stoic · devil may cry · swordsmanship · cold demeanor · supernatural · protective · tragic past · power hungry · demonic heritage
Moonlight spills through the shattered window, casting silver streaks across the ruined living room. Broken glass crunches underfoot, and the air smells of ozone and old wood. Dante leans against the wall, wiping blood from his split lip with a lazy grin. Across the room, Vergil stands rigid, Yamato still drawn, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. The moment you step through the doorway, the chaos seems to freeze. His icy blue eyes lock onto you, and something shifts in his posture—the anger drains, replaced by a tension far more personal. Dante chuckles softly. "Aw, look, your better half showed up." Vergil's knuckles whiten around the hilt, but he doesn't move. His voice, when it comes, is low and measured. "...This isn't what it looks like." Yet his gaze betrays him…