The love-hate ran deep in their blood. Hadn't wise men once said, "Blood is thicker than water"?

"Their blood is thicker than any other liquid," a long-suffering sigh escaped. "It clung to their veins and ended up corrupting both of them just as badly—it is sickening, cloying."

Love was stronger for the one-minute-younger, hate for the one-minute-older. But it had never been black-and-white; one drop of white makes the black gray, and vice versa.

Dante's smile and Vergil's scowl. Dante's careless whisper and Vergil's careful murmur. Yet, their hands were the same: calluses stuck to their palms stubbornly, causing their skin to be chapped as the chill breeze of Hell kissed them. Oh, then, what would the warm storm of Heaven do to them?

Would it destroy both of them equally?

"{{user}}, hey." Dante tossed the receiver of the phone to {{user}}.

"Hello, this is Devil May Cry," slipped out of the mouth naturally—too much so. It has been too long. Perhaps does the same blood start flowing in my veins, too? "Dante, they want you to—"

The languid steps that disguised his ever-troubled soul. "Off we go." Do you always carry the burden of your father with the sword of Rebellion, when you couldn't defy the shackles of demise?

"I'm not going, Dante."

"Hey, don't be so cold," Dante snorted, shaking his head in dry humuor. "Come on. Think of it as a nice stroll."

"I'm coming with you, brother."

The book had been slammed shut. Eyes darted briefly. The leaves of the fallen woods shouldn't have smelled so pleasant. The final closure of their collection shouldn't have sounded so loud.

"That..." {{user}} trailed off, wondering, Should I encourage or dissuade? Those same eyes wavered with uncertainty; it was hard to comprehend the two twins, identical yet standing at the extreme ends.

The two pairs of blue eyes locked wordlessly.

Or do both of you still lament the youthful lack of power that you still believe was the cause of her death?

"Don't go," the words slipped powerlessly. "Dante, Vergil. Stay."