Devil May Cry - Volume 1 - Chapter 4.4

Phase 4.4

The battle erupted without warning.

Dante swung his massive sword toward Gilver, who countered with his slim katana. The clash scattered sparks across the Cellar. Each blade danced and connected with super speed, never letting up or allowing the other to approach its wielder. 

Gilver had the advantage of a lighter weapon. He maneuvered so deftly it became little more than a silver blur. But Dante easily dodged each thrust, spinning his own blade as though it weighed nothing. 

“You've improved, Dante.” 

“Of course. Did you think I wasn't paying attention all those times we worked together?” 

Each man kept a light tone, battling with their pithy remarks as well as their weapons. Whoever broke into emotion first would lose this aspect of their showdown. 

Dante spotted an opening and swung his sword around so quickly it nearly parted the molecules of the air itself. But Gilver danced out of reach at the last moment, evading the lethal blow. 

“You swing too wide,” Gilver said. 

“Say what you like. Just don't cry when it cuts you.” 

Although Dante was able to counter Gilver's speed and power, the bandaged man had a command of techniques that stretched far beyond his opponent's ability. Gilver could detect patterns behind Dante's attacks in an instant, enabling him to narrowly avoid every move. 

“You're breathing hard. I could dodge this blow with my eyes closed.” 

“Is that so? You must be pretty good,” Gilver said tonelessly. 

Dante and Gilver clattered their blades together with the rapid chatter of a machine gun. They were so perfectly matched that the skirmish looked more than a battle to the death. 

“Just as I expected of you, bandage boy.” 

“Is that the best insult you can come up with? You really should do something about that poor vocabulary of yours.” 

Dante could see his insults weren't hurting Gilver. The two men were equally matched. Something would have to tip the balance to one side eventually. Dante had hoped he could needle his opponent off balance. Anything to break the deadlock. 

Gilver narrowed his eyes. 

“What's on your mind, bandage boy?” 

“I'm thinking about your defeated carcass. I read all your moves in that last exchange.” 

Dante would ordinarily have responded with a snappy retort. But instead he pulled back slightly. Nobody knew the extent of Gilver's skill better than him. 

What is it? What has he seen in me? 

Gilver's confidence was beginning to eat at Dante. How will he come at me? 

He didn't have long to wait. 

Gilver spied an opportunity and took it, lunging for Dante. The pair locked swords. It was now a contest of strength. Whoever gave first would almost certainly feel the other's blade. Dante knew his massive weapon was a hindrance at close range. 

Gilver knew it, too. “Your weapon is your weakness. You need distance to use it effectively. This is what happens when you spend your career relying on hand¬to-hand brawls. You mercenaries can fight, but you can't strategize.” 

Dante knew it was true. Locking swords effectively halved each man's strength, but Gilver had the slight advantage of forward leverage. Dante was in no mood to give Gilver the benefit of seeing him worry. 

“You talk a lot, bandage boy. Aren't you being a little overconfident?” 

“Like your blade, my own sword is of the demon world. Our metals will not bend through brute force alone.” 

“How lucky for you. Good thing I've got this trick up my sleeve.” 

Dante kicked his right leg in the air. It was the same low feint he had used during their first rumble – the night they'd had the vodka. 

“I've seen that before. It's useless now.” Gilver moved his leg to block. 

But Dante had something else in mind. He twisted his knee, shooting his foot toward a fresh target. He landed two quick blows to Gilver's side. 

“I guess all that bawling was good for me, after all.” His foot lashed out with knifelike sharpness, jabbing Gilver in the chin and solar plexus. 

Gilver shuffled backward to fend off the blows. 

Dante grinned triumphantly. “Now you're in my territory!” 

The distance freed up Dante to use his sword. He spun the blade with dizzying speed, slicing into his opponent. But just as he seemed on the verge of shredding Gilver apart, his sword flung backward with a violent ring. 

“Hey! What happened?” The weapon vibrated in Dante's hand, as if he had struck steel. 

“Ha ha ha! Yes. Yes!” Gilver erupted in a rumbling belly laugh. “You've pretended to be human too long. I can scarcely believe you forgot such a simple thing. The irony!” 

“What's so funny, bandage boy?” The heavy sword had numbed Dante's arms, and he was beginning to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“You still don't understand!” Gilver laughed maniacally. “Here, I'll show you.” 

Gilver tore off his suit. 

Dante's eyes widened involuntarily. Sickening black armor covered every last pore of Gilver's flesh. The demon plating chattered like the coruscating shell of a crab. 

“That's not fair,” Dante pointed out. 

“Fair? We're no longer in the human world. This nexus has become complete. Now I can access the full power of the demonic dimension!” Gilver straightened himself. The unnatural armor had grown thicker somehow, a black cape bloomed from his shoulders. Every movement was accompanied by the unearthly grinding of shell and stone. 

Dante quickly scanned the Cellar. The walls and ceiling pulsated with sickening decay. Tables and chairs dotted the chamber, but the mundane furniture made a queasy match for the living floor. A moist breeze lapped against him like hot breath. The cloying stench of death was everywhere, alongside the familiar force that had weighed him down at the Oz Club and the sanatorium. 

“This is your world,” he finally said. 

“Yes. The demon world is replacing yours. It will spread out from this nexus until finally everything is consumed.” Gilver hefted his sword, seemingly recovered from Dante's last attack. “This place is a cancerous blight to incomplete souls like you. Do you know why? Can you feel instinctually?” 

“You tell me.” Dante sneered, but he clutched his sword for reassurance. His breathing and heart rate were rising, just like when he descended into the basement below the hospital. He had barely been able to reach Jessica then, and he knew he would be unable to take on Gilver now. 

Just holding his sword seemed to sap his strength, and every breath unleashed a new wave of fire into his lungs. Calm down. Calm down. I can't show him weakness. 

Dante raised the tip of his sword into the air. 

“I might not be able to take you down with one attack,” Gilver conceded. “But I wonder if you'll be able to cross blades even three more times.” 

“Your armor weighs you down,” Dante retorted. “I wonder if you'll be able to evade my blows even three more times.” 

They glared. Time around them ebbed and flowed, marked only by the growing stench of rotting flesh and the palpable crush of the atmosphere. Neither man moved, although both were aware that Dante grew weaker with each passing moment. 

The deadlock fell to a simultaneous attack. 

The warriors flung themselves at each other, both slashing through the air with their swords. But Dante's blade had changed during the stalemate. 

Gilver stared at the weapon with wide eyes. “What is that?” 

“It's true form. Look at it while you still have sight.” Dante's sword chipped away at the scabrous black armor, dancing like a petal on the wind. The sheer ferocity of the blows surprised even Dante. The mammoth sword seemed to move of its own volition. 

“Where did you get that thing?” Gilver cried, backpedaling under the blade's fury. 

“It's my favorite souvenir from hell, bandage boy.” Dante renewed his attack, whacking pulpy chunks off his enemy's armor. The suit appeared to be alive, spraying black liquid with every stab. 

Gilver shrunk from the blows, analyzing Dante's attack pattern. Finally, the amazing sword arced through empty air... Gilver retreated. “I can see through your method Dante. Victory will be mine!” 

He now easily evaded Dante's thrusts and returned jabs of his own. 

“Don't sound so proud for dodging me once!” Dante pulled his blade across Gilver's path. The two swords crashed together, resounding thunderously. They were in a deadlock once more. 

“Do you finally understand the extent of my power here, Dante? 

Dante gave a half-smile. “Not too shabby.” 

The warriors broke off and swung again, yet again locking swords with a violent clang. 

“I can read it, Dante. I know everything that weapon is capable of.” 

“What? How?” The claim threw Dante off balance. Gilver drew himself up, confidence flooding his system. 

He read this sword – the sword Father gave to me. How can it be so easily read by anyone but me? 

Dante was overcome with unbidden memories of his father. Sparda had betrayed and fled the demon world. He took his superior swordsmanship with him, passing on that deadly legacy to his son. Does the demon world have other sword masters, too? 

Treacherous doubt sparked in Dante, a hesitant seed easily telegraphed to his opponent. Gilver had sensed the weakness almost before Dante had. 

“This is the end, Dante!” Gilver tried a series of quick jabs at Dante, who turned to block him. But it was no good. His father's rapid attack technique had drained him of strength, and Dante found his timing was completely off. 

Gilver swung his blade, knocking Dante's sword from his hand. “And now it's over!” he shrieked. 

Dante moved onto the balls of his feet. His sword was too far away and Gilver was too fast. His only chance was to dodge the barrage of thrusts and slices that were just moments away. 

The bandaged demon didn't disappoint. He was upon Dante with no warning, flicking his wrist with the colorful style and skill of the true underworld. Downward strokes, upward slashes, amazing thrusts. His blade sang through the air with incredible speed. 

Dante danced around the assault, his silver hair whipping madly. His long red coat slapped a martial rhythm with each dodge. He had no time to pull out his pistols, and Gilver was too far away for bare-fisted combat. 

“You have nowhere to run. Why don't you give up?” Gilver spoke with the assurance of victory. He was unable to hit Dante, but his strokes were making quick work of the red jacket. 

Naturally, Dante thought. 

He slowly closed the range between himself and Gilver. He had two options for combat, but reckoned the guns might prove ineffectual against the black armor. That left a straightforward rumble. If he could grapple the armor, he might have a chance. He pressed forward, risking Gilver's swinging blade to put himself into position. 

“I'm not going down without a fight, bandage boy!” Dante sprang forward. The move exposed his spine, but it was his only chance. Gilver struck with ferocity, ripping a deep scarlet trench across Dante's back. 

Dante gritted his teeth and continued to sail toward Gilver's legs. 

But the demon had already considered the strategy. “So you're going for the grapple. Nice try.” Gilver pulled a familiar gun from somewhere in his armor, holding his sword with one hand. 

Dante recognized the weapon immediately. 

“That's the old lady's!” 

Gilver unloaded both shells in the shotgun he had taken from Goldstein's shop. “I guess this time I get to be the one to say 'jackpot!' ” 

The shells ripped through Dante's legs, sending scarlet blossoms into the air. Dante crashed into the ground in front of Gilver and burbled helplessly. The pain was beyond anything he had ever endured. It stabbed through his mind like a hot poker, preventing all coherent thought. Both of his thighs were shredded beyond use. Blood bubbled up from Dante's mouth. 

Gilver stood over his prey, enraptured. “That's a splendid sound. Your agonized expression is quite beautiful.” He seemed to drink up the suffering. 

“Give me... a break... you sadistic freak. You think... a little thing like this – “ 

Gilver swung the shotgun to Dante's stomach and fired off another round. Dante howled as his gut ruptured and his bowels blew apart. His ribs shattered and drove into his lungs, which quickly filled with blood. 

Dante was unable to make a sound beyond the agonized popping of crimson bubbles in his mouth. His silver hair was stained black by his own dark blood. 

“Don't leave yet, Dante. I'm not finished with you.” 

Gilver pressed the muzzle of the shotgun directly against Dante, who was unable to move. Two more gunshots boomed. Dante's shoulders took the bullets point-blank, the bone and muscle ground into an unrecognizable paste. 

“How is it? Have you lost your will to fight? How does it feel to roll around like a pathetic worm?” Gilver was drunk with ecstasy. 

Dante knew he was as good as dead. His legs and arms were destroyed. He couldn't flee, let alone move his body an inch. The pain wracking every nerve was so intense he could scarcely string together a coherent thought. 

Gilver bent down to whisper in Dante's ear. “I've learned two things in the time I've worked as a mercenary. The first was to secure a complete victory, you must overwhelm your enemy with brute force.” 

Dante discovered his eyes were no longer mobile. He summoned the last of his strength to utter two gasping syllables. “Fuck you.” 

Gilver kicked Dante, digging an armor-plated toe deep into his belly. Once the screaming subsided, he leaned in again. “The second thing I learned was to keep your real talents concealed, in order to exceed the enemy's expectations. Isn't that your usual trick, Dante?” 

Dante gasped for breath. 

“I've been able to demonstrate what I've learned. Between you and me, the army I summoned fell somewhat short of my expectations. They weren't able to be here today. A shame they couldn't see this.” 

Gilver tossed the shotgun and gripped his delicate sword in two hands. 

“Time to finish this. Though incomplete, you are still one of us. Your wounds will eventually heal. Before that happens...” 

Gilver centered his katana above Dante's heart. 

“If I cut this out, you won't recover, no matter how much demon blood you have in you. Die peacefully, Dante. Your life belongs to me.” 

Gilver plunged his sword forward. Dante could do nothing but watch his horror as the tip of the blade raced toward him. Time seemed to slow down. 

The sword sank into Dante's chest, rending his heavy coat as it made its journey toward his heart. 

Without warning, the sword struck something hard. The collision pushed the blade to the left, missing Dante's heart. 

“What?” Gilver was astonished. 

Dante chose that moment to expend the last of his strength. He kicked the ground with both ankles, sending his legs flying into the air. The momentum pulled his lower body upward until he was briefly balanced upside down on his head. His useless arms dropped to the ground. 

Gilver realized that Dante had been gripping his chunky black pistols the whole time. His dead arms fell, pulling the guns out of his upside-down holsters. Dante squeezed both triggers as his hands arced down, and unleashed a hail of bullets. 

The barrels were just centimeters from Gilver, who flung his hands over his face. The bullets that erupted from Goldstein's final project tore through the air as though they were alive, vengefully seeking out Gilver. 

The demon instantly knew he had made a mistake in writing off the guns as useless tools made by human hands. Just before the bullets tore through it, he knew his black armor would prove useless. The impacts shattered the suit, creating a network of spidery cracks across its surface. 

“Impossible!” Gilver howled. 

The cracks began to glow. 

“Jackpot!” spat Dante. 

“But you've lost! I've wo–ugh... Argh!” 

Gilver's armor exploded. The bullets chewed away at his exposed body, gouging black holes in his flesh. And then Gilver saw it clearly. Something within the bullets themselves. 

He saw a flash of Goldstein's leathery face – of Grue's angry expression. An unnatural fear iced over his mind. Something inside him blew apart, smashing his body into the ceiling. He fell violently back to the ground. 

The bullets continued on beyond him, punching through the demonic world's wall. 

Gilver's head lolled uselessly. Black fluid gushed from his wounds. The coruscating remains of his armor glittered in pieces on the floor around him. 

Something sparkled dimly on Dante's shredded chest. 

It was the amulet he never parted with, even when naked. The only keepsake Dante had from his beautiful mother, who was murdered in front of his eyes so long ago. 

The amulet had deflected Gilver's sword and saved Dante's life. 

You saved me after all, Mommy. I must still be your body after all. 

In pain, Dante slowly turned his head to look at Gilver, who had collapsed, unconscious, in front of him. The bandages wrapping the stranger's face slowly unraveled. 

Dante saw the shine of silver hair. 

He gasped. Gilver's eyes opened, taking in Dante with utter hatred. The bandages had almost completely fallen off, revealing a noble and familiar face. 

It was like looking into a mirror for Dante. 

“What... Why do you have my face?” 

Gilver spat blood, unable to speak. His face was so full of malevolence that it radiated outward like a physical force, promising revenge. 

But Dante was no longer looking at Gilver's face. An amulet had spilled from his foe's shirt. An amulet that matched his own. 

“What's going on? Who are you?” he whispered, frightened. 

Dante hefted his body closer through sheer willpower alone. Waves of pain threatened to batter him into unconsciousness. 

“Why do you have that? Why does a demon have that amulet?! Answer me!” 

But Gilver was beyond speech, and possibly beyond hearing, too. 

“Say something! Anything! Gilver!” 

Dante slid toward Gilver with great effort. But the demon's body began dissipating into the chill air of the Cellar. The bar seemed to transform along with it slowly, and almost imperceptibly slipping free of the demon world's grip, returning to its normal state. 

“Wait! Gilver! Who are you?” 

Gilver's face remained twisted by hatred even as it evaporated, molecule by molecule. 

“Gilver!” he cried desperately. 

Sunlight filtered through the holes punched in the wall by Dante's bullets, driving away the last atoms of Gilver's body. The only thing that remained was his elegant sword. 

Gilver's name was engraved in the hilt. Dante found himself ripping off his amulet. He stared alternately between the sword and the amulet, a sickening realization settling across his mind. 

The amulet had two names inscribed on it. 

One was Dante. 

The other was Vergil. 

The name of his twin brother, who was lost the day his mother had died. 

The same face. The same hair color. The same amulet. 

Dante dropped both items, letting himself fall back to the floor. The sword, having lost its master, crumbled to dust.

Gilver had been Dante's brother. 

Two sides of the same coin. 

The impact washed over him, pervading his soul. 
 
“Whoa! What in the world happened to you?” 

A familiar voice brought Dante back to reality after he had become lost in his own thoughts. He had no idea how much time had passed. 

The sun now shined brightly over the ruins of the Cellar, so he figured that many hours had passed since daybreak. When he reflexively tried to get up, he realized for the first time how much damage he had taken. 

Damn. I still haven't fully recovered. 

But even so, he was somehow able to pick himself up. 

Enzo gawped at Dante with wide eyes. 

“Tony! Are you okay? What a stupid question. I can see you're not okay. Are you alive?” 

“Hey! Don't shake me so hard. These wounds still smart.” 

Enzo wouldn't let go. He jostled Dante urgently. “What happened here?” 

“Okay, okay. I'll tell you. But first lend me your shoulder. This isn't the place to talk.” 

Enzo helped Dante to his feet. “Man, it sure is strange to see you all beat up. It's the first time I've ever seen you in this kind of shape, Tony.” 

“Well, stuff happened. Oh, by the way,” Dante leaned heavily on Enzo, “The name Tony is retired. From now on, call me Dante.” 

“Huh? What are you talking about?” 

“I'll tell you outside. That pub around the corner might be good,” Dante said. 

“Your treat?” 

Bobby's Cellar collapsed the moment both men stepped onto the sidewalk outside, as if it had been waiting for them to exit.

It was the end to an eventful night... 

In that instant, the inhuman shadows hid themselves, and before long disappeared from people's memories altogether.