In the Devil May Cry novel, there's Gilverâa fake copy of Vergil created by Mundus. Gilver gets up to no good, messes with Dante and eventually tries to kill him.
That got me thinking... What if Mundus played the same cruel trick on Vergil? What if he made a fake copy of Dante?
At some point after the Sparda manor fire, a young, traumatized Vergil finds his 'little brother' alive and well. After losing everything, Vergil is overcome with relief. He doesn't care about their past bickering, he's just happy to hold onto the only family he has left. So they become inseparable.
Vergil gets to be an older brother again and becomes fiercely protective of 'Dante', always looking out for him. He opens up, lowers his guard and cares for him in a way he would for no other.
Vergil trusts him. And it makes it all the easier to drive a dagger into his back.
When demon attacks get more frequent and aggressive, Vergil doesn't think twice. It makes sense, the twins are together so the demon scum don't have to split up their efforts to pursue them. He has no idea he's being tracked from the inside.
Eventually, the trap is sprung.
The 'Dante' he has bled for, fought for, and loved with everything he had left turns its blade on him. All that warmth Vergil allowed himself to feel is turned to ash. He is forced to fight his way out of the ambush and kill his brother's mimic.
After the dust settles, Vergilâbleeding, broken and completely hollowed outâgently slides the clone's empty eyes shut.
"Fierce. He's a fierce fighter and a fierce protector. Fierce in anger, fierce in love. Fierce with words, with feelings. If there ever was a word that encapsulates my son, it would have to be fierce" - Vergil
"Every once in a while you'll meet a lady so kind people call her a living saint. Well, I can safely say that in all my years on God's green earth, I ain't never met a girl that fit the bill like this here Kyrie" - Nico
Well, season 2 was a mixed bag as expected. Though I'm not here to bash it or any new fans. I'm tired boss.
Just wanted to point out a cool detail I couldn't unsee, how in some shots Dante looked a hell lot like Eva. Kinda wholesome...
It makes sense since Dante is more in touch with his humanity.
And I'll stretch that extra mile and say Vergil looks a bit like Sparda. The guy is embracing his demonic side so the animators chose the resemblance. Cool stuff.
As far as Dante was concerned, this was the golden hour. The office was currently graced by the presence of a cheesy, circular masterpiece: a large pepperoni pizza. He glanced at the side order: a smaller, separate box containing a thin-crust mockery of true greatness topped with olives and sun-dried tomatoes.
It was Vergilâs, of course. Dante had noticed his brother still struggled to adapt to the human world, especially the concept of eating for pleasure. Even now, Vergil was merely pecking at his food, looking more like he was dissecting a specimen than enjoying a meal. Dante decided to help end his misery, even if there were olives involved.
âYou gonna eat all that, Verge?â Dante asked, his hand drifting lazily toward Vergilâs box. âEven olive infested pizzas deserve to be eaten warm.â
The reaction was instantaneous.
Before Danteâs fingers could even hover over the crust, a low, vibrating sound rumbled through the room. It wasnât a verbal warning; it was a visceral, guttural growl that started deep in Vergilâs chest and ended with a flash of white teeth bared in a feral snarl.
Vergilâs pupils didnât just blow wide; they sharpened into needle-like slits, dark and predatory. They locked onto Danteâs hand as if guarding a fresh kill from a scavenger. For a split second, the polished Son of Sparda was gone, replaced by something that had spent a decade eating flesh and demon marrow in the dark.
Dante froze. He didnât pull backâthat might trigger a strikeâhe just stared. Heâd seen Vergil do a lot of things, but watching his stuck-up and stoic brother go full lizard-brain over a slice of pizza was a new level of heavy, twisting his gut in all sorts of ways.
Clearly the Underworld was a harsh teacher. In the pits, if you didnât fight for what you wanted and guard what little you had, you didnât survive.
âWhoa,â Dante said, slowly raising his palms in a gesture of surrender. âOkay. Not messing with your food then.â
The tension snapped like a tight band. Vergil blinked, the predatory haze in his eyes clearing as he realized, with a sickening jolt of self-awareness, that he was currently baring his fangs at his brother over a piece of bread. He straightened his coat, an embarrassed flush creeping up his face. The growl died in his throat, replaced by a cold, suffocating silence.
âI... am no longer hungry,â Vergil muttered. He pointedly pushed the box of pizza aside.
âSuit yourself. A lilâ leftover never hurt anyone,â Dante tried to joke, but it fell flat. He felt a pang of guilt; heâd accidentally tripped a wire he didnât even know was live.
They spent the next twenty minutes talking shop, because nothing buried tension quite like work. It was the usual grind: a high-level demon sighting by the docks, another lesser nest in the sewers, and the soul-crushing reality of debt and utility bills. Vergil was clearly back in his comfort zone, speaking in clipped, professional tones, but he never once looked back at the food.
When the business was concluded, Vergil stood up with his usual, practiced grace.
âIâll see to the harbour job,â Vergil said, eyes drilling into his brother. âDo not laze about, and do not let the clients negotiate the fair pay downward. If I have to start supervising your contracts like a toddler, I will simply hand the work over to Nero.â
He turned on his heel to leave, headed off to sulk in his own way.
âYeah, yeah. I hear you, father of the year,â Dante teasingly called after him.
As the front door shut, Dante sighed, reaching for a slice of his own pizza only to realize the box was empty. As he pulled back in disappointment, his hand stopped mid-air.
There, on the edge of the desk, sat Vergilâs box.
Vergil hadnât just left it. He had pointedly slid it across the table, nudging it firmly into Danteâs territory. It was a silent, prideful apology. The demonic equivalent of: âI recognized you as a threat, but I remember now that you are pack. Feast.â
Dante looked at the vile olives, then at the door, and shook his head with a small, lopsided grin.
âWhat an over-dramatic idiot,â Dante whispered. He picked up a slice of the pizza, flicked off the offending olive, and took an appreciative bite.
Vergil, the firstborn of Sparda, eldest of the bloodline, and keeper of Yamato, was currently engaged in the most grueling battle since his return from the Underworld.
His knuckles were bone-white. His face was a mask of murderous, vein-popping intent. In his grip sat a jar of stuffed olives that remained simply... unconquerable.
âYield,â Vergil hissed at the glass.
âGive it up, Verge,â Dante called from the desk, not even looking up from a dirty magazine. âThe universe is clearly trying to tell you something. Those little demons belong behind bars.â
Vergilâs grip tightened, blue sparks of devil trigger energy dancing around his fingers. âIt is a matter of principle, Dante. I will not yield to a jar of perfectly normal, if not delectable, snacks.â
âSure, sure. Unleashing horrors upon this world has always been your thing,â Dante teased. âWhenever youâre ready to call it a day, you can toss the jar in that perfectly normal, if not delectable, bin over there.â
Vergil eyed the overflowing trash can with great scorn. âYou were supposed to empty it before it reached this state of filth.â
âAnd yet, Iâm still giving you the option of making it worse with your disgusting olives.âÂ
Vergil paused. He looked from the bin to the jar, then back to his brother with a predatory glint in his eyes. Dante knew that look; it was the most dangerous thing his brother could doâactually use his head. With a scheme in mind, Vergil set the jar onto the desk between them.
âI propose a wager. Whoever opens this jar is proven to possess the greater prowess. The loser handles the binsâwithout complaintâfor the remainder of the month.â
Dante kicked his boots off the desk. As much as he hated the idea of vile olives entering the world, the idea of getting one over his brother was all the sweeter. Since it was an easy win by his books, he pushed the deal. âTempting. Add laundry duties to the pot and youâve got yourself a deal.â
âAs you wish,â Vergil replied coolly. âSince those duties shall be yours.â
âBold talk for a guy who couldnât even make the lid budge in the past twenty minutes. Step aside, peasant.â
Dante cracked his fingers, rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the jar. He twisted it with all his might.Â
Nothing. Zilch. Nada.
The jar didnât even creak.
He shifted his stance, braced his boots against the floor, and gave it his all. Not a nudge.
What followed was a spectacle of frustration and desperation. The jar repeatedly traded hands as the two half-devils employed increasingly ridiculous measures. Dante was seconds away from popping devil trigger just to chew the lid off with his razor-like teeth, until Vergil protested the âvile contaminationâ of his brotherâs drool. Vergil then proposed using Yamato to open a miniature rift and portal the contents out, but Dante shot the idea down as blatant cheatingâthe bet was to open the jar.
âItâs enchanted,â Dante grunted, sweating and defeated. âA real solid seal between those hellish things and the human world. Maybe itâs for the best they stay where they are.â
âEven your crude, mulish strength cannot force it,â Vergil panted, looking equally disheveled.
The stairs creaked. Nero stumbled down the steps, looking thoroughly bedraggled with a mess of white hair sticking up at odd angles. He stopped dead, staring at the two legends huddled over a jar of olives like they were fighting the greatest of battles. And they were losing.
âHey, kid. Iâd stay back if I were you,â Dante warned, his face red from exertion. âThis is a code red situation, class-S threat. This thing cannot be defeated.â
Nero raised a single, heavily disappointed eyebrow. He wordlessly shuffled into the kitchen, returned with a simple kitchen knife, andâbefore either twin could protestâslammed the tip through the center of the lid.
Pfft.
The sound of escaping pressure was the loudest thing in the shop. In the absolute silence that followed, Nero unscrewed the lid with two fingers and set it back on the desk.
The twins exchanged a long, stunned look.
Dante reached out, poking the pierced metal with a finger. âWitchcraft,â he whispered.
Vergil crossed his arms, staring at the jar with an expression trapped between murderous intent and a childlike pout. âClearly, our combined efforts had already loosened the lid.â He shifted his weight, glancing at his son. âBut your assistance is much appreciated, Nero.â
âSooo,â Dante drawled. âWhat about the bet?â
âWhat damn bet?â Nero asked, rubbing his eyes blearily.
Summary: A young Nero demands to know why Dante named him after a crazy Roman Emperor. Dante, in typical Dante fashion, gets out the ice cream and explains that Nero's name goes a little deeper than that.
Excerpt:
Dante dropped the magazine back to its previous position. "You're back early. So what put you on the war path this time, squirt?"
"You did!" Nero's voice was rife with outrage. Something hard and rectangular landed on Dante's middle, not quite knocking the air out of him, but definitely too heavy to ignore.
Frowning, he took the magazine off completely and looked down at what Nero had thrown on him. It was a kid's book on the Roman Empire. ... Dante looked from the book to Nero and accepted the inevitable. With a groan, he pulled his feet off the desk and sat up straight. "Alright, spell it out for me. You mad 'cause you can't get up in armor and go empire building? Or did I accidentally get some historical fact wrong and made you look silly in front of your friends?"
Nero's face, which had been lightening with triumph at Dante's capitulation, darkened again, his ears turning pink with temper. He stamped his foot. "You named me after a crazy emperor who threw people to lions!"
It took Dante a good ten seconds to process this statement, then he looked down at the book with new eyes. Flipping it open, he found a bookmark on the chapter about Emperor Nero, who was indeed, one crazy s.o.b. However, Dante hadn't known that at the time he'd named Nero, or had only known it peripherally. And even if he had knownâŚ
He shut the book with a snap and set it on his desk, then stood and captured his nephew, tossing the boy over his shoulder.
"Hey! Lemme go! Lemme go!" Nero shouted, beating at Dante's back with his fists and trying to kick. Dante, an old hand at this, kept his legs pinned and so avoided a black eye from flailing feet. "You suck!"
"Hush up, you little goon," Dante told him, going to the shop doors and locking them, then twitching the blinds so they would have privacy. That done, he went into the kitchen and plopped his nephew down on the counter. "We're having ice cream sundaes. What'dya want on yours?"
