Chapter Text
Dante was in the middle of grappling with a cantankerous tamagotchi when the phone rang.
"Devil May Cry, and this better be good, my dude, it's one ay-em," he told the receiver, glad for the excuse to put his shitty plastic egg down. It was the actual reason why he was at his desk at 1 a.m., but the caller needn't know.
The tamagotchi beeped loudly as a square poop manifested by it, and Dante almost missed the voice on the other side of the line.
"Dante," said the raspy, nasally voice, and oooooh fuck. Oh shit.
"Aw, shit, it's my bro!" He said, laughing, leaning back on his chair, slapping blindly at the tamagotchi to muffle its chiptune tantrum. "What's up! Long time no see, huh? Like what, five years?"
"Five years," Vergil's voice echoed, ruefully.
"Five years without a single fucking word from you, you bitch," Dante spat out, against his better judgment. "What now, you inviting me to some other bullshit tower? Some other hell gate? If you wanna jump in, I don't wanna be there to watch it happen."
He wrapped the tamagotchi in an old glove and shoved its screeching translucent butt into a drawer. This was an adult conversation, not for digital baby ears.
"Have you heard of a place called Fortuna?" Vergil said, ignoring that outburst like his usual emotionally constipated self.
"So this really is a party invite, is it?"
"Do you or do you not know the place?"
"What does it matter? If you're throwing this gauntlet, I'm picking it up. I'll find it, I'll be there."
"Dante."
Dante shut up. Vergil had tinged that old name with some color he did not recognize, but it was far from his usual beige.
This was new.
"Fortuna is an island off the coast of Red Grave," Vergil continued, his voice back to its usual smug didacticism. "It was once ruled by our father. Its populace revere him as a god."
Dante chewed on that for two seconds.
"What?"
"The ruling part is real. I checked the records. How history became religion is unclear, but he wasn't here for it, if it makes you feel better."
"They worship a demon?"
"They call him the Savior," he corrected. "Dante, I would be delighted to teach you all about Fortuna's completely insane scripture and where in its convoluted hierarchy of devils who are actually angels we probably sit, but time is of the essence. Please come to Fortuna."
Dante ran some abstract calculations on Vergil's unusual tone of voice and the weird shit he'd just said.
"So this is not a party," he asked.
"It is very much a party," Vergil answered. "But I'm not the host. And— I am aware that you have little reason to trust me, considering our last family gathering. This is how seriously I take this upcoming event."
And he spoke the password.
"Well, that does it," Dante quipped. "You got yourself a professional devil hunter."
"I look forward to witnessing whatever passes for professional behavior in your head," he said, dryly. "Make haste. Lives are at stake."
The line dropped, and Dante tossed his receiver back on its hook with a flourish. Since when did Vergil care about lives? He sure didn't send out any evacuation sirens before summoning the Temen Ni Gru. But then again, Dante hadn't cared either, when that night started. He'd learned to care before it ended. Five years was a long time— maybe even long enough for reality to crack through Vergil's thick skull.
The tamagotchi's muffled bleating was annoyingly loud now that he wasn't focused on the phone. He gave his desk a warning punch, enough to give the infernal plastic critter pause, and then browsed through his devil arms. If Vergil felt the need to call his plus-one, this promised to be one hell of a party, indeed.