Dante's Stalker
"Outrun this!"
This was originally planned to be chapter 20 of my A Futile Second Chance fic. I tweaked it a bit for the prompt.
So Vergil and Dante are teenagers. Dante is oblivious to who Vergil is. And they're in a martial arts competition. I think that's all that needs to be said to avoid too much confusion.
Also, pardon the cursing. It's a T-rated fic >_<
AND, Ali is their younger sister. Which Dante doesn't know, but Vergil does. *headsplodes*
Oh, and I :wub: WCL.
Kudos if you know what I'm on about!
~...~
The excitement in the room was nearly tangible. The usual banter about flooring their matched opponents was absent on this last day. This was it. The big finale. The Firestorms – the small team from Metropolis that everyone had initially underestimated – were going up against the Glaciens from the feudal city Fortuna. The town where Sparda allegedly once roamed. Everyone knew the story, and everyone's bets were on the Glaciens. Fortuna had bred thorough fighters. They were the best – everyone had known they would be in the finals.
Nobody had counted on the newbie team to be the last to beat. It was motivating.
Dante wound the deep red handwrap around his knuckles, and observed his teammates from his bench. Peyton was stretching his muscles. Tim and Justin were doing a practice run for warm-up. Bryan was doing his meditation off in a corner. Sandy was beating the crap out of a punching bag.
It was an exhilarating feeling to know that when this week started, everyone had raised their eyebrows at the Nobodies. Now the name Firestorms was on every tongue.
And it was a thrilling experience. They were going up against the Glaciens. The team that had never been beaten in the National Combat Tournament, because they consisted of the most elite fighters to ever grace the earth. Dante's heart was beating in steady anticipation. This was going to be the fight of the century.
Coach Rusty stepped into the locker room and cleared his throat to catch their attention. "This is going to be a tough fight guys. Just remember that nothing is impossible – we have a chance to win the title of National Champions. We wouldn't be here right now if we didn't match up."
"You lookin' a bit nervous there, coach," Tim taunted lightly. "I thought we were the ones facing off with these unbeatable foes."
A chorus of humble chuckles from the others followed his comment, but Coach Rusty had no trace of humour on his face for a change.
"I have a few details about who you're facing off against. Bryan, you'll be fighting McMahon. You're shorter than him – use that to your advantage in every way you can," Coach Rusty said.
"You went to spy on the other team?" Sandy asked and punched Dante lightly in the arm. "Looks like Dante is a bad influence on you, coach. Cheating isn't in the game plan."
"Hey," Dante huffed, and struggled to get his fight gloves on. Sandy rolled her eyes and went to his aid.
"Tim, you're up against Keith. He's a kicker, so move in close and use your fists," Coach continued, undeterred, "And Sandy, you'll be fighting Ivy. She's renowned for her left hook, so watch her. Peyton, you've been matched with Dean, and Justin, you'll be fighting Sven."
There were collective mumbles from the team. Dante caught Coach's sharp stare, and got to his feet. "And who am I fighting?"
Silence fell, and all eyes swivelled to fix on Dante.
"****, Dante..." Sandy started, doing a double-take at Coach. "I thought they'd match Peyton up to the King."
"The King?" Dante repeated.
"The dude's been with the Glaciens for five years," Bryan nodded with a frown. "Can we switch fighters, Coach? Dante doesn't stand a chance against him. He's a first timer, it won't be a fair fight."
"Hey, it's the judge's decision who goes up against who, not mine," Coach Rusty held his hands in surrender, and looked at Dante with an unstable grin. "They match the fighters as equally and fairly as possible. The King keeps his technique tight, and he's got reflexes like a rattlesnake. A lot of people say his fighting is flawless, and as of yet he's never lost a round. He has an intimidating rep to knock out his opponent in the first twenty seconds of the fight."
Dante slammed his padded fists together. "I'll beat him by ten."
Coach Rusty's grin turned into a peculiar smirk. "Alright, guys. The same rules apply – all kicking skills, all punching skills, all knee strikes to the body and head are allowed. No stalling or else points will be given to the opposition. Keep your discipline – this is not a personal vendetta, this is a competition to prove the best fighter. I don't want to see any brawls break out during or after the fight, Tim."
"What?" Tim said innocently, and shrugged mournfully. "'kay, Coach."
"Listen to the ref. If he says stop, you distance yourself from your opponent immediately. Always keep your eye on the target. The judges will be looking for good technique, and no illegal moves or you'll be disqualified from the tournament. Dante." Coach Rusty paused to look at him pointedly.
"Gotcha, Coach." Dante mumbled guiltily.
"Knockout scores the team 15 – 0. That's what we're aiming for." Coach Rusty finished. "Any questions?"
"I think I sprained my wrist," Sandy piped up.
Everyone turned to stare at her in disbelief. Dante broke the horrified silence. "I knew you were going too wild on the punch bag."
"We need you to fight, Sandy!" Justin exploded. "We don't stand a chance in hell with one player less."
"She's chickening out," Bryan added in dismay.
"I am not!" Sandy said, suddenly looking very small under her teammates' blazing glares.
"Sandy, this is no time to get cold feet," Coach Rusty said.
"I'm not..."
"I'll hang here with her for a bit. Maybe if we soak that wrist in some hot water, you'll be good to fight," Dante interrupted.
Sandy sent him a grateful look, and Coach Rusty reluctantly agreed. "I'll come fetch you when it's your round."
Dante watched the others file out of the locker room, and turned to Sandy in disappointment. "I really wanted to watch them fight, y'know."
"I'm sorry," Sandy shrugged sheepishly. "I guess I just got too pumped up."
Neither of them spoke again for a while. There was absolute silence in the locker room when Dante got a bucket of steaming hot water and put it on the bench between them. Sandy saturated her arm up to her elbow in it. They could hear the judges announcing the fighters to step into the ring, heard the crowd burst into encouraging screams.
Each match was only a minute long. It sounded short, but for their age range it was almost too long. Non-stop fighting from the word Go until the bell rang, or the ref called it over, or a knockout took someone down. Constant kicking, constant fist launches – it gave one hell of a workout, and got harder the longer you kept at it.
With their time limit, they had to pull out all the stops. Produce the goods or face annihilation.
Tim was the first fighter called in. Dante listened quietly. There was a collective 'oooh' from the crowd – somebody had taken a hard blow, and a good one, if the cheers were anything to go by.
The bell sounded like a goose being run over by a truck, signalling the end of the round. Dante stared at Sandy's arm. They didn't have a lot of time. He hoped she'd get her nerves back in check by the time coach called for them.
"The King broke my brother's collarbone in last year's tournament," Sandy said quietly at his worried glance. "He hasn't been able to continue martial arts ever since, and he was really good, Dante."
"So?"
"So what if... you know... what if that happens to me?"
"I don't see what you're worried about, Sandy. I'm the one fighting the King, and besides, if this chic has such a great left hook then her right isn't that good, and neither are her kicks. Take her down with a roundhouse kick. Attack her from your left. You can do it if you concentrate on what you're doing," Dante said, and rubbed his arm across his face to wipe away the beads of sweat starting on his forehead. "Just remember, this is only the first half. The second half will go easier because you'll have a feel for her moves."
"If I don't get knocked out."
"If you don't get knocked out," Dante agreed and blew out his breath.
"I've never seen you this nervous before," Sandy said.
"I've got reason to be, don't I?" Dante said dryly. "I'm used to beating demons to death, not fighting brawny humans. I'm going to have to tone it down for this King dude."
"He's not brawny," Sandy said, and frowned. "He's actually rather skinny. Well, toned is a better word, I guess. I can't remember, I've only ever seen him in the ring. Don't let his appearance catch you off guard, though. A lot of people underestimate him because he doesn't look like the other fighters."
The door burst open, and Peyton appeared with a red face and a raw cut right beneath his eye. "Sandy, you're up."
"Okay," Sandy muttered, grabbing a towel up and drying her arm.
Dante helped secure her fight gloves back on. "You ready to kick some ass?" he asked, peeking at her curiously.
"As ready as I'll ever be." Sandy said.
They jogged out of the locker room and up the narrow aisle that led through the bleachers and onto the fighting ring. Ivy was already in the blue center of the large circular ring, and all eyes were on Sandy. Dante gave her a pat on the shoulder for good luck, and went to join his teammates' bench on the side of the ring. They all looked like they'd been through a war, with their discoloured and bleeding faces. Dante sank down between Justin and Tim, and tried to peer across the broad fight ring at the rivalling team seated on the other side.
The bell rang. Sandy and Ivy jumped into action. Dante was satisfied to see Sandy had listened to him and was getting good hits in. He rose from the bench, squinting to get a clearer view of the Glaciens. Where was this dickhead with the ego he was going to wipe out?
Hands suddenly seized hold of him and flung him back into the bench. He almost went crashing right over but Justin caught him in time. The instant he saw blue, his first thought was that the opposing team was getting too worked up and wanted to come cause ****. The thought fled his mind when Coach Rusty didn't intervene, and his teammates didn't get up for a hustle.
Dante's gaze lifted to meet a pair of familiar blue eyes, round and alarmed right that moment. The pretty face thrust into his, and her small hands got his blazer in a choke hold.
"Ali?" Dante stared at her, stumped. "What are you doing here?"
"No...****, Dante... what are you doing here?" Ali hissed frantically.
"I'm fighting the King. I thought you weren't into violence?" Dante said, staring up at her in genuine bewilderment. "You didn't drive all the way out here just to see me fight, did you?"
"No, you dimwit, I'm here to root for my brother," Ali shot back, and shook him hard. "Dante, you need to get the hell out of here."
"Chill out, babe," Dante said, grabbing her hands and holding onto them. "I'm in the tournament, too. I can't just back out. Who's your brother?"
"The King, you ass," Ali said, and her voice actually trembled. "Dante, you can't be here. You have to go home. Right now. You can't fight my brother."
"Oh. That's what you're worried about," Dante said, relaxing. "Tch, and here I thought you were worried about me."
"Damn it, Dante," Ali wrenched free of his grasp. "You don't understand. You can't fight my brother... it's not right."
"Why, because you know I'm totally going to macerate him?" Dante asked with a cOcky grin. "I'll go easy on him, but I am going to win."
The bell shrieked, and Ali physically jumped at the sound. She dug her fingers into his arms, and tugged at him desperately. "It's not fair, Dante. It's not right. I'm trying to protect you, damn it, stop looking like a confident little rooster."
"Last fight for the first half – for the Firestorms, let's hear it for Dante!" the announcement boomed over the speakers, and Dante rose to his feet, disengaging Ali's pleading hands from him.
"We'll still be friends after this, right?" Dante grinned and messed up her hair playfully as his teammates and the Metropolis supporters roared for him.
"If you survive," Ali said in defeat when Dante brushed past her and leapt into the ring, raising his arms in a convivial embrace to the noise made just for him.
"And for the Glaciens, the highly regarded, the invincible, the King of Combat – let's welcome Vergil!"
The deafening shouts and whistles and wild applause that followed, drowned out Dante's own crowd and shook the walls like thunder. Dante stared at the spectators in apprehension, momentarily dissuaded by having his spotlight stolen, before turning to face the boy stepping into the ring across from him.
Dante took only a moment to measure him up before every nerve in his body was set on fire. He was eye level with his opponent – they had the same build. An even match. Too much of a match. Dante rubbed his eyes hard and blinked slowly, staring at the guy in blue in front of him.
****.
He could see his own thoughts reflected back at him in the other boy's face. Dante's daze was short lived, however, when the only thing that made logic in his mind surfaced. It was a demon. Some ****ing shifter walking around with his face. Why it was here, Dante didn't know, and he didn't care. Killing demons was what he did best. This was going to be sweet.
Dante followed through with the usual procedures, tapping his padded red fists with his opponent's blue ones. It was meant as a gesture to say 'I'm ready'. But today, Dante meant it as a message; I'm going to destroy you. The boy picked up on the vibe, and straightened up while taking a step back.
"Fight!" The ref hollered.
The boys circled one another, fists held ready. Dante dodged back and forth, waiting for the first blow to be thrown. It didn't come. The boy kept at bay, sidestepping and backing off. It wasn't hesitance – it was reluctance. Dante could see it in his eyes. He didn't want to fight.
The ref appeared between them in a blur of black, and a yellow card was waved at them both in turn. "Passivity! Passivity!" The ref shouted, "Now fight!"
Dante's mouth dropped open, his complaints residing silently in his head. Anger kicked in. He streaked forward abruptly and unleashed a tight combo of power punches in his opponent's mid-section before dodging out of reach again. He'd caught the boy off guard, but only for a second.
Vergil's lips quirked into an arrogant smile. He recovered from the blows quickly, and smoothly ducked out of the way when Dante threw a sharp spinning back fist at him. He thrust a left jab, but Vergil moved fast and avoided the blow. He kept Dante at bay with long kicks, displaying an aerobic endurance of someone well conditioned to fight. His technique was sharp, and nearly as unpredictable as Dante's own.
Dante countered Vergil's left hook with a kick, and came back with a punch that landed hard against his neck. For a moment they were right up in each other's faces, clenching onto one another.
"C'mon, you poser. Show me why they call you the King," Dante snarled in his face and broke away from the boy with a knee strike into his chest when he saw the ref get ready to call out another penalty.
Something in Vergil's expression changed.
Dante was too slow to dodge the jump spinning heel kick and Vergil's foot painfully connected with the side of his face. Dante stumbled but caught himself, blinking in dazed surprise, before retaliating with a straight-on, brutal front kick that sent Vergil staggering.
He was deceptively quick, though, and had recovered before Dante could take another breath. Vergil delivered a good uppercut, but Dante stood solid against the blow with a mocking, stony expression that portrayed a silent 'is that all you've got?' taunt.
He blocked a right punch from Vergil before executing an inside leg kick that would have had any guy flat on the floor. Vergil barely flinched. They exchanged a series of body shots in succession, with enough force to convince Dante he had a few cracked ribs by the end of it - and that Vergil was no better off than him. Equal power, equal speed, equal resilience. ****, it was nightmare.
Dante let out an audible breath of relief when the bell screamed to end the match. He froze when Vergil held his fist out to him. Normally Dante would butt his fist against his opponents', a sign of respect and no hard feelings, but he didn't this time. He gave his fist one look, and stepped away from Vergil warily. The ref took position in between them, and they waited quietly to hear the score. Dante's eyes didn't leave Vergil.
It was a tie. Dante nearly lost control of himself when Vergil started to back away from him. He advanced on the other boy, and drew up short against the burly ref.
"Get to your team, son," He grumbled in a no-nonsense voice.
Dante watched with furious eyes when Vergil stepped out of the ring and joined his team.
Enji is Dante
Also, pardon the cursing. It's a T-rated fic >_<
AND, Ali is their younger sister. Which Dante doesn't know, but Vergil does. *headsplodes*
Oh, and I :wub: WCL.
Kudos if you know what I'm on about!~...~
The excitement in the room was nearly tangible. The usual banter about flooring their matched opponents was absent on this last day. This was it. The big finale. The Firestorms – the small team from Metropolis that everyone had initially underestimated – were going up against the Glaciens from the feudal city Fortuna. The town where Sparda allegedly once roamed. Everyone knew the story, and everyone's bets were on the Glaciens. Fortuna had bred thorough fighters. They were the best – everyone had known they would be in the finals.
Nobody had counted on the newbie team to be the last to beat. It was motivating.
Dante wound the deep red handwrap around his knuckles, and observed his teammates from his bench. Peyton was stretching his muscles. Tim and Justin were doing a practice run for warm-up. Bryan was doing his meditation off in a corner. Sandy was beating the crap out of a punching bag.
It was an exhilarating feeling to know that when this week started, everyone had raised their eyebrows at the Nobodies. Now the name Firestorms was on every tongue.
And it was a thrilling experience. They were going up against the Glaciens. The team that had never been beaten in the National Combat Tournament, because they consisted of the most elite fighters to ever grace the earth. Dante's heart was beating in steady anticipation. This was going to be the fight of the century.
Coach Rusty stepped into the locker room and cleared his throat to catch their attention. "This is going to be a tough fight guys. Just remember that nothing is impossible – we have a chance to win the title of National Champions. We wouldn't be here right now if we didn't match up."
"You lookin' a bit nervous there, coach," Tim taunted lightly. "I thought we were the ones facing off with these unbeatable foes."
A chorus of humble chuckles from the others followed his comment, but Coach Rusty had no trace of humour on his face for a change.
"I have a few details about who you're facing off against. Bryan, you'll be fighting McMahon. You're shorter than him – use that to your advantage in every way you can," Coach Rusty said.
"You went to spy on the other team?" Sandy asked and punched Dante lightly in the arm. "Looks like Dante is a bad influence on you, coach. Cheating isn't in the game plan."
"Hey," Dante huffed, and struggled to get his fight gloves on. Sandy rolled her eyes and went to his aid.
"Tim, you're up against Keith. He's a kicker, so move in close and use your fists," Coach continued, undeterred, "And Sandy, you'll be fighting Ivy. She's renowned for her left hook, so watch her. Peyton, you've been matched with Dean, and Justin, you'll be fighting Sven."
There were collective mumbles from the team. Dante caught Coach's sharp stare, and got to his feet. "And who am I fighting?"
Silence fell, and all eyes swivelled to fix on Dante.
"****, Dante..." Sandy started, doing a double-take at Coach. "I thought they'd match Peyton up to the King."
"The King?" Dante repeated.
"The dude's been with the Glaciens for five years," Bryan nodded with a frown. "Can we switch fighters, Coach? Dante doesn't stand a chance against him. He's a first timer, it won't be a fair fight."
"Hey, it's the judge's decision who goes up against who, not mine," Coach Rusty held his hands in surrender, and looked at Dante with an unstable grin. "They match the fighters as equally and fairly as possible. The King keeps his technique tight, and he's got reflexes like a rattlesnake. A lot of people say his fighting is flawless, and as of yet he's never lost a round. He has an intimidating rep to knock out his opponent in the first twenty seconds of the fight."
Dante slammed his padded fists together. "I'll beat him by ten."
Coach Rusty's grin turned into a peculiar smirk. "Alright, guys. The same rules apply – all kicking skills, all punching skills, all knee strikes to the body and head are allowed. No stalling or else points will be given to the opposition. Keep your discipline – this is not a personal vendetta, this is a competition to prove the best fighter. I don't want to see any brawls break out during or after the fight, Tim."
"What?" Tim said innocently, and shrugged mournfully. "'kay, Coach."
"Listen to the ref. If he says stop, you distance yourself from your opponent immediately. Always keep your eye on the target. The judges will be looking for good technique, and no illegal moves or you'll be disqualified from the tournament. Dante." Coach Rusty paused to look at him pointedly.
"Gotcha, Coach." Dante mumbled guiltily.
"Knockout scores the team 15 – 0. That's what we're aiming for." Coach Rusty finished. "Any questions?"
"I think I sprained my wrist," Sandy piped up.
Everyone turned to stare at her in disbelief. Dante broke the horrified silence. "I knew you were going too wild on the punch bag."
"We need you to fight, Sandy!" Justin exploded. "We don't stand a chance in hell with one player less."
"She's chickening out," Bryan added in dismay.
"I am not!" Sandy said, suddenly looking very small under her teammates' blazing glares.
"Sandy, this is no time to get cold feet," Coach Rusty said.
"I'm not..."
"I'll hang here with her for a bit. Maybe if we soak that wrist in some hot water, you'll be good to fight," Dante interrupted.
Sandy sent him a grateful look, and Coach Rusty reluctantly agreed. "I'll come fetch you when it's your round."
Dante watched the others file out of the locker room, and turned to Sandy in disappointment. "I really wanted to watch them fight, y'know."
"I'm sorry," Sandy shrugged sheepishly. "I guess I just got too pumped up."
Neither of them spoke again for a while. There was absolute silence in the locker room when Dante got a bucket of steaming hot water and put it on the bench between them. Sandy saturated her arm up to her elbow in it. They could hear the judges announcing the fighters to step into the ring, heard the crowd burst into encouraging screams.
Each match was only a minute long. It sounded short, but for their age range it was almost too long. Non-stop fighting from the word Go until the bell rang, or the ref called it over, or a knockout took someone down. Constant kicking, constant fist launches – it gave one hell of a workout, and got harder the longer you kept at it.
With their time limit, they had to pull out all the stops. Produce the goods or face annihilation.
Tim was the first fighter called in. Dante listened quietly. There was a collective 'oooh' from the crowd – somebody had taken a hard blow, and a good one, if the cheers were anything to go by.
The bell sounded like a goose being run over by a truck, signalling the end of the round. Dante stared at Sandy's arm. They didn't have a lot of time. He hoped she'd get her nerves back in check by the time coach called for them.
"The King broke my brother's collarbone in last year's tournament," Sandy said quietly at his worried glance. "He hasn't been able to continue martial arts ever since, and he was really good, Dante."
"So?"
"So what if... you know... what if that happens to me?"
"I don't see what you're worried about, Sandy. I'm the one fighting the King, and besides, if this chic has such a great left hook then her right isn't that good, and neither are her kicks. Take her down with a roundhouse kick. Attack her from your left. You can do it if you concentrate on what you're doing," Dante said, and rubbed his arm across his face to wipe away the beads of sweat starting on his forehead. "Just remember, this is only the first half. The second half will go easier because you'll have a feel for her moves."
"If I don't get knocked out."
"If you don't get knocked out," Dante agreed and blew out his breath.
"I've never seen you this nervous before," Sandy said.
"I've got reason to be, don't I?" Dante said dryly. "I'm used to beating demons to death, not fighting brawny humans. I'm going to have to tone it down for this King dude."
"He's not brawny," Sandy said, and frowned. "He's actually rather skinny. Well, toned is a better word, I guess. I can't remember, I've only ever seen him in the ring. Don't let his appearance catch you off guard, though. A lot of people underestimate him because he doesn't look like the other fighters."
The door burst open, and Peyton appeared with a red face and a raw cut right beneath his eye. "Sandy, you're up."
"Okay," Sandy muttered, grabbing a towel up and drying her arm.
Dante helped secure her fight gloves back on. "You ready to kick some ass?" he asked, peeking at her curiously.
"As ready as I'll ever be." Sandy said.
They jogged out of the locker room and up the narrow aisle that led through the bleachers and onto the fighting ring. Ivy was already in the blue center of the large circular ring, and all eyes were on Sandy. Dante gave her a pat on the shoulder for good luck, and went to join his teammates' bench on the side of the ring. They all looked like they'd been through a war, with their discoloured and bleeding faces. Dante sank down between Justin and Tim, and tried to peer across the broad fight ring at the rivalling team seated on the other side.
The bell rang. Sandy and Ivy jumped into action. Dante was satisfied to see Sandy had listened to him and was getting good hits in. He rose from the bench, squinting to get a clearer view of the Glaciens. Where was this dickhead with the ego he was going to wipe out?
Hands suddenly seized hold of him and flung him back into the bench. He almost went crashing right over but Justin caught him in time. The instant he saw blue, his first thought was that the opposing team was getting too worked up and wanted to come cause ****. The thought fled his mind when Coach Rusty didn't intervene, and his teammates didn't get up for a hustle.
Dante's gaze lifted to meet a pair of familiar blue eyes, round and alarmed right that moment. The pretty face thrust into his, and her small hands got his blazer in a choke hold.
"Ali?" Dante stared at her, stumped. "What are you doing here?"
"No...****, Dante... what are you doing here?" Ali hissed frantically.
"I'm fighting the King. I thought you weren't into violence?" Dante said, staring up at her in genuine bewilderment. "You didn't drive all the way out here just to see me fight, did you?"
"No, you dimwit, I'm here to root for my brother," Ali shot back, and shook him hard. "Dante, you need to get the hell out of here."
"Chill out, babe," Dante said, grabbing her hands and holding onto them. "I'm in the tournament, too. I can't just back out. Who's your brother?"
"The King, you ass," Ali said, and her voice actually trembled. "Dante, you can't be here. You have to go home. Right now. You can't fight my brother."
"Oh. That's what you're worried about," Dante said, relaxing. "Tch, and here I thought you were worried about me."
"Damn it, Dante," Ali wrenched free of his grasp. "You don't understand. You can't fight my brother... it's not right."
"Why, because you know I'm totally going to macerate him?" Dante asked with a cOcky grin. "I'll go easy on him, but I am going to win."
The bell shrieked, and Ali physically jumped at the sound. She dug her fingers into his arms, and tugged at him desperately. "It's not fair, Dante. It's not right. I'm trying to protect you, damn it, stop looking like a confident little rooster."
"Last fight for the first half – for the Firestorms, let's hear it for Dante!" the announcement boomed over the speakers, and Dante rose to his feet, disengaging Ali's pleading hands from him.
"We'll still be friends after this, right?" Dante grinned and messed up her hair playfully as his teammates and the Metropolis supporters roared for him.
"If you survive," Ali said in defeat when Dante brushed past her and leapt into the ring, raising his arms in a convivial embrace to the noise made just for him.
"And for the Glaciens, the highly regarded, the invincible, the King of Combat – let's welcome Vergil!"
The deafening shouts and whistles and wild applause that followed, drowned out Dante's own crowd and shook the walls like thunder. Dante stared at the spectators in apprehension, momentarily dissuaded by having his spotlight stolen, before turning to face the boy stepping into the ring across from him.
Dante took only a moment to measure him up before every nerve in his body was set on fire. He was eye level with his opponent – they had the same build. An even match. Too much of a match. Dante rubbed his eyes hard and blinked slowly, staring at the guy in blue in front of him.
****.
He could see his own thoughts reflected back at him in the other boy's face. Dante's daze was short lived, however, when the only thing that made logic in his mind surfaced. It was a demon. Some ****ing shifter walking around with his face. Why it was here, Dante didn't know, and he didn't care. Killing demons was what he did best. This was going to be sweet.
Dante followed through with the usual procedures, tapping his padded red fists with his opponent's blue ones. It was meant as a gesture to say 'I'm ready'. But today, Dante meant it as a message; I'm going to destroy you. The boy picked up on the vibe, and straightened up while taking a step back.
"Fight!" The ref hollered.
The boys circled one another, fists held ready. Dante dodged back and forth, waiting for the first blow to be thrown. It didn't come. The boy kept at bay, sidestepping and backing off. It wasn't hesitance – it was reluctance. Dante could see it in his eyes. He didn't want to fight.
The ref appeared between them in a blur of black, and a yellow card was waved at them both in turn. "Passivity! Passivity!" The ref shouted, "Now fight!"
Dante's mouth dropped open, his complaints residing silently in his head. Anger kicked in. He streaked forward abruptly and unleashed a tight combo of power punches in his opponent's mid-section before dodging out of reach again. He'd caught the boy off guard, but only for a second.
Vergil's lips quirked into an arrogant smile. He recovered from the blows quickly, and smoothly ducked out of the way when Dante threw a sharp spinning back fist at him. He thrust a left jab, but Vergil moved fast and avoided the blow. He kept Dante at bay with long kicks, displaying an aerobic endurance of someone well conditioned to fight. His technique was sharp, and nearly as unpredictable as Dante's own.
Dante countered Vergil's left hook with a kick, and came back with a punch that landed hard against his neck. For a moment they were right up in each other's faces, clenching onto one another.
"C'mon, you poser. Show me why they call you the King," Dante snarled in his face and broke away from the boy with a knee strike into his chest when he saw the ref get ready to call out another penalty.
Something in Vergil's expression changed.
Dante was too slow to dodge the jump spinning heel kick and Vergil's foot painfully connected with the side of his face. Dante stumbled but caught himself, blinking in dazed surprise, before retaliating with a straight-on, brutal front kick that sent Vergil staggering.
He was deceptively quick, though, and had recovered before Dante could take another breath. Vergil delivered a good uppercut, but Dante stood solid against the blow with a mocking, stony expression that portrayed a silent 'is that all you've got?' taunt.
He blocked a right punch from Vergil before executing an inside leg kick that would have had any guy flat on the floor. Vergil barely flinched. They exchanged a series of body shots in succession, with enough force to convince Dante he had a few cracked ribs by the end of it - and that Vergil was no better off than him. Equal power, equal speed, equal resilience. ****, it was nightmare.
Dante let out an audible breath of relief when the bell screamed to end the match. He froze when Vergil held his fist out to him. Normally Dante would butt his fist against his opponents', a sign of respect and no hard feelings, but he didn't this time. He gave his fist one look, and stepped away from Vergil warily. The ref took position in between them, and they waited quietly to hear the score. Dante's eyes didn't leave Vergil.
It was a tie. Dante nearly lost control of himself when Vergil started to back away from him. He advanced on the other boy, and drew up short against the burly ref.
"Get to your team, son," He grumbled in a no-nonsense voice.
Dante watched with furious eyes when Vergil stepped out of the ring and joined his team.
