. She’d stopped trying. Humans liked their assumptions neat, tied with a bow. Dante said it was easier to let them believe they were a strange couple rather than explain ‘celestial agent and half-demon mercenary sharing rent.’

"I’ll let him know," Audrey had promised politely.

Now, back at Devil May Cry, the familiar creak of the old wooden door announced her return.

"Welcome back, angel face," Dante called from the couch without looking, flipping through an old Rolling Stone magazine. "So... Rose asked about your favorite 'couple' again?"

Audrey set the bag of warm laundry on the table, pulling out a folded shirt, smoothing it carefully with her hands.

"She said you’ll lose me if you keep working all night," she said simply, not even glancing his way.

Dante grinned slowly. "What makes her think I’ve got you in the first place?"

Audrey’s fingers paused on the fabric. She gave a small smile, quiet and knowing, like a crack of sunlight through old stone.

"Maybe she sees something you don’t," she said softly.

For a moment the room stilled, the teasing weight of those words sinking deep. Like dust in sunlight. Like a secret hanging between them.

Dante chuckled low in his throat, pretending ease. But his eyes stayed on her longer than they should have.

"You gettin’ smart with me, feather girl?" he said.

"I learn from the best," Audrey replied, folding another shirt.

That strange ease again. That unspoken tension, stretched thin between them, quiet but alive. He leaned back, watching her like he’d never truly seen her before. Her hair loose, her steps easy, her human mask fitting like second skin now.

"You know, you could’ve just smote Rose and be done with these conversations," Dante teased.

"I like her," Audrey said simply. "She treats me like any woman. Not like an angel. Or a weapon."

That silenced him for a heartbeat.

"Maybe you’re finally figuring out this ‘Earth life’ thing," he muttered, half-proud.

She glanced sideways. "Maybe I just have a good teacher."

His smirk twitched. Something in his chest—warm and cautious—tightened.

"Well, you are my favorite apprentice," he grinned. "But don't go gettin' cocky."

"Too late," Audrey said gently, folding the last of his shirts.

For once... this quiet felt right. No demons. No Heaven’s judgment. No cracks in Hell leaking into reality. Just sunlight, laundry... and the strange gravity between them.

Small things.
But maybe that’s how it starts.

The old neon sign outside Devil May Cry flickered, fighting to stay lit against the gathering dusk.

Dante lounged on the leather couch, boots kicked off, staring at the ceiling fan that clicked every third rotation. His magazine lay forgotten on his chest.

Audrey moved quietly across the room, folding the last of the laundry on the old counter. Her movements had softened over the months—less stiff, less watchful. Human, almost.

Too human.

And it bothered him.

Not in the bad way. In the dangerous way.

He’d admitted it to himself weeks ago—hell, even Trish and Lady rolled their eyes when he pretended otherwise. Lady even poked him in the ribs once.

"She’s loyal as a dog, you moron," Lady had muttered. "And you look at her like you forgot how to breathe."

And that was the problem.

Audrey was loyal. Too loyal. Angel-bound, Heaven-forged. Whatever strange connection they’d built—the quiet moments, the stolen looks, the easy jokes—it could all be duty to her. Obedience. Friendship, maybe. Not the mess in his chest when she smiled.

He watched her fold his old red shirt—the one from Fortuna, the one still torn at the hem from his fight with Sanctus—and wanted to ask. Wanted to crack the silence wide open.

But what the hell would he say?
"Hey angel face, you wanna fall for a half-demon who smells like gunpowder and old whiskey?" Real smooth.

"You ever get tired of doing my laundry?" he muttered instead.

Audrey didn’t look up. "It’s relaxing. Less dangerous than killing demons."

He snorted softly. "And less fun."

"You sleep too much. Someone has to make this place livable." She glanced at him then, the barest hint of a smile tugging her lips. "Besides... I don’t mind helping you."

He froze a little at that. Helping you.
She always said things like that. Like it meant nothing more than duty.

"You always say that like it’s just work." He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don’t you ever... want something else? Something for you?"

Her hands paused on the shirt. Just for a moment.

"I do," she said softly. "But I don’t know what that is yet."

The quiet between them stretched again. Long. Thin. Strange.

He wanted to say something—Anything. Like how he noticed the way her hair caught the light. Or the small smile she gave when she thought no one watched. Or how the place felt... less empty when she was here.

But his mouth moved before his brain caught up.

"You know about... Rose thinking we’re a couple."

Audrey didn’t flinch. Just folded the shirt. Calm. Perfect.

"Yeah." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Funny thing is... you never deny it."

"Neither do you," she replied, voice quiet.

Dante blinked.

"Guess not," he said slowly.

For the first time in weeks, Audrey looked at him. Really looked. Steady. Thoughtful. Like she was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t know he’d built.

"You care about me, don’t you?" she asked gently.

It punched him low in the gut. Not cruel. Not accusing. Just... honest.

He scratched his neck, uncomfortable. Like the truth tasted bitter in his throat.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I do."

She tilted her head. "Why do you sound like that’s a problem?"

"Because you’re... you, angel face," he said roughly. "Loyal to the big guy upstairs. To orders. I don’t even know if you can feel something like... that." His voice trailed, unsteady. "I don’t want to screw this up. You staying here. Us."

Audrey was quiet. The air thickened like rain.

"You haven’t screwed anything up," she said at last. "And you don’t have to pretend. I see things too, Dante."

He met her eyes—clear, calm, but not cold. And something in his chest stilled.

"You do?" he asked.

She gave that tiny smile—the real one, rare and soft. "I notice when you stop breathing when I speak. When you watch me in the morning. When you pretend not to care what Rose thinks."

His heart hitched.

"Maybe I like it here... because of you," she admitted gently.

Dante felt something crack inside. Quiet. Careful. Something old and scared.

He stood slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Don’t make me soft, feather girl," he muttered, half-grinning. "It’s bad for business."

"You were soft before I came," she teased lightly.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. Damn her. She was learning.

They stood there—just breathing, just being—in the old dusty office that smelled like gun oil and sunlight.

And maybe, Dante thought, just maybe, this wasn’t so dangerous after all.

Chapter Text

The moon hung low and pale over the city, casting long shadows in the alleys where Dante and Lady prowled.

It was a quiet night—too quiet, maybe.

Word on the underground was strange: high-level demonic activity flickering at the edge of town. No solid sightings, just whispers. Like something old waking up and testing the air.

Lady adjusted the strap of her rifle as they moved, boots crunching softly over broken glass.

"You think it’s just talk?" she muttered.

Dante shrugged, eyes scanning the rooftops. "Usually is. But when the freaks start whispering... something’s sniffing around."

Lady glanced sideways at him, smirking.

"Your little angel would’ve sensed it by now."

Dante huffed, kicking a loose can out of the way. "Probably. She stayed back to keep an eye on the shop. Says the cracks in Hell feel... quieter tonight."

Lady chuckled, the sound low in her throat. "She talks like that now, huh? Funny. She’s not nearly as stiff as when she showed up."

He gave her a sideways glance.

Lady smiled knowingly. "She’s getting more human, you know. You can see it in the way she moves. Talks. Smiles." Her voice dropped just enough. "Maybe you’ve rubbed off on her."

Dante snorted. "Don’t make it sound weird."

"I mean it," Lady said, more serious now. "She’s... changing. I noticed it the last time she came to get ammo. She smiled at me. Laughed a little." Lady paused. "She didn’t do that before."

He said nothing, boots scraping over the pavement.

Lady waited a beat before asking softly:

"What do you think about that, Dante? About her becoming more... like us?"

The question hung in the dark like smoke.

Dante shoved his hands in his pockets, exhaling slow. His voice, when it came, was quiet.

"I don’t know." A pause. "Part of me thinks... it’s dangerous. For her. To change too much." He frowned, eyes on the alley ahead. "She’s pure. Clean. The kind of thing Heaven usually keeps on a short leash. And I’m not exactly the best influence."

Lady gave a dry laugh. Lady stepped closer, her voice low. "She’s not a soldier anymore, Dante. Not just Heaven’s weapon. She chose to stay here. To stay with you. That means something."

He said nothing, jaw tight. "She didn’t chose to stay here."

“But she chose to stay with you." Lady tilted her head, watching him.

"Unless you’re scared of what it means for you," she added lightly.

His eyes cut to her, sharp and blue, but not angry. Just tired. Uncertain.

"I’ve lost enough people because of what I am," he muttered. "Because I drag them into this life. I don’t want her to wake up one day and realize she gave up eternity... for me."

Lady smiled softly, almost kindly.

"Maybe she already knows. And maybe she thinks you’re worth it."

Silence. Only the distant hum of the city.

"You think she’ll stay?" he asked, the rare edge of doubt in his voice.

Lady gave him a look—calm, sure.

"I think she already has."

Before he could answer, a ripple passed through the air—cold, sharp, like breathing ice. Both hunters froze, instincts flaring.

Dante grinned, the moment breaking.

"Looks like our playdate's here," he muttered, reaching for Ebony and Ivory.

Lady cocked her rifle, smirking.

"Don’t dodge the question, Dante. We’ll talk about your angel girl later."

His soft groan was lost beneath the whisper of wings in the dark.

The fight didn’t last long.

Some demon wretch, malformed and cracked like old porcelain, crawling from the thinning walls between Hell and Earth. Hungry for a soul. Any soul.

But it didn’t get one tonight.

Dante emptied both barrels into its skull while Lady sliced its legs out from under it. Quick, brutal. Like old times.

"Pathetic," Dante muttered, nudging the corpse with his boot as the flesh began to melt into black ash. "If this is the best Hell can cough up these days, they’re getting desperate."

Lady wiped her blade clean and slung it over her shoulder.

"Don’t jinx it, dumbass," she muttered. "You’ll wake something worse."

Dante smirked, but didn’t argue. His mind was elsewhere.

The shop. Audrey.

The strange little peace that waited for him back there.

.

The door creaked open, letting in the cold breath of the city.

Audrey glanced up from the couch where she sat—barefoot, reading something human and old, her borrowed sweater slightly too large, sleeves covering her hands.

"Dante."

He raised a hand in greeting, dropping his sword gently against the wall by the door. Lady stepped in behind him, pulling off her jacket, muttering something about a drink.

"Miss me, feather girl?" Dante teased lightly, voice tired but warm.

"I sensed the distortion," Audrey said softly, setting the book aside. "It felt... shallow. Weak."

"Yeah. Some half-formed stray from the cracks," Lady muttered, flopping into the chair. "Didn’t even put up a real fight."

Audrey’s eyes lingered on Dante. "You’re hurt."

He glanced down—small tear at his sleeve, thin red line across his forearm. Barely worth noticing.

"Hell’s version of a paper cut," he said. "I’ll live."

But then she was standing, crossing the room, fingers gentle as they touched his arm.

"Still bleeding," she murmured.

Her hand glowed faintly—light like dawn trapped between her fingers. The cut sealed. Warmth chased away the sting.

Dante watched her in the quiet.

So human now. So soft in the way she touched him. Not a weapon. Not a messenger.

A woman.

Lady noticed from her chair, hiding a smirk behind her glass.

"You spoil him," she muttered.

Audrey said nothing, eyes still on Dante.

When she finally pulled her hand away, he caught her wrist, holding it a second longer than he needed to.

"Thanks," he said, quiet. Real.

"You’re welcome."

The air stretched thin again. Like wire.

Lady rolled her eyes and stood.

"Right. I’ll crash upstairs. You two keep... doing whatever weird slow-burn thing this is."

Dante snorted but didn’t let go of Audrey’s wrist.

When Lady was gone, the silence settled deeper.

"You waited up for me," he said softly.

Audrey gave a small smile. "You always come back. I wanted to see you."

His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist without thinking—so lightly she barely felt it.

"You are getting human," he teased, voice low. "Worrying like that."

She tilted her head, watching him. "Maybe I care what happens to you."

His breath caught. Just for a moment.

Then he smiled—a little softer. A little realer.

"Guess I am rubbing off on you."

The tension hung there between them, unspoken but warm. Like something waiting for the right moment to break.

Audrey pulled her wrist gently free.

"Your coat’s filthy," she said softly. "Let me clean it."

He let her go.

"Sure, feather girl. Whatever you want."

And as she moved away, his eyes stayed on her.

Lingering. Wondering.

Maybe—just maybe—there was still time.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight stretched pale and thin through the dusty windows of Devil May Cry, slipping over cracked wood and old walls, brushing against the small kitchen where Dante, Lady, Audrey, and Trish sat.

A strange sight, maybe. One humans. Two devil. An angel.

And breakfast—if you could call it that. Dante nursed black coffee, Lady was picking at toast, Trish leaned in her chair smirking, and Audrey... sat quietly, stirring tea she probably didn’t need.

"Never saw your name in any book," Lady finally muttered, watching Audrey curiously. "Bible or any old scripture. You weren’t from that department... would that be the right term?"

Audrey’s gaze lifted. Thoughtful. Patient.

"Yes," she said. "Angels of higher rank were assigned to the prophets. I was young... created long after the time of men like Adam or Eve."

"You’re an archangel, though," Trish said, raising a brow. "That’s not small potatoes."

"I am. But I was created to replace someone."

Dante, quiet until now, leaned forward, curiosity in his voice.

"Who?"

Audrey’s gaze dropped for a moment to the table. Her fingers tightened slightly around the teacup.

"When he fell from the sky... he took many with him. So a new order was made. A new legion. I was created to command one of those new hosts. But back then, I was too young, too untested to deal with prophets. If he hadn’t fallen... I wouldn’t be here."

"You're talking about L—"

"Don’t say his name, please" Her voice, gentle but firm, cut the air. Like the whisper of a blade.

Dante fell silent. His mouth closed.

"Sorry," Lady murmured, eyes lowering. "Didn’t mean to stir up bad memories."

"It’s all right." Audrey’s small smile was genuine. But far away.

Trish, ever sharp, leaned in.

"Do you miss it?" she asked. Curious. Almost childlike. "Heaven, I mean."

Audrey hesitated.

"Sometimes."

A single word. Heavy as stone.

And for some reason... it hit Dante hard. A quiet, dull thud in the chest. Of course she missed it. The peace. The light. The certainty.

Not this world. Not this messy, cracked, broken place where devils and men crossed paths. Where she waited for missions. Did laundry. Sat across from him at breakfast.

"What’s it like?" Trish asked softly. "If you can tell me. I’ll never get that close, after all."

Audrey’s eyes lifted. Warm. Lost in memory.

"Peace," she said gently. "It’s always peaceful. No matter the moment. No confusion... no fear... no pain. The feeling of him being near, whole, complete. Like every part of you is connected to the Source. Like breathing light."

"God?" Dante asked low.

"Yes," she whispered.

He shifted in his chair. Something sour behind his teeth.

"You can still feel him, right? I thought he was supposed to be... everywhere."

"He is." Audrey smiled faintly. "But it’s different here. I can sense him only when I focus, when I search. When I’m distracted... busy... I lose the thread. And then it feels... incomplete. Like a quiet ache in the chest."

Her hand touched her collarbone unconsciously. Like something long gone still rested there.

For a moment, no one spoke. The shop felt old. Like a church abandoned by time.

Dante glanced away. Hated that look on her face. That faraway sadness. The homesickness no devil—or man—could ever fix.

"You’ve lost a lot... to be here," he said quietly, half to himself. "All for some war between Heaven and Hell that never seems to end."

Audrey’s eyes turned to him. Steady.

"Maybe. But I’ve found things here I never would have known otherwise."

A small smile.

"Like music," she added softly. "Like bad coffee and laundromats... and people who stay awake at night to make sure the cracks stay sealed."

Dante held her gaze. His fingers drummed once against the cup.

For the first time that morning... she wasn’t looking at Heaven.

She was looking at him.

.

The shop was quiet.

Too quiet.

The hum of the fridge was gone. The old fan in the corner sat dead and useless. Even the neon Devil May Cry sign flickered once... then died for good. No power. No water. No phone. No connection to the outside world except the damn morning light filtering through grimy windows.

Dante sighed, booted feet resting on the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

"Guess they finally cut me off..." he muttered, eyeing the pile of unpaid bills stuffed in the desk drawer. "No phone... no beer delivery... what’s next, no pizza?"

As if on cue, the door creaked open.

Morrison walked in, grinning like the bastard messenger of doom he always was. "Morning, sunshine. Good thing you don’t need a phone to get work, huh?"

Dante cracked an eye open.

"You got a job for me or just here to laugh at my electric bill?"

"Both." Morrison chuckled, stepping aside. "And I brought you a client. Payment upfront."

That got Dante sitting up.

And then he saw the man behind Morrison.

Tall. Pale. A body thin but sharp-edged, covered in tattoos that seemed to swirl and twist like ink made flesh. A book in one hand. A cane in the other. Hair like black silk. Eyes like hollow wells.

He smelled... wrong. Like Hell wearing perfume.

"This," Morrison said, jerking a thumb, "is V. Your new boss for the day. Listen to what he says, Dante. This one’s special. And he wants Lady and Trish too."

V tilted his head slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched. Something like a smile... but not.

"You're... Dante."

"And you’re weird," Dante shot back, standing slowly. "Morrison. What the hell’s the catch? Why bring the whole gang? I don’t need Trish and Lady for a simple pest problem."

Morrison smirked, backing toward the door. "It’s not simple. It’s big. You’ll need all the help you can get. Trust me."

Before Dante could argue, Morrison was gone. Door swinging shut. Leaving the shop, the silence, and the stranger.

Dante gave him a long look.

"Right. So... V, huh? You got a name to go with the letter, or am I supposed to guess the rest?"

"You may call me V. It is sufficient."

"Tch. Mysterious. Cute. Now what’s the job, spooky?"

V stepped closer, slow and light as shadow. "A demon is rising. One stronger than you’ve faced in many years. If left unchecked... it will devour everything."

Dante yawned, scratching his chin. "Heard that speech before. Every two-bit demon lord thinks he’s the next King of Hell. They always go down faster than Lady at an open bar."

V’s eyes glinted. "Not this one."

A pause.

Dante’s smile faded just a little.

"And why’s that?"

"Because this one... is your reason."

A chill ran down the shop. The air thickened.

"My reason?" Dante snorted. "You sound like those Order of the Sword nutcases. Spit it out, poetry boy."

V leaned on his cane, voice soft as mist.

"His name... is Vergil."

The room froze.

Dante’s heart kicked once, hard.

His expression darkened, hand flexing near Rebellion’s hilt.

"Wrong answer," Dante growled. "I don’t know what scam you’re running, but you need better names for your stories, pal. Vergil’s gone. Dead. Buried. Like the last demon who tried lying to me."

"It’s no lie," V said, quiet and firm. "The truth will reveal itself... when Red Grave falls to ruin."

Red Grave.

That name sank like iron in Dante’s chest.

He stepped forward, close now, eyes sharp as broken glass.

"You just said Red Grave. Why? What the hell’s going on there?"

V smiled thinly, turning away, the cane tapping lightly on the floor.

"Watch the news, Devil Hunter. Soon, you will see."

With that, V moved to the door, shadows clinging to his heels like living things.

"Dante," he murmured without looking back, "be ready. Your brother... calls to you."

And then he was gone.

Leaving the shop silent. Cold.

Dante stood there. Breathing slow. Heavy.

"...Shit."

For the first time in a long time... he felt something like fear crawl under his skin.

Vergil.

No way.

But Red Grave...?

Dante reached for the old, silent TV. No power.

"Guess I’ll be watching the news the old-fashioned way," he muttered, grabbing his coat.

Because if V was telling the truth... then everything—the world, Hell, Heaven—was about to tear open again.

And this time... the fight would be personal.

Chapter Text

The door creaked open again before Dante could move.

Trish walked in first, sunglasses perched lazily on her nose, a paper bag of groceries dangling from one hand. Lady followed close behind, dragging her heavy gear case, chewing gum, eyes sharp as razors.

And behind them—Audrey. Quiet as ever, but watching everything, wide-eyed, absorbing the world like it might vanish if she blinked.

Trish paused mid-step, sensing the tension. "Okay... why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

Lady dropped her case with a thud. "What happened? You finally got an electric bill bigger than your ego?"

Dante didn't smile.

Instead, he leaned against the desk, arms crossed tight, jaw set.

"We've got a problem," he said flatly.

That made them stop smiling.

Trish set the bag down, expression turning serious. Audrey’s eyes flicked to him, quiet concern in her gaze.

"A new client dropped by," Dante muttered. "Name's V. Real creep. Covered in tattoos. Smelled like Hell. Talked like poetry. Morrison brought him in."

Trish frowned. "Never heard of him."

"He says there’s a big one coming. Real big. The kind that eats cities for breakfast."

Lady crossed her arms. "What kind? Mundus level?"

"No," Dante said darkly. "Worse."

He let the pause hang.

"Vergil."

Silence.

Like a string pulled tight, about to snap.

Trish’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Lady blinked, stunned for the first time in forever.

Audrey, still and pale as marble, finally whispered:

"Your brother...?"

"Yeah." Dante’s voice was low, tired, bitter. "That’s what V said. That Vergil’s coming back. That Red Grave’s gonna burn."

Trish shook her head slowly. "That’s impossible. He’s gone."

Dante rubbed the back of his neck, the weight of old wounds pressing heavy. "That’s what I thought. But then he said Red Grave. And that... got my attention."

Lady swallowed hard. "If it's true... this isn't just another hunt. This is war."

Audrey stepped closer, hesitant. "Is this... bad?"

Dante let out a slow breath, eyes never leaving hers.

"This is personal."

She touched his arm, light as a feather. Strange comfort.

"You don’t have to face him alone," she said softly.

He looked at her. Really looked. The worry in her face. The quiet resolve. The warmth that didn’t belong in this cold, brutal world.

A softness stirred in his chest. Confusing. Dangerous.

"Yeah," he murmured, forcing a grin. "Guess I’ve got my own little army now, huh?"

Lady picked up her gear, the humor gone from her face. "If V's telling the truth... we’re gonna need every blade, every gun, every trick we’ve got."

"Trish, you in?" Dante asked.

She smirked faintly, but the worry lingered. "Like you even have to ask."

Audrey’s hand tightened gently on his sleeve.

"Don’t be afraid," she said quietly. "We’ll stop him."

For the first time that day... something steady filled him. Like maybe this fight—no matter how ugly—would end with more than blood.

Maybe, just maybe... with them.

Dante squeezed her hand softly, not trusting his voice.

Then the old radio in the corner—dead all morning—crackled to life.

"Breaking News. Red Grave City reports strange seismic activity and sightings of monstrous creatures downtown. Authorities warn citizens to evacuate immediately—"

They all turned.

The war had already started.

Dante grabbed Rebellion, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Looks like poetry boy wasn’t lying," he muttered. "Let’s move."

The shop door slammed open.

And this time... they were all going to Hell together.

.

The shop was nearly empty now.

Trish and Lady had already gone ahead to Red Grave to scout. Morrison was making calls, pulling what strings he could. The shop door stood half open, the early twilight casting long shadows across the floor.

And in that quiet space... only Dante and Audrey remained.

She stood by the old desk, carefully adjusting the strap of the small blade he’d given her—“Just in case,” he’d said—but her hands were slow, distracted.

Dante leaned in the doorway, watching her.

“You don’t have to come, you know,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was low, rough—not teasing, not cocky. Honest.

Audrey didn’t turn.

“I know.” Her fingers smoothed the strap. “But I will.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. With this. With her being here at all.

“It’s Vergil,” he muttered. “This isn’t just some job. This is... personal. Messy. Worse than anything I’ve dragged you into so far.”
He pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. “You stay, the odds of you getting hurt skyrocket. And I don’t like that.”

She glanced over her shoulder, those strange eyes—too old for her young face—locking on his.

“I’m not afraid,” she said simply.

“Maybe you should be.”

She turned to him fully now, crossing the space between them with slow, careful steps. Close enough that he could see the faint shimmer of light beneath her skin, like starlight caught inside glass.

“I’ve seen worse things than your brother, Dante.” Her voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it. “I was made for this. And if you fall... who will stop him?”

He stared down at her, jaw tightening. Damn her for being right. Damn her for always making him feel something he didn’t know how to name.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked. “You’re an angel. Heaven’s soldier. You’ve got orders. Duty. All that holy stuff. Why risk breaking for this world? For me?”

Her expression softened—not divine, not distant. Human.

“Because this world is yours,” she said quietly. “And I chose to like it.”

His heart twisted, low and sharp. She reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw—feather-light, uncertain, like touching might burn.

“And because you saved me,” she whispered. “Even if you don’t know it.”

He caught her hand gently, holding it there against his skin. Rough gloves, calloused fingers. His grip was warm. Real.

“I didn’t save you,” he said softly. “You walked into this mess on your own.”

A small smile touched her lips. “Then maybe I’m saving you.”

Silence. His thumb brushed her knuckles, thoughtful, torn.

“I’m no good at this,” he muttered. “Saying things. The real stuff. I fight better than I talk.”

“I know,” she said, smiling just a little. “That’s why I listen.”

A long breath. His gaze dropped to her hand in his.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he murmured. “And here I thought angels were supposed to be... distant. Cold. Not like this.”

“I wasn’t made like the others,” she said. “And now I’m... less angel. More human.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” he murmured.

Another heartbeat of quiet between them.

Then the old radio in the shop crackled again—Morrison’s voice, urgent. “Dante. It’s starting. Red Grave’s going down fast. Move your ass.”

Dante sighed, pressing his forehead gently against Audrey’s for the briefest moment.

“Duty calls, feather girl.”

She smiled, calm, ready. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He pulled away, but slowly, reluctantly. For a moment longer, her warmth stayed in his hands.

Then he grabbed Rebellion, slinging it over his back.

“Let’s go save the damn world,” he muttered, smirking faintly.

And together... they stepped into the dusk.

Chapter Text

The dull thrum of Morrison’s helicopter blades filled the sky as the city of Red Grave came into view below.

A black scar on the earth.

Twisted, unnatural roots spread like veins, breaking concrete and steel. And in the heart of the chaos... the Qliphoth towered. A monstrous tree of pulsing flesh and bone, its limbs clawing at the clouds, bleeding darkness into the sky.

Dante sat by the window, eyes narrowed.

"Beautiful vacation spot you picked, V," he muttered.

Across from him, V remained quiet, face pale beneath his messy black hair, eyes distant—heavy with secrets unspoken.

Audrey sat beside Dante, silent but tense, her gaze fixed on the tree. She felt it—something old and poisonous in the air. Even her divine senses recoiled at the aura this thing exuded.

Morrison glanced back at them. "You're sure about this? This thing's not like the usual trash you clean up."

Dante smirked, trying to mask the twist in his gut. "When am I ever sure?"

As the helicopter circled lower, Morrison gave them one last dry look. "Your funeral, not mine."

They landed hard near the city's edge. Dust, ash, the reek of demonic rot hit them as the door slid open.

Lady cracked her neck, slinging Kalina Ann over her shoulder. “What’s the target called again?”

Dante waved a hand lazily, glancing at V. “Let him tell you. I already forgot whatever stupid name we gave it.”

V turned, voice soft but sharp like a blade’s edge.

“Urizen,” he said.

Lady raised an eyebrow. “That’s some name.”

Dante shrugged. “Remember it for me, would ya?”

Trish looked at Audrey. “You ready for this, feather girl?”

Audrey nodded. “I can feel it from here. It’s... strong.”

V suddenly faltered.

His step wavered, breath hitching. His cane pressed hard against the broken ground.

Dante noticed, frowning. “Hey. You gonna keep up or what? Too much for you already?”

V gave a faint smile, strained. “I cannot go further. Not yet. I’ll meet you... when the time is right.”

“Convenient,” Lady muttered, but V was already turning away, shadowed by Griffon’s muttering protests.

Dante scowled after him. “Great. Our mysterious client’s already bailing.”

Audrey stepped close to Dante’s side, her eyes on V’s fading figure. There was something wrong about him—she could feel it in the strange pulse of his soul. But the threat ahead was worse.

“Dante,” she said quietly, “we should move.”

He sighed, adjusting Rebellion on his back. “I hate this already.”

He turned to Audrey, hesitating.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked. “I’m not dragging you into this mess. You stay, I won’t blame you.”

But she shook her head firmly.

“I stay with you. I fight beside you. That won’t change.”

Something twisted in his chest—tight and warm and terrifying. She was too loyal. Too good for this filthy war.

“Stubborn angel,” he muttered, smiling without humor.

“Like you,” she replied gently.

He held her gaze for a breath longer than he meant to—then broke it, turning away.

“Fine. But you stay close. Real close. No solo hero stunts, got it?”

Audrey gave a small nod. Trish and Lady exchanged a knowing glance but said nothing.

Ahead, the monstrous roots of the Qliphoth shuddered and split, opening a path into darkness.

“Showtime,” Dante murmured, and led them in.

The city groaned beneath the weight of something terrible. The closer they moved to the heart of the tree, the heavier the air became—like the sky itself wanted to fall.

And somewhere at the top of this nightmare waited "Urizen."

But Dante's gut told him something worse.

Vergil.

And the thought of losing everything again made him grip Rebellion tighter... and glance, once more, at Audrey walking silently at his side.

The deeper they went, the worse it became.

The roots curled like muscle and bone around cracked buildings, dark sap oozing from walls, choking the air with the smell of rot. Lady and Trish branched off first, forced away by collapsing passages and swarming demons.

Dante kept Audrey close, Rebellion drawn and ready. His instincts screamed at him—this place wanted to split them up.

And then it did.

A monstrous roar echoed through the tunnels. The ground split apart beneath Audrey’s feet—shadowy tendrils snatching her in a blink of motion. Dante spun toward her, too slow—too slow—as the tendrils yanked her into the abyss.

“Audrey!”

Her hand reached for him, fingers brushing his glove for the barest instant—her eyes wide, unafraid—but the darkness swallowed her whole.

“No—NO!”

He lunged after her—but the earth twisted up like a living thing, the way blocked by pulsing roots and snapping bone. He hit the wall hard, teeth gritted, heart hammering.

For the first time in a long time, real fear gripped his gut.

He couldn’t feel her. Not her soul, not her light. Like she’d been smothered in something that not even her divinity could pierce.

“Damn it!!” he growled, slamming Rebellion into the writhing flesh—useless. "I’m coming for you... I will find you..."

But the Qliphoth guided him elsewhere.

Mocking him.

Dragging him to its heart.

He arrived last.

Lady and Trish—downed. Their battered bodies thrown like discarded toys near the foot of the throne. Barely breathing.

And sitting atop that grotesque throne of flesh and ruin... Urizen.

A towering form of shadow and crystal power—quiet, pulsing with hunger.

Dante forced a grin, though his knuckles were white on Rebellion’s hilt.

“Gotta admit,” he called, his voice echoing in the cavernous space, “I’m impressed. Knocking these two around? I thought only one guy in the whole damn world could pull that off.”

Urizen turned his empty, glowing gaze toward him.

“How long,” the demon rumbled darkly, “do you think your little angel will last... in there... all alone?”

Dante’s smirk cracked. His heart clenched cold and violent.

"You son of a—!"

With a roar, he lunged, blade flashing, fury driving him forward. He struck again and again—blow after blow ringing harmlessly against the impenetrable barrier of Urizen’s throne.

Useless.

Urizen watched, unmoving.

Dante snarled between gritted teeth, sweat breaking on his brow as Urizen’s magic lashed out—crimson spears of energy tearing the ground, forcing him to dodge, roll, barely staying alive.

"Having fun up there, big guy?" Dante spat, wiping blood from his lip. "Fight me for real. At least get off your damn chair and make this interesting."

Urizen’s voice rumbled like shifting stone.

"Why should I move... to crush a single insect?"

The air thickened. Dante felt the weight of Urizen’s power—Vergil’s power—press down like the hand of God itself.

"You are nothing now, Dante. I see that clearly. You are no longer a threat to me."

Another blast—this one unavoidable. It hit Dante square in the chest, tearing his coat, slamming him hard against the ground.

His body screamed in pain.

He forced himself up on shaking arms, coughing—spitting blood.

Not yet.

Not while Audrey was still out there.

But Urizen stood, triumphant, uncaring.

And Dante finally fell... unable to rise again.

Through blurred vision, he saw movement—someone fast, breaking into the chamber.

A familiar voice shouting his name.

“Nero...?”

Chapter Text

“You’re no match for him, kid!” Dante’s voice rang hoarse, forcing himself to move, forcing his body up as the energy crackled thick and dangerous in the air.

But Nero was already rushing in—brash, desperate—swinging Red Queen wildly. With every strike, Urizen barely flinched, the monstrous demon absorbing every blow like they were no more than wind.

Nero growled, teeth gritted. "Damn it!" His movements slowed—off balance, off rhythm—his missing arm throwing him off.

A sudden spike of dark energy shot toward him, deadly and fast.

"Nero!!" Dante roared.

He moved—pure instinct—dragging his broken body forward, Rebellion scraping along the ground as he threw himself between Nero and Urizen’s deadly strike. The force crashed against him, driving him to his knees.

But he held. Somehow.

"Go!" Dante barked at V, who stood by the broken entrance.

"Get the kid outta here—NOW!"

“But—” Nero started.

“You’re dead weight, Nero!” Dante snapped, eyes fierce. “Get the hell out!”

Nero turned to fight again, fury rising—but V’s shadowy panther wrapped around him, pulling him back toward the shattered doorway.

“You can’t do anything more here. Move!” V said coldly, dragging him out as the door collapsed behind them in a rain of flesh and stone.

Dante turned back to Urizen—breathing hard—fingers curling tight around Rebellion’s hilt.

“Your turn, ugly.”

With a roar of pure fury, Dante unleashed his Devil Trigger—his form engulfed in burning energy, light and demonic power roaring against the dark throne. He shot forward in a blur of motion, striking, slicing, pouring everything into breaking that barrier.

Urizen leaned forward at last.

“Pathetic.”

A flash of crushing force met Dante's body—an explosion of dark crystal that hurled him backwards, breaking Rebellion mid-swing. The beloved sword shattered with a scream of twisting metal.

Dante fell—hard—blood spilling into the dirt, body spent, consciousness fading.

Urizen rose from his throne at last, stepping down.

“To end this.”

A spear of darkness formed in Urizen’s hand—crackling, pure death.

It shot toward Dante’s fallen body.

But then—

A flash of brilliant, golden light cut the darkness apart.

Urizen flinched.

A spear—not his own—pierced through the space near his throne, forcing him back.

And she descended.

Audriel.

Her true form blazing—wings spread wide, halo burning like the sun, her eyes fierce and bright, divine rage in every breath.

“Enough.” Her voice was both melody and storm.

She appeared at Dante’s side—glorious and radiant—her hand on his chest as her power ignited around him.

“Not you. Not here. Not yet.”

With a final surge, her magic tore the air open—a rift of light swallowing Dante’s broken body, flinging him to safety far away.

But the effort—too much.

Audriel gasped, strength failing—her body faltering, wings flickering—before collapsing to her knees.

Her form shifted—losing its divine glow—returning to fragile humanity as she crumpled in the dirt of the throne room.

Unconscious.

Vulnerable.

Urizen’s shadow loomed over her—dark and eager.

.

A tremor ran through the roots of the Qliphoth.
As Nero stood at the threshold of the demonic tree once more—ready to charge back in after Dante and the others—a brilliant, sudden pulse of light erupted from deep within the labyrinth of its veins.

Everyone froze.

A body—Audrey—was violently expelled from one of the gnarled openings, her unconscious form falling from the tangled canopy and landing softly in a pile of ashen soil near the entrance. The holy glow that surrounded her flickered out like a dying breath.

“What the hell—?!” Nero rushed forward, catching her in his arms before she could touch the ground completely. She was limp but warm—alive.

Morrison lit a cigarette, his brows raised high.

“Well now…” he muttered, exhaling slowly. “Looks like Heaven’s watchin’ out for this lady after all.”

He crouched beside them, glancing at the angel’s human form resting quietly in Nero’s grip.

“Not often you see one spat out of Hell like bad fruit. Almost like someone upstairs didn’t want her in there anymore…”

Nero looked down at Audrey’s peaceful face, his jaw tightening.

“She's not supposed to be here. Why throw her out now?”

Morrison shrugged, giving a quiet chuckle. “Could be Providence. Could be dumb luck. Could be that whoever's calling shots above just didn't want to lose one of their own.”

Behind them, in the shadows near the tree's dark mouth, V stood silently.

His hand tightened on the cane. The panther beside him gave a low growl.

“So… Heaven intervenes after all,” V murmured under his breath, barely loud enough for Griffon to hear.

“This wasn’t meant to happen yet,” the bird squawked irritably on his shoulder. “She was supposed to stay in there, right?”

V didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on Audrey—then on Nero, who still cradled her protectively.

“…No matter,” V whispered finally. His face calm, unreadable. “I’ll stay close. There’s still time. She’s not out of this yet. Nor is he.”

“Plans slipping, boss?” Griffon taunted.

V ignored him.

This is only a delay, he thought bitterly. Sooner or later… the truth will catch them all.

Morrison gave Nero a clap on the shoulder.

“Take her outta here, kid. She’s no good to anyone in this state. You’re going to need your head clear if you’re going back in there.”

Nero hesitated—glaring at the Qliphoth’s gaping maw—but finally stood, holding Audrey gently against his chest.

“I’ll keep her safe… until she wakes up,” Nero muttered, turning to carry her away.

V watched them go—silent, calculating—shadows curling at his feet.

"Run while you can, angel," he murmured softly. "Your part in this isn't finished."

Chapter Text

Dante woke with a sharp gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He sat up quickly, eyes wide, scanning the room.

It was clean. Peaceful. Sunlight slipped through gentle white curtains. The scent of fresh coffee and warm bread drifted to him.

He was shirtless, sitting on the edge of a soft bed, confused and strangely... comfortable.

“Oh—you’re awake,” came a soft voice.

Dante turned sharply.

Audrey.

She stepped into the room wearing simple clothes—jeans and a loose sweater, barefoot, smiling gently as if this was the most natural morning in the world. No armor. No glow. No tension.

Before he could say a word, she walked up to him—her hands cupping his face—and leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

Dante froze.

Her warmth. Her scent. Her breath against his mouth.

When she pulled back, her golden eyes were soft with concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked sweetly.

“Y-Yeah…” Dante replied, voice shaky, eyes searching hers like they belonged to a stranger.

“The boys are playing outside. Your coffee’s on the table,” she smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she moved to the door.

Boys? Dante blinked.

“Boys?” he repeated under his breath.

She passed him, humming softly, heading down the stairs.

Confusion wrapped around him like chains. His hands touched the soft fabric of the bed covers. The sunlight. The breeze. Her scent.

What the hell is this? Where am I?

He followed, barefoot, his steps light on the wooden floor as he trailed her into the kitchen.

It was warm. Lived-in. There was a photo frame on the wall—him, grinning, holding Audrey close, arms around her shoulders. Two boys stood in front of them: one smiling wide, the other serious and quiet, golden eyes staring at the camera. His hands tightened on the doorway.

Coffee steamed on the table.

“You sure you’re okay?” Audrey asked again, placing a mug before him and looping her arms gently around his shoulders from behind. “Being quiet’s not like you…”

His hands moved without thought, sliding onto her waist. Like they belonged there. Like they always had.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, barely believing the sound of his own voice.

“Dad! You’re up!” a boy’s voice called brightly.

A small blur ran into the room—a boy, maybe seven. Wild silver hair, bright golden eyes like Audrey’s, grinning wide with a missing front tooth.

“Let’s play after breakfast! Virgo won’t let me be the beater!” he whined, tugging Dante’s hand.

Dante blinked, staring.

Dad?

The boy beamed up at him, so familiar it made his head spin.

“Let your dad eat, Ethan. Go play outside,” Audrey said, giving the boy a soft nudge.

“But Mom—”

“Go. And tell your brother to let you play too.”

“Okay!” Ethan grinned and ran out the door, yelling, “Mommy said you have to let me play too, Virgo!!” His laughter echoed down the hall.

Audrey laughed softly, brushing her hand along Dante’s cheek as she sat beside him.

Dante’s gaze snapped back to the photo.

His hand lifted, trembling slightly as he touched the glass.

What is this?
Whose life is this? Mine? Hers?
Is this real…? Or a dream I never let myself have?

His coffee sat untouched. Audrey’s gentle touch rested on his arm.

For the first time in a long, long while… Dante felt fear.

Fear that this might slip away.

.

The soft creak of the door opening greeted him as he stepped outside.

A wide garden stretched before him—green and perfect, kissed by gentle sunlight. The grass swayed lightly under the caress of the wind, carrying the scent of flowers and summer warmth. Trees lined the edges, their shadows playful on the ground. Laughter rang clear in the air.

Ethan ran barefoot through the grass, a wooden sword in his hand, chasing after his brother—Virgo—an older boy, maybe ten or eleven, silver hair like Dante’s but with Audrey’s calm golden eyes. Virgo deflected his brother’s wild swings with practiced ease, holding his own makeshift blade.

“C’mon, Ethan—you swing too wide!” Virgo teased. “If this was a real fight, you’d be toast!”

“That’s ‘cause you never let me hit you!” Ethan shouted, pouting but grinning all the same.

Dante stood there for a long moment, watching them, the sun warming his bare skin, the wind tugging gently at his hair.

It felt… real.

Painfully real.

The weight of the earth under his bare feet. The smell of grass. The soft touch of Audrey’s hand as she came up behind him, slipping her arms gently around his waist, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“Beautiful day, huh?” she murmured, eyes on their boys.

He closed his hand over hers, eyes distant.

“Yeah… beautiful,” he whispered.

For a few minutes—maybe longer—he forgot to be afraid.

Audrey laughed softly as Ethan finally got the better of Virgo, tackling him to the ground with a triumphant yell. Virgo let him win with a small smile, lying back in the grass with his brother sitting on his chest.

Dante found himself grinning.

“Virgo’s gonna be trouble when he’s older,” Dante muttered.

“Just like his father,” Audrey teased, kissing his bare shoulder. Her warmth pressed against his back—solid, real, alive. He closed his eyes and let it sink in. The wind in his hair. The sound of his sons laughing. Her gentle touch.

Could this be real? Was it possible?

“Dad! Come on, fight with us!” Ethan called, waving his sword.

“Yeah, old man, let’s see what you’ve got!” Virgo added with a smirk, arms crossed.

“Old man?” Dante chuckled, the weight on his chest lifting. “Alright, you little punks… let’s see if you can handle this devil.”

He stepped barefoot into the grass, picking up a stick like a sword. The boys cheered, charging at him, and Dante laughed as he fended them off, playfully swinging and dodging their eager attacks. The sound of their laughter filled the air like music, like something sacred.

For a while… he let himself forget.

The blood. The demons. The throne of thorns. Urizen. The weight of broken swords and broken pasts.

None of it mattered here.

Only this moment.

Only the sun, and the wind, and Audrey’s warm smile as she sat on the porch, watching them with quiet joy.

Hours passed—or maybe minutes, or seconds—time seemed strange here. It didn’t matter.

For the first time in years… Dante felt peace.

And a dangerous part of him wanted to stay.

Forever.

Chapter Text

That night, after the boys had fallen asleep—exhausted from laughter and play—the house fell quiet. Only the soft hum of wind against the windows remained, and the distant sound of crickets in the garden.

Dante stood by the window in the bedroom, shirtless, staring out into the gentle moonlit sky. His hand gripped the windowsill as if to remind himself this was real.

And then he felt her behind him.

Arms circling his waist. A slow, familiar warmth pressing against his back.

“Come to bed,” Audrey whispered, her voice a gentle thread in the dark.

He turned, and his breath caught.

She stood there in the dim light, wearing nothing but a soft slip that clung to her curves, her hair falling over her shoulders, eyes golden and calm.

She was beautiful.

So painfully beautiful.

“I’ve seen that look before,” she murmured, stepping closer, her fingers running over the scar on his chest—the reminder of a thousand battles he’d fought alone.

“You’re thinking too much, Dante. Stay here. With me.”

He swallowed hard, lifting his hand to brush her cheek. The softness of her skin beneath his rough thumb was enough to make his chest ache.

“You feel real,” he said lowly. “Too real.”

“I am real. Here, now... I’m yours.” She leaned in, brushing her lips against his. “Stay. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

His resolve broke.

With a quiet growl in his throat, he pulled her to him, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that stole the air from his lungs. His hands slid into her hair, fisting it gently as her body melted against his. She sighed into him, arms looping around his neck, holding him close.

Their kiss deepened—slow, drugging, desperate—as if trying to pour every unspoken word, every lost moment into the space between them.

His hands roamed down her back, curving over her hips, pulling her flush against him. She gasped softly as he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed they shared. The mattress dipped as he laid her down gently, his body hovering over hers.

“Audrey…” he whispered, brushing his lips along her jaw, her throat. “I’m tired of running... tired of fighting... of losing everything…”

His voice broke, but her hands on his face steadied him.

“You’re not losing this. Not tonight.”

He kissed her again—slow, deep, reverent. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her. Her body arched beneath him, thighs parting to cradle his hips as he pressed against her warmth.

Fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching softly down his back, she pulled him closer—needing him, grounding him.

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin—his confession slipping free without restraint, without fear. “I’ve always loved you.”

She smiled, golden eyes soft. “I know. I love you too, Dante.”

Clothing fell away with gentle urgency—his hands gliding over her bare skin, savoring every curve, every sigh. He kissed the valley between her breasts, down the soft plane of her stomach, worshiping her like a man starved.

And when he slid into her—slowly, deeply—she gasped, her back arching, body molding perfectly to his. He stilled, forehead resting against hers, breath ragged.

“God… you feel like heaven…” he whispered.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he began to move—long, slow thrusts that made her moan softly into his ear, her hands caressing every scar on his body like they were sacred.

The rhythm they found was unhurried, gentle—a dance of touch and breath, of whispered names and soft sighs. Passion built slowly between them, each movement tender and full of meaning, until they clung to each other desperately, gasping each other's names.

“Dante… I’m yours,” she breathed, nails scraping gently down his back.

“Mine,” he growled low in his throat, kissing her fiercely, hips rolling deeper, harder. “Always.”

Their bodies tightened, moving in perfect harmony until bliss overtook them—hot and overwhelming—as they shuddered together, holding on like they never wanted to let go.

After, he lay beside her, pulling her close against his chest, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her shoulder.

“I could stay here forever,” he murmured sleepily, pressing a kiss to her temple.

And as darkness began to creep into the edges of the dream... he wished, with everything he had left, that it was real.

That she was real. That this life was real. But deep in his heart... he knew. It couldn’t last.

Not for him. Not for a devil like him.

.

He woke to warmth.

Audrey’s body curled against his, her breath soft against his chest as they lay tangled beneath the sheets. The faint glow of morning spilled into the room. In the distance, he could hear the boys laughing in the garden again.

It felt... perfect.

Too perfect.

Something... shifted.

A distant sound reached him—faint at first.

Crackling.

Like dry wood snapping under pressure.

Then... smoke.

He sat up sharply, heart pounding. The scent hit him—a bitter, thick burn that stung his throat.

Fire.

The room darkened unnaturally fast. Shadows crawled along the walls, swallowing the light, and the peaceful warmth was replaced by stifling heat.

Then the scream came.

“Dante! The boys! Where are the boys?!” Audrey’s voice—panicked, raw with fear—echoed from the hallway.

He stumbled out of bed, yanking on his pants, racing to the door. But when he wrenched it open—hell awaited him.

The house was ablaze.

Flames licked the walls, devouring the wood. The laughter of his sons was gone—replaced by distant, terrified cries.

“Ethan! Virgo! Where are you?!” Audrey screamed from below.

He ran—but the hall stretched endlessly, impossibly long—just like it had when he was a child.

Just like that night.

He could smell the blood.

The screams filled the house now—his sons, crying for their mother—Audrey calling for him.

“Dante! Help me! They're here! They're taking them!”

Something moved in the smoke.

A shadow—tall, grinning, with blazing red eyes.

Dante drew Rebellion by instinct—but the blade was gone.

Instead, a jagged spear tore from the darkness, slamming into his chest—piercing him just as it had that night long ago when his home burned and his mother died.

He gasped, choking as warmth flooded his chest.

“No... not again...” he rasped, knees buckling.

The world spun, the fire roaring around him, searing his skin. Audrey’s face flickered in the distance—tears streaming down her face as shadowed figures pulled the boys from her grasp.

“Dante!” she screamed. “Dante, please! Help us!”

His fingers scraped uselessly at the floor—legs refusing to move—as darkness closed in.

He couldn’t save them.

Not again.

“Dante!” Audrey’s voice pierced the haze—closer now, desperate, breaking. “Don’t leave me!”

Her scream shattered everything.

Light and warmth bled away into endless black.

Her voice the last thing he heard.

“Dante!!”

And then... silence.

Cold. Heavy. Endless.

Chapter Text

A sharp, heavy noise split the darkness.

CLANG.

The metallic ring of a massive blade driven into stone echoed beside his head.

Dante’s eyes flew open—wild, disoriented, breath shallow. His hand reflexively gripped the empty air beside him where Rebellion should have been.

But it wasn’t Rebellion.

It was Sparda—the Demon Sword—buried in the earth beside his face.

Towering over him stood V, calm as ever, a glint of quiet amusement behind his tired eyes.

“Welcome back, Dante. You’ve slept long enough.”

Dante sat up slowly, breath ragged. His chest burned—the phantom pain of that spear, of the illusion’s cruel end, twisting in his ribs.

“What the hell, V… you trying to kill me?” he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” V’s voice was cold, flat. “But I figured this would get your attention.”

Dante’s gaze slid to the sword beside him—the familiar, ancient weight of Sparda called to him.

His memories surged—Audrey’s laughter, the boys in the garden—her screams as everything burned.

“How long…?” he croaked.

“A month. You’ve been comatose for a month in this rotting underworld while the Qliphoth devours Red Grave.” V crouched beside him, cane resting against his knee. “I kept Nero out of this as you asked. But I’m done waiting. I came here for this.” His fingers brushed the hilt of the Demon Sword Sparda.

Dante’s hand shot out, gripping the blade before V could lift it.

Their eyes locked.

"Leave the kid out of this. He’s not ready." Dante growled low, threatening. "I’ll end this."

“I know you will.” V smiled thinly and stood. “Which is why I’m leaving this in your hands. But hurry, Dante. The Qliphoth's heart ripens soon… and her life may depend on how quickly you cut it out.”

Without another word, V turned and melted into the shadows.

Dante stood, bare-chested, every muscle aching but fury igniting in his veins.

“A month... wasted. Never again.” he muttered, gripping Sparda tight, feeling its terrible power thrum into him, awaken something old... something stronger than before.

His coat lay nearby—torn but usable. He shrugged it on, sheathing Sparda across his back.

There was no time to rest.

No time to bleed.

Audrey was still in that hell.

And he was going to get her back.

Without hesitation, he marched deeper into the ruined city—straight into the belly of the Qliphoth.

The first obstacle greeted him sooner than expected.

Cavaliere Angelo.

A grotesque, armored demon—blocking his path.

“Wrong place, wrong time, asshole.” Dante smirked darkly.

The battle was vicious but short—Sparda cleaved through the monster’s defenses as if cutting paper, slicing metal and flesh alike. As Cavaliere Angelo fell, a figure tumbled free—unconscious, bruised but alive.

Trish.

Dante knelt beside her, checking her pulse—steady. He exhaled in relief.

“Rest, babe. I’ve got something bigger to take care of.”

Laying her gently against the cold stone, Dante rose, eyes blazing red.

He could feel the Qliphoth pulsing.

And somewhere, inside that demon tree, Audrey was waiting.

“I’m coming for you, angel.” he whispered. “No matter what I have to burn down to reach you.”

With Sparda humming at his back, Dante strode into the darkness—toward the heart of hell itself.

.

The scent of blood and demon ash still hung in the air when Dante finally reached her.

Audrey.

Bruised, tired, but alive—kneeling beside Nero, helping him stand.

His chest tightened at the sight of her. His angel. His reason to crawl back from hell itself.

“Dante!” she gasped when she saw him—her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide, glimmering with unshed tears. She rushed toward him before she could think, throwing herself into his arms.

And this time… this time he held her for real.

Warm. Solid. Real. Not a dream.

His arms wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her flush against him as if afraid she’d slip away again. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in.

“You’re really here...” Audrey whispered against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. “I thought... I thought you weren’t coming back. I was so scared...”

Dante said nothing at first—just held her tighter, feeling her trembling in his arms.

“I almost didn’t.” His voice cracked, low and rough in her ear. “But you wouldn’t let me go. You kept me alive... even in that hell. You kept pulling me back, I'll end all of this, I promise”

She pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him. Her hands cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

“You don't thinking in ...don’t go alone. Please, Dante. Don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you.” Her voice broke, eyes shimmering, glassy.

His hand covered hers, warm and steady. For once, the cocky smile was gone from his face.

“I have to end this. He’s up there… waiting. I can feel him. But you…” His forehead touched hers, eyes closing for a moment. “I need you to stay here. Stay with Nero. Keep him safe. You’re the only one I trust with that. You hear me, angel?”

She shook her head, her breath hitching. “I want to fight with you. I want to be there if you fall.”

“No. Not this time.” His thumb gently traced her lower lip. “If something happens to me... you make sure Nero walks out of here. You make sure you walk out of here. That’s how you save me.”

Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

“Dante...”

He leaned in, his lips brushing hers—soft at first, hesitant as if afraid she wasn’t real.

But she was.

And then he kissed her—deep and slow, full of everything he never said. Fear. Love. Regret. Hope. The taste of goodbyes and promises left unspoken.

When he finally pulled back, his hand cradled the side of her face.

“I love you.” he said quietly, the words heavy as steel. “I’ve for a long time, I just... never thought I’d get to say it.”

Her breath caught in her throat, chest rising and falling.

“I love you too. Come back to me, Dante. Please.”

He smiled then—small and sad—but there was fire in his eyes.

“I’ll try, angel. For you. But if I don’t... you know what to do. You’re strong enough. Stronger than me.”

His hand lingered on her cheek for one last second before he turned away.

“Take care of Nero for me. He’ll need you.”

Without another word, he walked off toward the great bleeding tree, his coat flaring behind him.

Audrey stood there, tears falling freely now, her heart in her throat.

Nero watched her silently.

And above them, the Qliphoth loomed—waiting for the devil to come.

Chapter Text

Dante stepped cautiously into the hollowed heart of the Qliphoth, the corrupted air thick with malice.
But instead of an eldritch throne or twisted flesh...
...he found himself standing in the past.
Their old house.
Whole. Untouched. Just as it had been before the night of fire and blood.
His breath caught. He saw the creaky old door. The worn wooden floor. Their mother’s shawl still hanging from the chair by the hearth.
And there—standing by the window—was Urizen.
No… not Urizen.
Vergil.
Or at least... the hollow thing that had once been Vergil.
"You really think this’ll mess with me?" Dante muttered, fists clenching. "Dragging up this old memory?"
Urizen turned, his glowing eyes like dying embers. “It’s not for you, brother. It’s for me.”
His voice was lower now. Less monstrous. More Vergil.
"To remember... what I gave up. What I no longer care about."
Dante took a step forward, heart pounding.
"She died looking for you, y'know," Dante said quietly. "Mom. Eve. She died searching for your dumb ass when the demons attacked. You weren’t there. You never were."
For a moment—just a moment—the flicker of something human crossed Urizen’s face.
But it vanished like smoke.
"I don’t care," Urizen said flatly, voice hardening. "Family. Humanity. Love. Weakness." He gestured toward the massive pulsing fruit of the Qliphoth above him. "This is all that matters now. Power."
And before Dante could move—before he could fire or strike or call out—Urizen reached for the fruit and bit deep.
A flood of hellish energy crackled through him, his monstrous form ripping apart as the shell of Urizen crumbled away—revealing Vergil. Whole. Reborn. Terrible.
His silver hair gleamed like a blade. His coat flared like a shadow. His face was calm, cold... and empty.
"Fight me, Dante," Vergil said softly. "Let’s end this."
And they clashed.
Steel rang against steel. The floor of the Qliphoth trembled under the force of their blows. Vergil’s new strength—limitless, seething—pushed Dante back again and again.
But Dante gritted his teeth. His Rebellion shattered. His body scarred. And still he fought.
For their mother. For the brother he lost. For the family they never had.
At last—through Devil Trigger, through strength born of fury and grief—Dante broke through Vergil’s guard and drove him to his knees.
His blade pressed to his brother’s throat.
Vergil stared up at him—silent, proud, defiant... and very tired.
"Dante..."
A rush of footsteps echoed behind them.
Nero burst into the chamber, V limping beside him, Audrey right behind—her eyes wide with surprise.
Nero’s breath caught. "Vergil...?"
V stepped forward, voice low, burdened.
"Yes. That... was Urizen. All this time. Vergil."
Nero’s eyes filled with shock and rage and confusion.
Audrey reached for Dante, her hand brushing his arm.
"Dante..." she whispered. "It’s really him?"
Dante let out a slow, shuddering breath, never taking his eyes off his broken brother.
"Yeah," he said softly. "It’s him."
.
Dante wiped the blood from his mouth, glancing at Audrey as the embers of the last battle faded in the air. His Devil Trigger aura slowly settled, the energy crackling off his body as dark horns and demonic wings faded away.
Audrey crossed her arms, eyebrow raised, giving him a look that could kill.
"Your Devil Trigger form," she said, half teasing, half serious, "is absolutely horrible."
Dante barked a sharp laugh, still panting, but amused. "Didn’t expect a lady like you to appreciate my good looks when I’m all spiky and bat-winged." He cracked his neck, smirking. "Guess I should’ve put on a tie for this fight, huh?"
She shook her head but smiled faintly. "No need. Just finish this already. I want that bastard dead before anyone else gets hurt."
Before Dante could answer, V stepped forward, leaning heavily on his cane, shadows swirling at his feet.
"No." V’s voice was calm but filled with iron. "I’ll end him. With my own hands. This is mine to finish."
Dante narrowed his eyes, unease coiling in his gut. "You sure about that, shadow-boy?" he asked, but he stepped aside, watching V approach Urizen’s broken form.
As V stood over Urizen—cane raised—Dante's breath hitched.
And then it hit him.
His eyes widened, the realization cold and sharp as a blade.
"V... no...!"
But he was too late.
V’s cane stabbed deep into Urizen’s chest.
A flash of blinding light.
Darkness and shadow merged with raw power.
They were being pulled together—body, mind, soul—two halves of a whole reunited.
"No!" Dante roared, lunging forward—but the fusion was complete before he could reach them.
When the light cleared, V and Urizen were gone.
In their place stood him.
Vergil.
Whole.
Alive.
Reborn.
Vergil opened his eyes—ice blue, distant, cold—and glanced down at his restored form with mild satisfaction, flexing his gloved hand as if trying on his own skin for the first time.
Dante didn’t wait. In fury and instinct, he launched forward, sword flashing toward his brother’s throat.
But Vergil parried effortlessly with Yamato, his expression annoyingly calm.
"You’re in no condition to fight me, brother," Vergil said softly, pushing Dante back with no real effort. "Heal your wounds. Become stronger. Then come find me."
Dante grit his teeth, barely holding back the urge to attack again. "I don’t need to get stronger to kick your ass, Vergil."
But Vergil only smirked faintly, turning his back without fear.
As he prepared to vanish, he glanced sideways.
"Nero," he said softly, "thank you."
And in the next moment, he was gone—like a shadow slipping into the wind.
Silence fell.
Dante stood there, fists shaking, breathing hard.
Audrey touched his arm carefully. "Dante...?"
He exhaled, long and bitter. "This ain't over. Not by a long shot."
Behind him, Nero stared, wide-eyed, struggling to process what he had just seen.
And Dante felt the weight of the battle yet to come settle on his shoulders.
Vergil had returned.
And everything was about to change.

Chapter Text

After patching Dante’s wounds in a quiet, abandoned shelter far from the Qliphoth’s reach, Audrey gently covered him with a blanket. His skin was still pale, his energy drained, but he slept, breathing steadily. Nero sat nearby, keeping watch as she had asked.

"I'll be back soon," she told Nero softly. "Don't let him out of your sight. He might try to get up before he's ready."

Nero frowned. "Where are you going? We're not done with this fight yet—"

"Just… watch over him. Please."
And with that, she stepped out, disappearing into the air like mist carried by the wind.

Above the world, high beyond the clouds, the sky shimmered—crystal clear, bathed in light.

Gabriel was waiting.

Wings like burnished gold folded behind him, a gleaming sword at his side. His expression was calm, unreadable.

"You’ve come," Gabriel said simply, as if no time had passed. "What news do you bring, Audriel?"

Audrey—Audriel in truth—approached him, her mortal form shedding its human weight, her divine presence glowing softly.

"Vergil has returned," she said, her voice steady but her heart torn. "I failed to prevent the merge. He's whole again. Stronger than ever."
She hesitated. "I will seal him. You were right. It’s the only way."

Gabriel’s face did not change. "Good. Then you know what must be done. You will seal all three."

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

"Three?" she echoed, confused. "No. Only Vergil. Dante and Nero—"

"All three, Audriel," Gabriel said with quiet finality. "They share Sparda’s blood. Their existence itself is a violation of balance. Demons, all of them."

"No!" Audrey stepped forward, desperation flaring in her voice. "Dante and Nero are not like him. They're not threats. They’ve protected humanity time and time again. They’re innocent."

Gabriel's gaze sharpened, a blade of divine authority behind his calm. "They are demons, born of the corrupted lineage of Sparda. You always knew your heart would betray you, Audriel. I warned you of this… attachment."

Her throat tightened. "You told me to judge them fairly. I did. Dante fights for humans. Nero fights for good. This is wrong—"

"The Father’s will is not for you to question." His voice cut like iron. "You asked for clarity. This is your answer. Seal them. All three. Vergil. Dante. Nero. Then return to us, pure and untainted."

Audrey's fists clenched at her sides, the weight of the order sinking into her soul like chains.

"Is this truly His will?" she whispered. "Or yours, Gabriel?"

The Archangel’s expression hardened, a flash of warning in his radiant eyes. "You doubt the Father’s command?" he said softly, dangerously.

Her heart broke at the question.

"...No," she said, her voice low. "I will carry out the mission I started."

"Good," Gabriel said, turning away, the light of Heaven glowing brighter behind him. "Return once your task is done. And do not delay, Audriel. The time of judgment has come."

As he vanished into the heavens, Audrey stood alone in the vast sky, her mind in turmoil.

Seal Dante. Seal Nero. Seal Vergil.

But could she really condemn them... knowing their hearts? Their humanity?

Her wings dimmed, heavy with doubt, as she fell slowly back toward the world below—toward the two men she was meant to destroy.

And toward a decision that could break Heaven’s order forever.

.

Audrey landed softly back in the ruined safe house. The world smelled of ash and iron. The sky behind her still glowed faintly where Heaven’s gate had opened.

Dante was awake.

Sitting up on the bed, shirtless, the deep gashes across his torso were already closing—slowly, painfully—but healing. His blue eyes lifted to her as she entered, his gaze dark with something more than weariness.

“You’re back,” he said hoarsely. “What happened?”

She knelt beside him, her hand brushing over his chest, gently tracing the scars that refused to vanish. The scent of blood and old steel clung to him. To them both.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her thumb ran along the edge of a fresh wound.

“You’re healing… slowly,” she murmured, her voice low, uncertain. “But it’ll pass.”

He reached up, his fingers curling softly around her wrist. “You went to Heaven, didn’t you?” His voice was quiet. Knowing.

Audrey swallowed, lowering her eyes. “Yes. Gabriel gave me the final order.”

Dante’s expression darkened. “Let me guess. Kill Vergil.”

Her fingers curled against his chest. “…Yes.”

He stilled. Then gave a quiet, bitter laugh. “Figures. Heaven always did have terrible taste in decisions.”

She closed her eyes. “I feel less and less like them, Dante… less like an angel every minute I stay here. I’m afraid I’m falling already.” Her voice broke slightly. “And maybe I want to.”

His hand slid up her arm, warm and real. “I’m sorry, Audrey. This... this is my fault. You wouldn’t be trapped in this mess if it wasn’t for me.”

At that, she looked at him, her gaze soft but burning with something deeper.

“I see the end in your eyes, Dante… and the beginning.”

His heart twisted in his chest. She leaned forward and kissed him.

No hesitation. No hesitation left in either of them. Their lips met fiercely—desperate, trembling with the nearness of death, the brush of eternity. His hand tangled in her hair as she pushed him gently back onto the bed, her body pressed to his, drinking him in as if she feared the moment would vanish like smoke.

“We almost died,” she breathed against his mouth. “I almost lost you.”

His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, needing the feel of her, the weight of her warmth on him to remind him this was real. That they were alive. “You still might,” he whispered harshly against her skin.

“Not tonight,” she said softly, her hands roaming over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the strength returning to his body. “Tonight... I want to feel alive. With you.”

Their mouths crashed together again, raw and breathless, the kiss deepening into something dangerous, full of everything unsaid—fear, relief, hunger, love. His hands found the curve of her hips, lifting her against him as their bodies fit like they were always meant to.

The weight of near-death, of impossible choices, burned between them.

Their clothes fell away—carelessly, desperately—as their mouths barely parted, the taste of each other the only anchor they clung to in the storm of this cursed war. Dante gasped her name as her hands roamed his skin, worshipping every scar, every wound that Heaven would have erased but she now claimed.

“You’re mine tonight,” she whispered against his ear, fierce and low. “No angel. No hunter. Just us.”

He flipped her gently beneath him, lips dragging over her throat, down the line of her collarbone, making her arch beneath him, sighing against the pressure of his body.

“We almost died,” he murmured, kissing the hollow of her throat. “I won’t waste what time we have left.”

They moved together in frantic rhythm, clinging, holding, biting back gasps and cries as pleasure drowned fear—two beings caught between Heaven and Hell, making their own moment in the fragile middle. It was rough and tender, hurried and slow, the kind of passion that came from knowing the end might be near.

When they finally stilled, breathless and spent, Dante pressed his forehead to hers, his thumb brushing her lips.

“I love you, Audrey,” he whispered brokenly. “I don’t care what they say. I’d rather fall into Hell with you than live without you.”

Her eyes shimmered, wet with unshed tears. She kissed him again, soft and deep. “Then fall with me.”

For the first time in centuries, he felt peace.

Even if it wouldn’t last.

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn crept gently through the cracks in the broken window, casting soft golden rays across the battered room. Dust floated in the air, and the smell of old wood, steel, and blood lingered — but there was a strange warmth now, a quiet that the world hadn't known in far too long.
Nero stood at the threshold, frozen.
His blue eyes widened slightly at the sight before him.
There, tangled together on the ruined bed, lay Dante and Audrey.
Dante’s arm was draped possessively over her waist, pulling her against his chest as if even in sleep he refused to let her go. His face, usually sharp with bravado and mischief, was peaceful now — relaxed in a way Nero had never seen. Audrey rested against him, her head nestled beneath his chin, one hand flat against his chest where his heart beat steadily beneath her palm.
They looked... human.
Like two tired souls who had fought for too long, who had chosen this fragile moment over everything else.
Nero swallowed hard, glancing at the scattered clothes on the floor, the faint bruises on Dante’s skin — not from battle, but from something far more personal, far more real. His jaw tightened, not out of anger but surprise. Shock. Maybe even understanding.
He took a quiet breath and stepped back, careful not to make a sound.
"Finally, old man..." he muttered under his breath, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Took you long enough."
He glanced once more at Audrey, whose face was soft in sleep, her body curled trustingly against Dante’s warmth.
Whatever storm awaited them beyond this room — Heaven’s wrath, Vergil’s fury, the war yet unfinished — it could wait a little longer.
For now, Nero turned and quietly walked away, leaving them in peace.
They deserved at least this one morning.
For once in their cursed, hunted lives... they deserved to dream.
.
The bathroom was thick with steam, curling in tendrils around the cracked tiles and fogging the small mirror above the sink. Water rushed from the old showerhead in a fierce stream, splashing against the porcelain floor.
Dante barely gave Audrey time to step in before his hands were on her — rough, desperate, feverish. His body pressed into hers, slick with heat and water, his mouth finding her neck as she gasped, her back hitting the cold tile with a soft thud.
“Still afraid you’ll fall, angel?” he murmured, voice low and edged with hunger, breath hot against her ear.
She gripped his wet hair, tugging his face up to meet her gaze, her chest rising fast with every shallow breath. “I already have. And you’re the one who pulled me down.”
He grinned wickedly, flashing teeth, before crashing his lips into hers, hard and claiming. Their kiss was messy, fierce — all teeth, tongue, and raw need, the kind that came after standing on death’s doorstep too many times.
Water poured over them, sliding over his broad shoulders, tracing the scars on his chest, soaking her hair and skin as their bodies locked together, no space left between them. His hands roamed her sides, rough fingertips leaving fire in their wake, while her nails raked over his back, pulling him impossibly closer.
Their movements were wild, urgent — the kind of desperation that only came after surviving what they shouldn’t have. Her legs curled around his hips, locking him to her as his hands gripped her thighs, lifting her against the wall with easy, brutal strength.
“God, Audrey…” he growled into her mouth, biting at her lower lip. “I thought I’d lost you…”
“Not yet,” she panted, arching into him, breathless and burning. “Not until this is over. Not until I’ve had all of you…”
His mouth claimed her again — possessive, bruising — as they moved in frantic rhythm beneath the pounding water, bodies sliding, skin slick and hot. His touch was everywhere, holding, worshipping, devouring like he couldn’t get enough of her.
The tension cracked like lightning between them — fierce, primal, unstoppable — a storm they let consume them both until their moans and gasps filled the steamy room, echoing off the tile like music no angel should ever make.
When it was done, they sagged together under the water, clinging as if letting go meant falling apart.
Dante leaned his forehead against hers, his thumb brushing her swollen lip, their breaths mingling in the heavy air.
“Next time... the bed,” he rasped with a crooked smile, chest rising hard against hers.
Audrey smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded, dazed and beautiful.
“If there is a next time...” she whispered.
He kissed her again — slower this time — like a vow.
“There will be. I’m not done with you yet, angel.”
Not by a long shot.
.
The kitchen was quiet in the late hour, lit only by the soft golden glow of the stove light. The house slept, but neither Dante nor Audrey could.
She stood by the counter, wearing only one of his shirts — too big, hanging off one shoulder, brushing the tops of her thighs. He watched her from the doorway, the low rumble of his breath betraying his hunger.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked softly, turning to face him.
“Not with you walking around like that,” he muttered, pushing away from the doorframe, bare-chested and barefoot, moving like a hunter. “You know what that shirt does to me, angel.”
She leaned against the counter, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe I do.”
He was in front of her in a heartbeat — a hand on her waist, the other slipping under the hem of the shirt to her bare skin. His touch was warm, firm, commanding. She gasped as his fingers explored her hip, tracing the curve with slow, teasing strokes.
“Still trying to kill me with temptation…” he murmured, his mouth ghosting over her jaw, down to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. His breath made her shiver. “Didn’t we get enough in the shower?”
“Not even close,” she whispered, threading her fingers into his damp hair, tugging him closer.
He groaned low in his throat, spinning her gently so her back pressed to the cool counter. His mouth captured hers, rough and hungry, their lips sliding together in a desperate, wet kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.
His hands roamed, slipping under the shirt, palms smoothing over her waist, her ribs, cupping her breasts with a possessive squeeze that made her gasp against his lips.
“Dante…” she moaned softly, arching into him.
“Kitchen’s as good a place as any, sweetheart…” he growled, breaking the kiss just long enough to tug the shirt up and off her, tossing it to the floor. His gaze devoured her, eyes dark and wild with want. “Look at you…”
She reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers curling under, tugging him to her. He caught her wrists, pinning them lightly against the counter as he pressed his hips to hers, hard and eager.
“Impatient tonight, aren’t we?”
She whispered, biting her lip, her gaze burning into his. “I want all of you. Now.”
That broke him.
With a deep groan, he kissed her hard, hands gripping her thighs, lifting her onto the counter. She spread for him, pulling him in close as his mouth moved down her throat, nipping and sucking, leaving marks she’d wear with pride.
His fingers slid between her legs, teasing her slick folds, making her gasp and cling to him.
“So wet for me already…” he muttered, lips brushing her ear. “You’re perfect.”
She gasped as he filled her — slow at first, stretching, claiming — her head falling back against the cabinet, a soft cry escaping her lips.
He moved with power, controlled but rough, every thrust making the counter creak beneath them. Her nails raked down his back, her legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper, harder, faster.
“Dante—” she moaned, breathless, lost.
“I’ve got you, angel… I’ve got you…” he panted, his mouth devouring hers, tongue sliding hot and deep as they moved together, frantic and raw.
The kitchen filled with the sound of their bodies, the wet slap of skin on skin, soft gasps and low groans echoing in the quiet house.
Tension coiled tight between them, fire building with every thrust, until they shattered together — her cry breaking free against his mouth as he spilled into her with a rough, broken moan.
They clung to each other in the aftermath, trembling, breathless, forehead to forehead, sweat cooling in the kitchen’s quiet warmth.
“Next time…” she whispered, lips brushing his, He laughed softly, pulling her close.
“Next time, the whole damn house.”

Chapter Text

The morning was heavy with tension.

Dante stood near the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. His gaze was distant, fixed on the horizon where the Qliphoth towered like a curse in the sky. Audrey sat on the couch, fingers nervously tangled in the hem of her sleeve, her heart uneasy. Nero leaned against the opposite wall, his expression unreadable but defiant.

"You’re not coming," Dante finally said, his voice low and firm. "I told you before, Nero. This is between me and Vergil. Stay out of this."

Nero straightened, fists clenching. "Like hell I’m staying out of it." His voice rose, frustration bleeding into every word. "He used me, Dante! He took Yamato from me to regain his power! You let me keep that sword in the first place, remember? You should've stopped him long ago!"

Dante flinched. His mouth tightened into a hard line. Audrey stood slowly, unable to meet Nero's eyes.

"This is my fault too…" she said softly. "I should've seen it—his energy, his aura. It was so much like yours, Dante. Like Vergil’s. I ignored the signs because I didn’t want to believe it. I thought... I thought it was just coincidence."

Her voice cracked with guilt.

"You what?" Nero snapped, turning to her, shock and anger flashing in his eyes. "You knew something was off and you didn’t tell me?!"

Dante stepped forward, cutting between them. His voice was sharp, controlled—but only barely.

"Enough."

The word hung in the air, heavy and final.

His gaze fixed on Nero, blue eyes dark with something deeper than anger—pain, regret, dread.

"You want the truth, kid?" he said quietly. "Fine. You deserve that much."

He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders stiff. Audrey stared, breath held, knowing what was about to come.

"I knew the first time I saw you fight... the way you moved, the way you held Yamato. It recognized you. That sword only obeys Sparda’s blood."

Nero frowned, confusion flickering before anger returned. "What the hell are you saying—?"

Dante’s gaze didn’t waver. His voice lowered, rough, like the confession scraped against his throat.

"Vergil... is your father."

The words cracked the room open like a wound.

Silence fell. Heavy. Crushing.

Nero stared, pale, motionless, as if he hadn’t heard right. His mouth opened, but no sound came. Then he laughed, bitter and disbelieving.

"No... no, that’s not possible," Nero muttered, shaking his head. "My mother—she—"

"She was human," Dante cut in gently. "Vergil... was the other half."

"I didn't want you to find out like this," Dante went on. "But after Yamato reacted to you... I knew. I just didn’t tell you because... I didn’t want this weighing on you. Not now. Not with everything else."

Nero’s face twisted—shock, fury, grief burning through him like fire. He shoved off the wall, pacing like a caged animal.

"You knew. You both knew. You kept this from me." His voice cracked. "And now you expect me to sit this out while you two go finish off my father?!"

"Nero," Dante said, quiet but firm, "I didn't want this fight to be yours. Vergil needs to be stopped... but it shouldn't be your burden. Not after everything he did to you."

"That’s not your choice!" Nero snapped, voice breaking. "It’s my father. My fight."

Dante’s chest ached watching him. "You’re not ready for this," he said, softer now. "And I... I’m sorry for keeping it from you. I thought I was protecting you. I thought... I was sparing you this pain."

Nero shook his head, fury turning into hollow shock.

"You're too late for that."

He turned away, dragging a hand down his face, his body tight with rage and grief.

"I need time... alone," Nero muttered, voice raw. He stalked out of the room without another word.

Audrey tried to reach after him, but Dante gently caught her wrist. "Nero"

"Let him go," Dante said softly. "He needs to process this. We all do."

Audrey looked at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "This is breaking him... breaking all of us."

Dante gently touched her cheek, "It had to come out sooner or later. But I can't wait. I have to end this before it kills us all."

"You're going to him," she whispered.

Dante nodded grimly. "I have to finish this with Vergil."

"And if you don’t come back?" she asked, her voice cracking.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I will come back," he promised, even if he didn’t fully believe it. "Take care of Nero. Keep him safe... for me."

Then without another word, he turned, coat swinging behind him as he walked out—toward the Qliphoth and the brother he had to face.

Audrey stood frozen, her heart heavy, as the weight of what was to come settled on her shoulders.

And Nero's grief hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Chapter Text

The top of the Qliphoth was bathed in crimson light, the sky torn and bleeding as hell’s roots twisted toward the heavens. Wind howled through the broken air as Dante finally stepped onto the platform where Vergil waited—Yamato gleaming in his grip, the sword that had started all of this.

"You’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you, brother," Dante called, stopping a few feet away, Rebellion already resting on his shoulder. "How about you hand over Yamato and we call it a day, huh?"

Vergil turned, his expression cold, unreadable as ever. His hand flexed on Yamato’s hilt. "You came all this way just to lose again? Tch. Pathetic."

Dante smirked, but there was little amusement in his eyes. "I didn’t come to lose. I came to end this. For good."

Vergil’s gaze narrowed. "And you think I’ll surrender Yamato without a fight? Foolish as always, Dante."

Dante’s smile faded, his voice dropping low and serious.

"You should know... Nero’s not just some random kid who got lucky with your sword."

Vergil blinked, faint confusion cracking his composure.

"What are you talking about?"

Dante tilted his head, lips curling. "Surprised? You shouldn’t be. You are full of surprises, Vergil. Like the fact that Nero... is your son."

Vergil stiffened.

"My... what?"

"Yeah," Dante said, circling slowly as the air grew heavy with their demonic power. "Your kid. Your blood. Your mess, old man."

For the first time in a long while, Vergil faltered, the grip on Yamato tightening.

"Impossible... I would have known."

Dante gave a dry laugh. "Apparently not. But you’ve always been good at abandoning things, haven’t you?"

Vergil's jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

"You really don't remember?" Dante added with a crooked grin. "C’mon, Vergil. Now that’s a story I’d like to hear. What lucky lady survived a night with you long enough to pop out a kid?"

Vergil said nothing. His eyes burned behind his curtain of silver hair—burned with shame, confusion, anger... and something else. Fear, maybe.

"But I’m not here to trade family secrets," Dante said, tossing Rebellion into a ready grip. "I came to finish this. Like always."

Vergil slowly raised Yamato, falling into stance. His voice was like steel drawn from a sheath.

"As it should be."

Their Devil Triggers flared—no, Sin Devil Triggers—monstrous, transcendent forms crackling with lethal power as they prepared to clash for the last time.

And then—

A shockwave of power ripped through the air, staggering them both.

A blur of white light crashed down between them—wings of raw energy spread wide—Nero.

His true Demon Trigger form radiated like a star fallen to earth, brilliant and blinding, shaking the ground beneath their feet. His new arm, forged of demonic light, pulsed with fury.

"That's enough!" Nero’s voice thundered, echoing across the Qliphoth. His eyes burned with blue fire as he turned between the two legends who stood ready to destroy each other. "I'm done watching you two try to kill each other like idiots!"

"Nero—" Dante started, but Nero cut him off with a furious glare.

"Shut up, old man. You lied. Both of you. You’ve been dragging this family curse for years and now you expect me to just stand back? Not anymore. This ends here!"

Vergil said nothing—silent, stunned—but his gaze rested hard on Nero... his son.

Nero's wings flared, wind spiraling violently around him.

"I don’t care if you’re my father, Vergil. I don’t care about the past, the lies, the swords, the power. I won’t let you two destroy each other. Not while I’m here."

The ground split beneath Nero’s feet as he raised his glowing Devil Bringer toward them, his power spiking higher.

"I’ll stop you both if I have to."

For a long, breathless moment, neither Dante nor Vergil moved.

Then Dante grinned—soft, proud.

"Knew you’d show up, kid."

Vergil’s eyes locked with Nero’s, unreadable.

"So... this is my son," he murmured, more to himself than anyone.

The three stood there, balanced on the edge of fate, the final battle suspended by the weight of their broken bloodline... and the choice of one furious, shining new devil.

.

High above the Qliphoth's broken summit, where the skies split and trembled with demonic power, Audriel hovered—her true form radiant, terrible, vast. Gleaming white wings, woven of light itself, unfurled behind her, casting the battlefield below in holy luminance.

From this height, they looked so small.
Three devils—locked in fury and fire.

Dante. Vergil. Nero.
Sparda’s cursed sons, locked in the final dance of ruin or salvation.

She gripped her spear, carved from the breath of Heaven itself. The seal was ready. The words whispered to her mind by Gabriel—precise, absolute. It would take mere moments. A single strike while they were blinded by rage and pain.

Easy. Easier than any she had done before.
One strike. Three seals. The end of the Sparda bloodline.

She raised the spear.

And saw him.

Dante.

Battered, bloodied, brilliant in his Sin Trigger form. Red wings spread wide, jagged and monstrous... and yet, unmistakably him. His soul’s voice, still alive beneath the corruption. Still fighting. Still human, beneath it all.

A pain lanced through her chest.

“I see you, Dante...” she whispered. “You... are you.”

Her grip faltered. The spear trembled.

Then her gaze fell on Nero, glowing bright with newfound power—fury and hope mixing in his young heart as he faced the father he never knew.

These were not monsters. Not destroyers.

They are protectors.

“...I'm sorry, Father,” she breathed to the heavens above. Her voice cracked with sorrow, resolve, rebellion. “I... I sinned.”

Audriel lowered her spear. The light in her wings dulled, dimmed, fracturing into threads of fading grace.

“I break the order. I refuse Heaven's will.”

She threw the spear aside—its divine metal cracking as it struck the air itself, spiraling into nothingness.

Her voice rang clear across the torn sky:

“They are not threats. They are the protectors of the Earth.”

And with those words, the last thread binding her to Heaven snapped.

Grace drained from her form, her halo shattering into falling shards of dying light. The pure white of her wings bled into silver, then iron-gray. Feathers blackened, their shine dimming as mortality flooded her veins.

Audriel fell slowly from the sky, descending toward the earth—not as Heaven’s blade, not as a judge—but as Audrey.

Mortal. Flawed. Free.

Tears stung her eyes as the chill of the real world wrapped around her fragile body.

“Farewell... Father,” she whispered.

Above, the Heavens turned away. The voice of Gabriel fell silent forever.

And below, the three devils continued to fight, unaware that the angel sent to end them... had just damned herself to save them.

Audrey touched the earth again—not a servant of the Light, but a woman.
For the first time in eternity... her own.

Chapter Text

The Qliphoth groaned and cracked, its vast roots twisting and dying as the great tower began to collapse into ruin. The sky above shuddered with red light, split between the Human World and the yawning maw of the Demon Realm below.

On the crumbling edge of the abyss, Dante and Vergil stood side by side—silent, determined. For the first time in decades, there was no anger in their eyes... only understanding.

“It’s the only way,” Dante muttered, resting Rebellion’s hilt on his shoulder. “Gotta make sure the door stays shut... and someone has to keep an eye on this guy.” He shot Vergil a sideways glance.

Vergil smirked faintly, gripping Yamato tight. “Tch. As if you could ever keep up with me, brother.”

“Nero,” Dante turned, his expression softer now, “because you’re here... we can do this. You’ve got this world. Take care of it for us... for me.”

“No...!” Nero stepped forward, his voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this! There’s gotta be another way!” His eyes burned with helpless fury. “I can fight beside you! You can’t just leave—”

But they were already walking to the edge.

And then—her voice broke the tension.

“I’m going too.”

They stopped.

Dante turned, stunned. “Audrey... what the hell are you saying?”

Even Vergil’s gaze sharpened, unreadable.

“I’m going,” she said again, stepping forward, wings unfurled, the fading traces of Heaven’s grace still lingering faintly in her form. “This is my choice. My will. You asked me that once, Dante—what I wanted, what I truly chose.”

She smiled softly, bitter and brave.
“And this is my answer. I can’t let you go without me. Because I know I’ll spend eternity with you in my mind... in my heart. And that would be far worse than crossing into Hell itself.”

Dante shook his head, stepping toward her. “No. No way. You don’t have to—”

“I do.” She touched his cheek, warmth in her palm, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I fell for you, remember? I lost everything for you. Heaven. My grace. My mission. My old life. There’s nothing left but this. You. I made my choice the moment I refused to seal you. I’d rather walk into the Demon World with you than live forever apart in this one.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the breaking earth.

Nero stared, speechless, pain and confusion twisting in his chest.

Dante’s jaw tightened, his heart pounding painfully.

“Damn it, angel... you stubborn fool,” he whispered, pulling her close, forehead against hers. “You really are crazy.”

She smiled. “I learned from the best.”

Vergil turned his gaze away—something unreadable in his expression—but said nothing.

Nero clenched his fists, swallowing back the burning ache in his throat. “You... you’re really all going...?”

Dante looked at him, something like pride in his eyes. “You’re the one who stays, kid. You’re the protector of this world now. Trust yourself. We do.”

Audrey gave Nero a small, gentle smile. “Goodbye, Nero. Be strong.”

And together—with Dante’s hand in hers—they turned.

The brothers and the fallen angel stepped forward, into the gaping maw of the Demon World. The light swallowed them whole as the portal closed behind them.

Gone.

Nero stood on the broken edge of the Qliphoth, wind tearing at his coat, heart heavy and hollow.

But above the sorrow, one truth rang clear in his mind:
They chose this. Of their own will.

For better or worse... they were free.

And he was the last protector of the Human World.

.

The Demon World stretched endlessly before them—a landscape of blackened stone, burning skies, and the constant echo of distant, hungry growls. The air was thick with sulfur and death, but it didn’t slow the three of them.

With every slash of Yamato, every strike of Rebellion, and every sweep of Audrey’s celestial spear—now darkened by her fall—they tore through the endless horde. Demons rose like waves from the abyss, desperate to devour the intruders who had dared to sever the Qliphoth’s roots and halt its feeding frenzy on the Human World.

Finally—after what felt like hours, maybe days—the roots were severed, and the twisted tree shriveled into rot behind them. The crisis was over.

But their exile had only begun.

Vergil turned to Dante, blade lowered, his breath steady but sharp. “The roots are cut. We’ve done our part. Now... let’s finish ours.”

Dante grinned, twirling Rebellion in his hand. “You just can’t wait, can you, brother? What’s the rush? We’ve got eternity now.”

“I intend to make use of it.”

With a flash, Yamato was at the ready.

Audrey stood nearby, wiping demon blood off her cheek with the back of her glove, sighing with mild amusement. “You two are really going to fight now? Again? We just slaughtered half the population of Hell and you’re still at each other’s throats?”

Dante gave her a wink. “Hey, gotta stay sharp somehow.”

The blades clashed—a dance of brothers, old as sin, old as pain—but there was something different now. There was no fury, no hatred. Only the sheer, stubborn need to push each other as far as they could go.

Sparks flew from every strike, the ground cracked beneath their feet—but before either could land a blow of true consequence—

“Raaaaagh!”

A fresh pack of demons surged from the darkness, screeching and snarling, lured by the scent of Sparda blood.

Vergil froze mid-strike, annoyed, lowering Yamato slightly. “Tch. Again?”

“Guess they don’t like us roughhousing on their turf.” Dante smirked wide, revving Ebony and Ivory as he turned to face the oncoming horde.

Audrey slid in beside them, her spear igniting with pale fire. “I swear... if you two don’t finish this fight soon, there won’t be anything left down here to kill.”

And as the wave of beasts rushed forward, Dante flashed his signature grin, cocking both pistols with a flourish.

“Jackpot.”

Vergil let out a quiet, sharp sigh of frustration.

“I will never understand your obsession with that ridiculous phrase.”

But Dante was already charging, laughing, guns blazing, Audrey right behind him—her spear slicing the air with angelic light twisted into mortal freedom.

And so it went: trapped, but not defeated.

The two sons of Sparda—and the fallen angel who chose them—carving their legend into the depths of Hell itself.

Together.

Forever.

Chapter Text

Three Months Later — Red Grave City, Earth

The city was quiet. Too quiet for Nero’s taste.

For the first time in his life, there were no signs of demonic corruption lurking in the corners. No Qliphoth roots strangling the skyline, no screams in the night. It was peaceful… unnervingly so.

Standing on the rooftop of Devil May Cry—the old, battered neon sign flickering weakly behind him—Nero stared at the horizon, where the last traces of destruction were slowly being rebuilt by human hands.

The world was safe.

But his heart wasn’t.

His gaze drifted down to the street where Kyrie waited, always patient, always smiling. She’d welcomed him home with open arms, her warmth healing the parts of him left hollow by the truth about his father… and his uncle… and everything they had sacrificed.

But some things couldn’t be healed.

He gripped the handle of Red Queen, feeling the faint hum of power beneath his fingertips. The sword felt heavier now—not because of its weight, but because of what it meant. He was the protector now. Alone.

Dante was gone. Audrey was gone. Even Vergil, the man he hated and now pitied, was gone.

“Stubborn old bastard...” Nero muttered under his breath, remembering Dante’s last grin—the careless wink as he and Vergil vanished into the portal to Hell. Audrey's soft smile when she said "This is my choice." She’d meant every word.

They had left him behind. To carry the weight of the human world on his back.

“I hope you’re having fun down there, you reckless idiots…”

Behind him, Nico’s workshop rumbled. The door creaked open.

“Hey, kid,” Nico called, wiping grease from her hands. “Red Queen’s ready for a new mod if you want it. You’ve been burnin’ through demons like they're scrap metal.”

Nero gave a small smile. “Can’t afford to get rusty. If something bigger comes… I gotta be ready.”

Nico hesitated, stepping closer. “You can take a break, y’know. This city’s clean. For now, anyway.”

He shook his head. “Not until they come back. If they come back. I’ve gotta be strong enough to help them... or stop them. Whichever happens first.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Nico sighed but didn’t push him. She knew that stubborn look too well.

As night fell, Nero returned inside, glancing at the old, worn photo sitting on the desk—Dante, grinning like a fool with Rebellion slung over his shoulder… Lady with her shades, Trish smirking, Nico flipping the camera off… and Audrey, just behind them, smiling softly, her eyes bright.

He touched the frame.

“I’ll protect this world. Just like you wanted, old man.”

The phone rang—a fresh client.

A small smile curved Nero’s mouth.

“Devil May Cry,” he said, picking up the receiver, “what’s your problem?”

A new hunt began.

And far away, in the darkest corners of the Demon World… he hoped they could hear him.

He was ready.

.

The halls of the ancient castle groaned under the weight of time, carved deep into the jagged heart of Hell itself. Yet within its shadowed walls, beneath the crimson skies and the ever-burning stars, there was quiet… and something close to peace.

Audrey stood at the edge of the cracked balcony, her hand resting lightly on her stomach, feeling a faint warmth unlike any she had known before. Dante stepped up behind her, silent but watching, his red coat brushing her back as the sulfur-scented wind tugged at their hair.

“You’re sure?” he asked softly, almost not trusting his own voice.

She smiled faintly, looking out into the endless dark. “Yes. I felt it. It's… impossible. It shouldn't happen. Angels and demons can't create life—not without breaking the laws of both realms. But... here we are.”

He turned her gently to face him, searching her face as if he could read the truth there.

“How?” His voice was rough, uncertain. “You said this wasn’t possible. Not for you. Not for me. Our spirits… they aren’t meant to—”

Audrey’s fingers touched his cheek, soft and calm, her eyes shimmering like quiet stars.

“Because it’s a miracle,” she whispered. “Proof that He didn’t forget me. Something in us remembered what it meant to be human.” She smiled, small and radiant. “Enough to create life. Real life.”

Dante’s breath caught. A miracle... after all this time.

His hand covered hers over her belly, feeling a strange spark of warmth there. A flicker of hope. In this dead, damned world... life.

“What are you thinking, Dante?” she asked softly, tilting her head at him.

He blinked slowly, then chuckled under his breath and pulled her gently into his chest, holding her like something precious.

“We should call him Virgo.”

She laughed—a small, bright sound in the gloom. “How do you know it’s a boy?”

“I just know,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair, breathing her in. “Call it devil’s instinct.”

She leaned against him, closing her eyes, letting the warmth between them drive out the chill of this forsaken place.

“It’s fitting,” she whispered after a moment. “Virgo. The sign of purity. Of beginnings.”

He smiled against her temple, remembering the strange dream he'd had when he lay broken and bleeding after that brutal battle—the dream of a quiet home, of laughter, of a child’s small hand reaching for his. Maybe... it hadn’t been a dream after all.

“I saw him, you know,” Dante said softly. “In that coma. Before I woke up. Silver hair... Golden eyes... like his mother. Damn kid smiled at me. Just like you do.”

Audrey smiled wider, tears glinting faintly in her eyes. For the first time in countless years—or maybe ever—Dante felt peace.

Real, quiet peace.

They stood like that for a long time, together in the heart of the Demon World, in a forgotten castle where no light shone… but where hope bloomed anyway.

Their eternity had begun.

And this time, it was not just for battle... but for life.

The End.