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Advice for Demon Rearing - a collaborative parenting book and demonology thesis by Trish & Nicoletta Goldstein

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The tree collapses in minutes, as though the destruction it had caused was absolutely nothing. Nico begs him to go and salvage some of it, for research, and Nero refuses out of principle, already tired of pulling out demon innards for her. She grumbles, but complies, and they head back home. They leave Trish and Lady on the front door of Devil May Cry in case Dante somehow pops back in the human world.

“Aw man, what a cool place— Dante owns this? Can’t we go inside for, like, a little while? I just wanna’ look around a bit, see how he works—”

“No, we’re going home.” Nero cuts her off, itching for the sea salt smell of Fortuna, and a shower that isn’t made out of scrap metal and wiring that teeters on the very edge of electrocuting one’s balls. He’s trying to look straight ahead to make his point. Even more so to not look at Nico’s obnoxious puppy pouting.

“Please, please, pleasepleaseplease I’m sure Trish and Lady would like some company too, we can have some drinks or—”

“You drive like shit on a good day, I don’t have a death wish letting you get drunk too.”

“Oh come on, you fucking buzzkill!” She rolls her eyes, pulling on his sleeve and nearly dragging him out of his seat, “It’s not like Kyrie’s lonely or anything – I bet she’s sent those rascals on a playdate with your freaky neighbors just so she can kick back at home for a bit, a few more hours won’t hurt anyone~!” She sing-songs the last part in an attempt at a tempting suggestion.

They stare at each other in intense silence for a few minutes and somewhere along the way Nero realizes he doesn’t need to blink, and that Nico notices it too, to the point she’s now far more interested in that than whatever snooping venture she had planned.

Fine.” She drags out, defeated, “Have it your way. But I get to choose what movies we watch for the next two months.” A toothy smile sparkles on her face as she taps the steering wheel and starts the ignition.

Two months – no fucking way! All you keep finding is literal garbage that keeps scaring the kids—”

“Nu-huh, first of all – those are underground classics, and for two – Julio and Kyrie are all over those movies!”

“And Rosalie got so scared she wakes me up every night to stay in the bathroom and guard her while she pees— Do you think that’s funny?!” He barks out when Nico bursts out laughing so hard, stray spittle hits his cheek.

“You’ve got a perfect system all planned out – I see zero problems here…!” She says through a bout of heaving, struggling to compose herself and get the van in motion. Nero tips his head back with a drawn out sigh.

“Okay, sure, you win, just get us out of here already.”

“God, what happened up on that tree that’s got you so pissed…?” Nico mutters to herself more than anything, but definitely loud and incendiary enough to rile Nero up all over again.

“Doesn’t matter, Dante’s an asshole and that’s that.” Nero crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes are fixed on Vergil’s book, resting open in his lap and it takes all his strength for him to focus on the window in front of them instead.

“Sure, okay – your demon daddy business is your own but do you have to ruin my fun too?”

“If you’re keeping me away from a house with running water – yeah.”

“Pshh— Since when—” Nico snorts, a scalding remark forming on her lips that dies down before Nero can click his tongue at her. Instead, she swerves the van, nearly knocking it into an innocent light post, and drives straight towards the highway. They’re really lucky this city is already decimated.

In truth, taking a peek into Dante’s office(?) is beyond tantalizing. In the five years they’ve known each other, Nero hasn’t stepped inside even once, he’s dying to know what it looks like, what objects Dante has lying around, what he’s so readily left behind. Dying to catch a whiff of Dante’s smell. Maybe get hold of some discarded shirt and discreetly take it for himself— He pushes the thought away and picks up the book instead.

Nico glances at him from the corner of her eye but remains silent. Her gaze burns into his skin, only a dry cough shaking her back to looking at the road ahead.

Nero pushes the book closer to his face, just to hide the heat pooling under his skin.

He’s being noticed. He’ll be found out. She will make fun of him, relentlessly. He shouldn’t be thinking about it anyway, he got left behind, there’s no point clinging. Oh, how much he’d rather scrub all thought of Dante and Vergil out of his head, yet their spit lingers in his mouth and his body is aching from bruises that have already healed but the feeling of them still remains. Nero wants to wash their scent off him. And in an instant, he craves to drown in it as well. Which is precisely why they need to be out of his mind, they’re gone anyway, for God knows how long.

He scratches at his arm absentmindedly. It’s odd touching it without feeling any scales or sharp edges, though Nero swears he still feels it pulse the same way the Devil Bringer used to. Phantom pain? That’s what people call it, right? It’s not just his veins Nero feels when his nails drag against soft human flesh, there’s something larger, hidden just below the surface like those massive marlins he loved watching as a child while riding on one of Fortuna’s countless fishing boats. A hiss leaves his lips as he continues to scratch, then his mouth clamps shut as soon as the noise reaches him.

“You get Hell-fleas or something there?” Nico chuckles while fiddling with the radio. Her by now painfully familiar country-metal mixtape starts playing, at a reasonable volume, as per their very-much-spoken-argued-and-negotiated arrangement.

“What, you never get itchy?” Nero laughs back while his nails are still digging against his long-forgotten human skin. ‘Just a little more, just a little deeper,’ his body begs.

“Uhhhh, never enough to draw blood.” She says, staring directly at the thin trickle flowing down Nero’s fingers. He cursed under his breath before wiping it all over his jacket. He’ll have to drown it in detergent later anyway, probably more than once to really clean up all the demon gunk, so what’s a bit more crusty blood on it? The worst part it how good it feels to rub the itching spot against the coarse fabric of his jacket.

Nico continuing to bore through his skin makes him tear his hand away and leave it alone before he fucking flays himself. It still looks a little mangled, making Nico grimace but still squeal about how ‘gnarly’ it looks. The wound completely heals by the time they get on the ferry to Fortuna, though the itch under his skin is rubbing Nero’s nerves raw and aching.

“Woah.” Nico whistles when she notices the healed skin, “That was fast— Never seen you do that trick before.” She snuffs out a cigarette into the way overfilled ashtray between them and immediately lights up another.

“Yeah, I’m still getting used to it too.”

“You know what that means – We gotta do some experiments to—”

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to hear about any of your research for the next two months, you already got rights to the VHS, you’re not getting any more.”

“Oh you’ll see, you’ll come around…” Truly, her drawl, the way she leans back against her seat, the cigarette clutched between her teeth, she has no right making her ‘joke’ sound so threatening. Nero half-expects to wake up tonight with her clicking a pair of industrial pliers and a saw to try and cut him up with. But the shiver slithering down his back at least tears his mind away from the constant scalding itching.



Kyrie and the kids run out of the house before the van even enters the garage. All four kids, as peppy as ever, with the fifth one – Carlo – clumsily trotting behind the older kids while clutching Kyrie’s hand. It’s the middle of the night yet they’re all dressed in their plain clothes, apparently having a blast staying up late. Seeing all their faces, blissful and fully intact, perks Nero right up too.

“You’re back!” Rosalie screams, throwing her small body straight into Nero’s, knowing full well he’ll catch and lift her up in his arms, “We went to the beach today and we collected a bunch of seashells – Sabine and I made bracelets~! Look!” She dangles her wrist between them to show off all her little beaded clams and conches.

“So you did! They’re really pretty.” Nero bounces her up a few times, a goofy smile of his own mirroring the children’s sweet ones, his body filling with ease now that he’s back on home soil and he can see all of them clearly. It’s good. It’s nice. This is where he should be.

“We made a pair for you two as well…” Sabine says, fussing with her large curly mop of hair until her face is almost drowning behind it.

“Aww, how sweet of you, darlin’ – you boys should learn a thing or two about how to treat a lady!” Nico laughs as she gives Sabine a quick hug, then pointedly strikes her tongue at the two boys.

“As if a kooky weirdo like you can be called a lady!” Julio puffs out his chest in an attempt to make his small preteen stature intimidating, an endearingly losing battle considering Nero towers over Nico by over a head and he’s never managed to make her flinch once.

“Y—yeah!” Kyle meekly yells out behind his older brother while hiding behind him. His eyes dart back and forth between Julio and the girls pulling on Nero’s clothes so he looks at their crafts, an identical seashell bracelet dangling on his thin little wrist as well.

Nico calmly walks past the small crowd, petting Julio and Kyle’s heads only to have them both recoil and whine (two ‘grown men’ can’t be babied after all!), then straight to Kyrie’s side to hug her from behind and rub their cheeks together. The hug goes on until Nico squeezes her and lifts her back, making Kyrie laugh-scream and struggle to find solid ground. Her face melts into a delighted smile, the likes of which Nero doesn’t remember having been on her face since they were kids.

At the commotion, a few of their neighbors peek out their windows to see what’s going on. Nero and Kyrie smile sheepishly while the younger kids wave ‘hello’, especially when some of their friends come out to join their parents. Though through the confused and tired faces of the other adults, they all deem it time to bring the kids in and get them to sleep.

As it turns out, there’s still dinner waiting for them, warm and waiting to be set on the table.

“We thought you’d like to eat when you called. Plus… Auntie Imogen gave us a basket of squash, we probably have a good three weeks’ worth of the stuff.” Kyrie smiles while handing out bowls of soup to Julio and Sabine to carry to the table.

“We… We helped make the soup…!” Sabine says as she hands a bowl to Nero, hiding her face as she does so. Kyrie comes behind her to rub her shoulders, hugging her close.

“No need to be so shy, sweetie – she and Julio made all the food themselves.”

“And me and Kyle set the table!!” Rosalie squeaks while climbing into her chair, Kyle joining her as they both bang on the table. Julio comes behind them to hold their wrists before they spill something.

“And they set the table.” Kyrie winks, sheepish but clearly filled with pride and relief, “Nobody can fold napkins as well as our little ones~”

“Heyy— Don’t make fun of us…!” Rosalie whines, rocking back and forth in her chair, filling Nero with absolute dread at the possibility of her falling back. Both Nico and Kyle keep their hands hovering next to the chair for backup support.

“No such thing, baby – maybe next time you can wash the dishes after we eat too~!” Kyrie, zero worry on her face at the chair-maneuvering, teases Rosalie as she takes her seat. Both lean forward, almost touching their noses in a humming standoff of faux-serious faces. Kyrie blows her a kiss before pulling away, gently tugging on Kyle’s ear along the way.

They all eat and chatter around the table, passing around bread and chopped veggies. It’s loud and crowded and Carlo accidentally spills his bowl of soup on himself and Nico, whose lap he’s sitting in, but it’s the kind of mess Nero adores – as warm as the soup in his belly. The entire last month had kept him on edge the entire time to the point he’d barely slept. The last few days had been trial after trial. And now, it’s all melting away as though it’d never happened to begin with. It’s almost bizarre, going from the abandoned Redgrave City to a home where everyone is safe, sound and laughing without a care in the world. It’s a good kind of bizarre, as though he’s back on his feet after months of being at sea, the ground below him firm and stable.

It’s enough to keep Nero’s thoughts of Dante and Vergil as far back as he can, up until the moment their faces flash back into his mind and he wonders what tonight would look like had they stayed behind, or if Nero had followed after them. Would he be back here after all? Would he be in Dante’s office where he didn’t allow himself to look? Would they be here with him, slurping slightly chunky cream soup and huddled elbow to elbow at the table? Would he be down in the Underworld, pinned between their naked bodies without a single thought to spare about the human world, the three of them the only people that matter in whatever dark and slimy mess the Underworld is.

All at once, that itch is back, buzzing under his flesh. Nero almost drops his food to stab his fork through his skin and rub it raw until he’s scratched completely through the itch and his arm. He chews on his cheek. Someone funny is said from his side and the laughter is enough to silence the itch for just a little bit, serious thought on what it is to begin with dying out as well.

Everyone is ushered to the bathroom to brush their teeth after dinner, Kyrie exaggeratedly pushing Nico to the front of the line with Julio and rewarding her with a kiss when she gets out and demonstrates her clean breath. Nero waits in the back, leaning against the wall between the two girls, though Kyle, stuck firmly in the middle, weakly attempts to push himself closer too, pushing against Rosalie, who adamantly does not give up her premium spot. They both look up at him, expectant doe eyes awaiting an authoritarian verdict. A routine so familiar at this point, rather than wrangle them, Nero huffs out a laugh before kneeling down and grabbing the two kids, Kyle on his shoulders, Rosalie in his arms and balanced against his hip the same way he’d held her earlier that night. He has to crouch a tiny bit so Kyle doesn’t hit his head against the ceiling. He’s only 9 and tiny compared to his other peers, but only a few months ago Nero wasn’t leaning down for this; he feels a warm hit of pride that the kid is growing, even if slow.

“Awh, but I wanted to go up too…” Rosalie pouts, her tiny hands playing with Nero’s necklace, pulling the bead from side to side on its string.

“Uh-huh, and who got carried into the house earlier? And what about poor Sabine, she hasn’t complained a peep.” He teases back, sneaking a hand to rub Sabine’s back with his free hand. With a quiet laugh, she practically glues herself to his side. A leftover from when she and Julio had been much younger, when they were first adopted, and they’d wrap themselves around Nero’s legs and make him walk around the house like that (Kyrie got too exhausted too fast or outsmarted them by sitting down somewhere to read or sew).

“While you were gone,” Rosalie swiftly switches the topic with her bubbly voice, “I didn’t have to go pee at all during the night!”

“Oh, really?” Nero cranes his head, humoring her.

“No, she’s lying – she woke me up to go with her instead—” Sabine pulls on his shirt. The urgent need to expose the lie painted all over her round, lightly sunburnt face.

“Hey!! No fair! It wasn’t like that…!” Rosalie wails and pulls on his necklace to make him look in her direction instead. Her face is washed over with a thick shade of pink.

“She pulled me right out of bed, she dragged me out with my blanket!” Sabine’s complaints readily fall out her lips.

“Ah—!! No, I didn’t, I didn’t I swear—”

“Aha! What did we say about fighting with your sister?” Kyrie grins from behind Rosalie before grabbing her by the armpits and gently planting her to the ground. Despite the deep frown, Rosalie sighs and accepts her fate.

“She’s older so I should listen to her…” Her arms are crossed, her cheeks puffed out and her eyes screwed shut, as though it’s physically painful saying it.

“Mhmm, and what did we say about making loud noises after I’ve put Carlo to bed?” Kyrie nudges the small girl with her hip.

“That I will stay up all night rocking him back to sleep if I wake him up…”

“Good!” Kyrie claps her hands, “Now off with you, go brush your teeth~!” Grabbing both of Rosalie’s shoulders, she playfully spins her around and pushes her to the bathroom, with Rosalie laughing through her frowny face, her charade broken. With Rosalie in front, Kyrie points her chin to the others to follow.

“You big softie, and you tell me I baby them too much,” She says, flicking Nero’s nose as they pass each other and she finally heads to bed, “And— Oof, take a shower after, I already had to leave your jacket outside to keep it from smelling up the place.”

“Yes ma’am!” Nero calls out with a smile, though his own smell is now assaulting all his senses. Oh, that is funky, and it’s way more than regular demon blood and innards.

The kids chuckle while Kyrie blows him a small raspberry and waves him off before going into her bedroom.

He does let Kyle stay on his shoulders while they all brush their teeth, Rosalie and Sabine make due with staying on either side of him and dutifully scrubbing their teeth clean. After Kyle and Rosalie demonstrate the baby teeth they’re waiting to loosen, pushing at them with their tongues while pressed cheek to cheek, Sabine turns on her heels, deeply squeamish, bidding a quick ‘goodnight’ before running back to her room.

“Wait! Sabine—!! Don’t leave me to walk to bed alone!” She clamps her mouth shut when she realizes she’s screaming again and dashes out the bathroom to catch up. Left alone, Kyle shuffles his feet awkwardly before leaning in for a hug. He lingers at the door a little after he mutters a quiet ‘goodnight’ as well.

“Want me to walk you to bed?” Nero leans against the doorframe above him. The boy shakes his head, though his hand finds Nero’s on instinct. They both know he can go to bed by himself, fearful or not, really, he just wants Nero’s attention on himself for a little longer.

“Uh… Before we go, uhm…” He bites his lip, “I made bracelets with the girls too, so… Can I show you?” The lights reflecting on his glasses make his already wide round eyes look even larger. How do you refuse a face like that? Nero nods, of course, and lets himself be led back into the overcrowded living room. They both step lightly, avoiding the creaky floorboards so they don’t rouse Carlo, sleeping in a worn out cot in the edge of the room. Near one of the large cupboards, filled to the brim with Kyrie’s sewing supplies, fabrics, scissors, twine and all, Kyle reaches up on his tip-toes to pull out another string of seashells.

Shyly, he takes Nero’s arm and slings the bracelet on, right above the leather one he already wears. It’s packed tight with a handful of tiny white conches that almost glow in the dim lights above them.

“Oh, that’s really impressive – Thanks!” Nero takes his time to admire it, it’s an intricate design, each shell wound up several times in thread to keep it secure. Not to mention the effort of finding this many small white shells to begin with – Fortuna’s coastline is pretty gray in color, Nero’s played there plenty as a kid, he knows it inside and out.

“I wanted to get something to match your hair, because I thought it would look nice…” He ends with an inhale, like he wants to say something else but it never vocalizes. Nero’s embarrassed to say how much he likes the thing, or how sweet it is the kid did this for him, so he opts to lift him up and hug him tight instead. It seems to be satisfactory. Even with things left unspoken, when Kyle’s let back to the ground, he’s full-blown grinning. After a moment of silence, he dashes out of sight, only stopping midway up the stairs to look back and whisper another ‘goodnight’ before running into his and Julio’s shared room.

A bout of giddiness filling out his chest, Nero dangles the bracelet, watching it with a smile so goofy Nico would never let him live it down if she saw him. He steals a glance into Carlo’s crib too, just to check on him sleeping with a handmade stuffed elephant – Kyrie’s, from years ago, one that she’d received as a birthday present and dutifully kept safe all this time. There’s a bit of drool falling down Carlo’s cheek. Gently huffing, Nero wipes it off with the back of his hand before slipping back into the bathroom to finally wash off in a real shower.

The bathroom in their house is nothing special, but leagues and miles above the setup they have in the van. Though the hot water isn’t nearly enough, it’s sufficient. And even then, having access to the soap and shampoo he’s used to really cements that he’s home.

He doesn’t pull out the couch when he goes to bed, exhausted enough to just plop down and throw a blanket on himself. Like, clockwork, Rosalie wakes him up a few hours later. She looks just a smidge guilty as he crawls out of bed, but runs to the bathroom, leaving the door cracked open while he waits for her, leaning half-asleep against the wall as she babbles on about the dream she's just had.

The next morning, he’s woken up by Carlo, who’s rattling on the edge of his crib and he makes some porridge for him to eat. Him and Julio train in the field behind the house while Nico tinkers in the garage, waiting for any job call, and when it turns out to be a slow day, he takes the kids out into town to play so Nico and Kyrie can have some time to themselves.

And just like that, everything is back to normal. Even the itching seems to disappear, along with all those intrusive thoughts of Dante and Vergil.



At least, for a while.

It starts with a bit of fatigue. Nero jots it down to summer sluggishness, Fortuna’s air becoming humid and heavy the warmer it gets, and he can deal with a little brain-fog here and there. Instead of passing, however, more things keep piling up. The itching dies down, at least. But in its place, Nero’s body runs hot all over, he’s sweating all the time, sluggish but entirely restless the second he sits down to try and nap. His head is both empty and heavy, making him stumble and clumsy with every step he takes.

Looking at him, Kyrie concludes it must be a summer flu. For the next several weeks, their neighbors gift them heaps of dried herbs and Kyrie forces kettles of tea onto Nero, which he swallows down only to appease her, while his body keeps burning up from the inside.

He becomes irritable too. The heat, the sweat, the headaches, the lack of any jobs and the constant noise around him all coalescing until he snaps at the smallest things. He tries to limit it to Nico only, since she never cares for his moods anyway, but feeling irritated with the kids for no reason is wholly different. He spends time out of the house to calm down, as often as possible. Oddly enough, his legs take him to Mitis Forest on their own.

Most of the demons have long since been cleared out in the last few years, by his own hands no less, whenever he’d needed to let out some steam. Which is why Nero rarely has any reason to come back. Lots of craftsmen come to chop wood from the outer edges, closer to the city – occasionally they get Nero to come with them if they need to venture deeper and need some protection, but due to how overgrown and steep it is, few others make the trip. There’s a few camps of Order zealots, still clinging to their faith and hiding out on the other side of the island. The forest is their main source for foraging since they’ve lost most of their good graces with the general population and trading in town is near impossible.

All in all – it’s not a place of interest, yet Nero’s body breaks out into a jog the second he’s covered by the thick tropical shadows. The heat in his body seems to disappear and while his brain remains slow, his instincts sharpen up. Scents assault his nose from every side, making his Devil Trigger burst out before he even realizes it. He doesn’t even think when his body moves next, hurling and rushing until he crashes right into a lost, unsuspecting demon and his jaw closes right over its neck, snapping the creature in half.

Meaty crunches sound out through the forest as inhuman teeth rip into the demon’s flesh. The monster screeches, vomiting it’s own juices while Nero devours it with ravenous hunger. His mind isn’t working, simply following something hungry and violent pulsing in the pit of his stomach. Fire burning in his belly with every bite of demon meat he consumes. It’s fucking delicious – like demons are decidedly not supposed to be. Their smell has been nothing but repulsive his entire life, but now, the very energy flowing into him as his teeth snap and shatter bones feels just as good as when he’d been at the top of that tree.

He eats, and he sees Dante exposing his throat for Nero to bite, as vivid as the real thing. Blood gushes in thick sprays all over his torso and he feels the heat from Vergil’s body pressed against him, his tongue and teeth just as sharp as his blade, Dante’s hands gripping and scratching until they’ve drawn blood – that warm blood, mixing from all three of them, then saliva, then cum and piss as well, the three of them a warm and sloppy mess. It’s a white blur that hits him all at once, to the point his vision simply refuses to see anything but that vivid picture in his mind.

Nero does not come to until his human form returns.

He’s covered in blood, a pool of it rapidly drying out between formless, indistinguishable chunks of meat and crushed up bones. He hacks, spitting a filthy bloody glob into the soil. After weeks of fatigue and sweating, his body finally feels completely at rest. While watching the demon bits turn to that rancid black dust, his brain churns with disgust at the thought he’d just eaten a demon, and eaten it alive at that. He’d ripped it apart limb from limb for no reason that he can recall or remember, his body had just moved with nothing but bloodlust.

Worst of all, his belly is filled up. The heat is gone entirely, and when he gets up his body is lighter than it’d been since he’d returned to Fortuna. At a nearby pond, Nero washes himself thoroughly, the memory of what he’d just done disappearing same as the blood gets washed out into the water.

It’s nothing but a fluke. A result of boredom, new powers eager to be tested out?

While one time can be jotted down to a simple accident, when Nero continues, turns this into a habit, leaving in the dead of night for hours at a time to hunt out stowaway demons only to eat them down to the bone, to fill his mind and body with the memory of his father and uncle thrusting into him – he should’ve figured out something was wrong. If only it didn’t feel so damn good. If only it didn’t fill him with so much glee and push him to eagerly await his next hit of the stuff.

If only it wasn’t short lived.

If only he didn’t start vomiting after every demon meal when he'd found such an enjoyable routine.

When the purging starts, it’s only after eating demon flesh. Nero accepts this as a hint to stop eating raw demons and focuses his massive appetite back to Kyrie’s cooking, accidentally demolishing so much there’s no leftovers the next day even with the massive pots she always whips up. Which works too, though the heat and sweating return as well. It’s manageable, at least. Even though the sweet flavors of Kyrie’s food are nothing like the visceral tang he’d grown to enjoy and indulge in.

And then he’s clutching the toilet bowl every morning. Harking back bile and stomach acid long after he’s already expelled even the last trace of his meals.

Just like the rest of his mounting afflictions, the first few mornings only makes everyone think he got food poisoning. But when the stomach medicine they give him doesn’t work and Nero continues vomiting, morning after morning, for a good three weeks, everyone in the house gets concerned. Much to Nero’s own chagrin.

“Please don’t die, Nero!!” Rosalie throws herself over his back, wrapping her arms around his chest and hanging like a little koala while Nero is miserably hugging the toilet, a wet string of drool down his cheek. Her small weight against him is a nice comfort, despite his heaving chest.

“Stop saying he’s going to die, idi—” Julio clasps his mouth shut before the full insult leaves his lips, but his brows are drawn tight and his tawny skin is a good few shades darker than normal. Sabine hangs out close behind him, holding a cup of tea. Kyle trails after Carlo who bravely walks around, exploring the bathroom and trying to pick up whatever is in his small toddler reach.

“Kyrie, he’s being mean to me again!” Rosalie whines, rubbing her nose on Nero’s nape. As another tremor shakes Nero, her head lightly bounces with his lurches. He groans, the sour-bitter stomach bile taste overtaking his senses again.

“But I stopped myself just in time!! She’s just bothering Nero and—” Julio defends himself, pushing further into the bathroom. The kids are all closer and closer to the brink of tears with every passing cough from Nero’s mouth.

“Yelling at each other definitely won’t help him, though, yeah?” Kyrie hums, petting Julio’s cheek while rocking on her feet next to Nero. She’s set out a glass and pitcher of water on top the toilet’s tank. Passing Nero a glass whenever his vomiting calms down, she’s had to refill it twice already, today’s bout of sickness being particularly bad.

“And besides, he probably ate something bad I bet – just needs to get it out of his system.” Nico, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and passing Carlo different soaps and shampoos to sniff, keeps her voice light and dismissive.

“Must be…” Nero manages to say. Out of everyone, Nico’s casual tone puts him at ease the most. He wants to believe her theory too, maybe he got some disease from eating all those demons, which he’s not ready to admit just yet. He wants to believe it’s just a basic stomach bug that’ll clear up eventually, so long as he lets it pass through.

“Do you remember, whenever we got sick as kids,” Kyrie perks up, offering Nero a glass to drink from, “When we threw up, Credo would always say it was mother’s payback? Because I’d made her so sick while she’d been pregnant. And then she laughed along, saying Credo had been just as bad when she’d had him. I guess now it’s your turn for her ire, huh?” Her voice is filled with melancholy fondness. She rambles on happily, as though she sees the scene play out before her eyes. Credo, alive and here with them, strong and calm and firm. Here to watch over them both and assure them nothing dangerous was happening.

The memory of their mother and her wide, wide smile, too, flashes by. How she’d tease all of them and lift them up to make sure they never worried. When him and Kyrie had gotten varicella and couldn’t get out of bed, she’d play out stories for them, with her own makeshift costumes and props, dragging in Credo and their father along every so often. Her laughter would fill the room, their father’s sweet smiles and Credo’s reserved embarrassment – how they made every ache and irritation disappear without the faintest trace.

Nero manages to laugh then. His stomach quits doing somersaults as the atmosphere in the room calms down, and he’s able to get up and wash his face before Julio and Nico guide him back to the couch where he falls asleep for a solid twelve hours.

He’s dragged to the town clinic the very next morning.

Unfortunately, Nobody in Fortuna’s reformed little hospital is able to diagnose him with anything either, only prescribing stomach remedies and sticking to a hardtack diet. They do not take into account that Nero stays crouching by the toilet or in the fields simply lurching water and bile. Even if there’s nothing in his stomach, he’s nauseous, helplessly spitting remnants of drool and continuing to cough and hack even when there’s nothing left.

Kyrie hovers around him nonstop. Sabine and Julio are always behind too, always a glass of water in their hands to keep him hydrated. They look at him as though he’s a wounded animal, constantly passing him water, tea, milk, any kind of fluid to drink, and almost insisting on spoon-feeding him to boot. It’s especially embarrassing in-between his long naps. When he’s barely awake enough to think, let alone move, he’s so pliable his mouth opens on its own for them to tip in a few gulps of water inside him.



“You don’t think it’s contagious, do you?” Julio whispers to Sabine while they watch him sleep on the couch, like a pair of guard dogs.

“We’d all be sick by now too if it was…” She rocks her feet from the edge of the chair, just a tiny bit too short to reach the floor still. Carlo is also sleeping, soft baby snores coming from his cot a little off to the side.

“The doctors have no idea what’s going on, I’m just… worried…” He mumbles, smushing his face in his palms, “His hand went back to a normal one when he and Nico came back, do you think it has anything to do with that?”

He’s been going on with different theories all day, half of which had only succeeded in making Sabine tear up, which also made the other kids cry, a chain reaction of wails. They’d then decided it’d be best if the younger kids went out during Carlo’s afternoon nap, only Julio begged he get to stay inside the house while Kyrie went out to look after the kids, to which she’d agreed, probably to catch a moment of peace and quiet as well.

“Could be… I just want it to pass already.” Sabine hums, her lip quivering a little. If she wants to cry, she contains it quite well this time.



“Did he say anything before you came back?” Kyrie is biting on the nail of her thumb, her eyes seemingly unfocused into the distance. They’re sitting on a little hill on the farther edge of town, shaded under a young oak. The kids are running up and down the hill, racing each other and rolling in the grass for fun.

“Not that I remember – he just seemed really moody for no reason after Dante and Vergil left.” They both press their heads together with a light bump. Nico is itching for a cigarette. But she’d left her pack back in the house. Kyrie rubs their cheeks with a little hum.

“Hmm– Oh my God, Rosalie that’s nettle, don’t run there!” Kyrie yells from the top of the hill, staring directly at Rosalie and Kyle who are edging closer and closer to a swath of shrubbery not meant to touch human skin, “Aaaand there they go, right in the bush.” She sighs.

“Eh, Let ‘em! It’ll build some character” Following Kyrie’s gaze, Nico snorts as she watches the two children knee deep inside the nettle. She’s counting down the seconds before their laughter turns to panicked whining and scratching.

“You’re not the one who’s going to have to calm them down until we get home and then wash them down with baking soda, and then sing about the perils they overcame today.” Kyrie leans back, defeated, resting her body further against Nico’s. Tired but still smiling.

“You’re doing all that to yourself, just to be clear here.” Nico wraps her arms around her, kissing the nape of her neck.

“That’s fair…” Her eyes are closed, enjoying her small reprieve while a small chorus of ‘Kyrie!!!!’ echoes louder and louder up the hill.

“We really need to figure out what to do with Nero though, hurts me just looking at him. Where do we ask for help though? If it’s not a human affliction… And Dante is gone, so who do we have left then? Are there any freelance demon experts around…?” Kyrie ponders while opening her arms wide for Rosalie and Kyle to crash straight into, crying and begging for comfort.

“Oh… OHH, I’m such a dumb motherfucker – you’re a genius, Kyrie, you absolute goddess!! I know exactly who to call!” Nico’s voice overpowers the entire area. So loud it instantly makes Rosalie and Kyle stare up at her, their itching skin forgotten entirely.

“What’s a ‘dumb motherf—’” Kyrie clamps her palm over Kyle’s tiny mouth, decisively stifling his genuine little question lest she roll off the hill laughing at the sound of these preschoolers attempting to say ‘motherfucker’.



Lady and Trish arrive in Fortuna the very next day. Instantly out of place in their cool leather clothing, Kyrie’s eyes are glued to them when they show up on her doorstep, unable to look away even when Nico playfully nudges her sides.

The kids are all ushered out of the house early in the morning, off to school and then to be picked up by one of the neighborhood mothers for a playdate with her own children for the rest of the day. The girls crowd around Nero in the living room while Trish picks and prods at him. Kyrie has a bucket on hand in case he gets sick again.

“Now, let’s run it back – how long has this been going on?” Trish asks with her sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose even indoors. She holds Nero’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, softly craning it left and right to inspect his face. He whines quietly, eyes screwed shut as if expecting to get cut up any second.

“He started throwing up about a month or so after we came back.” Nico answers first, her knee resting on the armrest of the couch. Kyrie stands next to her, hugging the still empty bucket and looking back to the stove every now and then where lunch is slowly cooking in a massive pot.

“Seven weeks—” Kyrie clarifies simply, not even looking directly at the goup. Nero and Nico throw her a curious look. “Wh— We have a calendar, I keep track of these things, you know!”

“Alright, have you noticed anything strange that might’ve caused that?” Trish stops leaning right over Nero to give him some space. Nero shudders, his arms crossed in front of his chest – the demons he ate, he has to come clean about those.

“I was killing demons in the forest for a while and… some of their blood might have gotten in my mouth somewhere along the way. Maybe.” Great save, they will never suspect a thing. Definitely do not look at Kyrie’s face right now because you cannot lie to her to save your life.

“Hmm,” Trish taps her finger against her lip, “Pure humans can handle demon meat and blood just fine—”

“Without accounting for taste, then maybe.” Lady scoffs. Sitting sprawled out on the couch next to Nero, a little grimace spreads on her face. Trish nudges their knees together.

“Typically, it’s harmless though. Unless it’s an allergy— then again no allergy would last… How many weeks has it been?” The question is aimed at Nero but everyone looks at Kyrie again. She narrows her eyes and purses her lips.

“… This would be week 4… I record any illness someone in the house has in my journal, stop looking at me like that…!” She groans while Nico rubs her back with a giggle.

“It feels like an eternity to me.” Nero says, feeling out the slow churning in his stomach. It’s quiet so far. He’s only thrown up once so far after the kids left, but he’s on edge waiting for the next torrent of bile. Trish touches his shoulder and squeezes gently.

“Four weeks is a lot of time to be sick… Have you been attacked by anyone in that time? Or maybe anything else that felt strange?” Her smile is sympathetic but stern. Combined with the other three pairs of eyes fixed so hard on him, it feels more and more like he’s being interrogated.

“I dunno’… Haven’t seen anyone new lately, let alone fight, work has been kinda’ slow. I had headaches and felt hot for a while but that’s normal in the summer so I didn’t think much of it…” He hums, just the thought of all the sweat and itching making him feverish all over again.

“Pfff— And he was a bitch to live with before he started keeling over.” Nico puckers her lip, leaning forward to flick his forehead. He wants to bark back, but the sheer heaviness of his stomach makes him reconsider – he just wants to lie down and sleep again.

“A ‘bitch’ how?” Trish asks, dead serious, and Lady clamps her mouth shut to stifle a laugh. Nero steels himself for the worst.

“Oh he was horrible— I mean he always is— Ouch~!!” Nico yelps when a giggling Kyrie pinches one of her love handles, “But he was so moody all the time, like, he almost bit me in the garage this one time because I was ‘playing my music too loud’ or something. Like, everything got under his skin and he had this ugly sour look on his face – Yeah! Just like he has now!” Her finger prods his cheek while she laughs. The frown on Nero’s face is deepening.

“Alright. So, hot flashes, headaches, fatigue, mood swings, vomiting… Anything else?” Trish paces slowly around the room, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers all the while.

“Hah, when you say it like that, it almost sounds like he’s pregnant.” Nico slaps her knee before going off on a tangent about a cat she used to have as a child that got knocked up every year and how their yard was brimming with kittens year-round.

“Pregnant… Ah…” Trish stops.

“Nico, you really shouldn’t have opened that can of worms. Nero, go ahead and talk while you still can” Rubbing her temples, Lady practically deflates.

“My arm was itchy the first few days after… you know, the whole Redgrave city thing, but it was new and stuff, so maybe my body was just getting used to it, right?” As soon as he says it, he’s scratching at his arm again. Everyone’s staring twice as intensely at him now.

“Tingling in the body… Right after you came back.” She’s speaking slowly, untraceable cogs turning in her head.

“Pretty much.” Nero’s mind is filling with dread under Trish’s eyes. Her gaze looks human but feels almost serpentine, she doesn’t blink nearly often enough for a human and she’s practically boring into Nero’s skeleton rather than looking at him directly. That makes him feel extremely naked. The itching flares up again.

“Can you stand up for a second?”

He nods, but inwardly cringes when he needs both Lady and Nico to hold him up so he can stand properly. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Kyrie flash an encouraging smile and hold the bucket out for him, which he refuses with a weighty shake of his head, but keeps an eye out regardless.

“Aha, now take off your shirt and put your arms forward.” Trish claps her hands. Her eyes practically twinkle, though that cool snake-like feeling persists.

“Wh— What?!”

“Trish, what are you on about?” Lady looks back and forth between Trish and Nero, a deep scowl on her face that makes her eyebrow creases look deeper than they are.

“Y—yeah, what gives…?” Nero scoots a bit closer to Lady, who seems to be most aligned with his best interests, and he feels his face heat up as his eyes meet Kyrie, who cranes her head with sweet oblivious concern. Sure, they’d bathed together as kids to save on water (and their mother’s patience). But there’s a huge difference between being 7 and being 25.

“Oh quit being such a princess!” Nico rolls her eyes, already pulling Nero’s shirt right off, “Your chalk-pale boobies are not going to make any of us here blush— Now come on, off with it! I wanna’ hear what Trish has to say already!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t look.” Kyrie laughs from her belly as she turns around, her back to the rest of the group.

The room goes silent as Trish begins to circle Nero. She takes his hands, turns them up, down, front, back, then traces her fingers on his skin. Lady and Nero continue to mirror the same kind of confused and apprehensive frowns, meanwhile Nico keeps peeking and butting in to try and decipher Trish’s inspection.

“Everyone got really quiet, anything interesting happening?” Kyrie pipes up, maneuvering to the kitchen in such a way that she’ll still turned away from the group, then moving into the kitchen to look after lunch.

“Not yet! But Nero’s getting all pink in the— Hngh?!” Nico groans when Nero grabs her into a loose chokehold and shuts her mouth. Trish pays this no mind in her focus, while Kyrie’s only response is a long and feathery bout of laughter behind them. Lady remains frozen in place. Her lips are pursed, suggesting she’s already made a conclusion ahead of them, one that she does not particularly like.

“Aha! There it is!” Trish proclaims, jamming her finger in the small of Nero’s back and making him jump up and yelp.

“What did you find?!” Nico breaks free when Nero loosens his grip and directly glues her face next to Trish’s.

“Yeah… What is it…?” Lady swallows slowly.

“Nico is right, he is pregnant.”

Metal clangs and crashes behind them as Kyrie drops what seems like the entire cupboard of pots and pans.

“Trish… Not this again.” Lady groans, her voice cracking with exasperation. “I mean, how would that even work? He has a penis, doesn’t he— Don’t you, Nero?”

“Uh…” Nero’s brain stops. Completely. Every thought halted and wiped clean.

“He has a penis, yes.” Kyrie stumbles in from the kitchen and her face is smeared with flecks of soup.

“And nothing else? Just a penis?”

“As far as I remember, yes— Well, we were just kids when I last saw him naked though…”

“Kyrie—” He looks back, only to be met with a little shrug from her.

“Nah, it’s just a dick and balls, nothing special.”


“What?! You don’t want me to look don’t prance around naked in the fucking van so much, there’s literally only two directions I can look at—” Nico is all in his face and Nero would literally rather be mauled to death by a Behemoth than be in this conversation even a second longer.

“Then look in the direction I’m not changing in!” He barks back, matching her tone, as they always do. How they have never ended up in an actual fistfight since knowing each other is nothing short of a miracle.

“Oh please, get over yourself! Your lily-white ass poses no interest to me.”

“That’s not the fucking point—!!”

“Okay, enough. Trish, quit messing with the kids.” Lady claps her hands together and everyone shuts up.

“No, I’m serious.” Trish clears her throat as she stares Lady down, then pulls taut that same patch of skin on Nero’s lower back, “Come look. That’s a sigil to invoke pregnancy.” She states simply while the other three women crowd around her and squint to see. Nero feels a cold sweat bead on his back.

“What do you mean ‘a sigil that invokes pregnancy’??” Lady says while mimicking air quotes. Next to her, Nico’s eyes are dashing in every direction, almost vibrating in place, and Kyrie’s face is stuck in a perpetual squint.

“Oh, you can’t see it, right. Can I have a pen or marker?” As soon as the words are out of Trish’s mouth, Nico nearly leaps across the room to scramble for a bunch of paper and stationary. She offers the goods to Trish, who picks out a black marker and shakes it before popping the cap. Instead of using the paper, she traces the shape directly on Nero’s skin. He shudders at the light scratch.

“That’s just a bunch of squiggles. How did you even see that? It’s just a birthmark or something.” Lady remains unmoved and unconvinced.

“There’s hundreds of arcane symbols that can be used for blood magick, this is one of them. Lots of demon witches use this language to channel their spells – it’s difficult to get hold of texts on it in the human world though.” Tapping the marker against her hand, Trish explains calmly.

“I see, I see, this is good stuff, Trish! Not even my daddy’s research covers this stuff, how cool is that?!” On her side, Nico is rapidly jotting down a flurry of notes, tongue peeking out of her mouth in concentration.

“Alright, say this thing is real–”

“It is. Most demons cannot reproduce like humans, you see. Most species only have queens and broodmothers, who lay eggs, and others reproduce through parasites. But plenty are like me, and lack any method to carry a child, so, therefore – lots of spells exist to conjure a pregnancy without having eggs or spermatozoa.”

“’Spermatozoa’ she says like some library book…” Lady sighs, at a total loss.

For a good few minutes Nico’s scribbling is the only sound in the room.

“Okay. Well. What now? How did this happen? I need details!” Nico straightens her glasses, pencil gripped in her hand so hard it’s ready to snap.

“An… And are you saying Nero has something growing in his belly? Where is… it supposed to be?” Kyrie slips her hands to Nero’s stomach, trying to poke and feel for something, making Nero try to turn away and roll up in a ball, extremely ticklish.

“Oh, it’s not in his human body. That would explain the itching in his arm – it’s inside his Devil Trigger. You can put your shirt back on, by the way,” Trish hands Nero’s shirt back, lying discarded and stretched out on the floor. He cannot put it on fast enough, “Now, by human pregnancy standards, you’re in the morning sickness phase, which would put you around the tenth to eleventh week of it. The good news is that it’ll pass soon. The not-so-good news is this timeframe leaves us with Redgrave our point of conception.”

Oh, no.


“So, what – that Malphas chick did some witchery on him?” Nico scratches her hair with the blunt end of the pencil.

“I doubt it, the sigil was carved into his flesh in very fine detail. Someone with very fine motor skills had to do it in very close range.”

Nero swallows. His back towards Vergil while he’d been so busy swapping spit with Dante. There had been so many hits and cuts and punches between them all, how was he to feel anyone carve magic fucking sigils in his skin? Bile is rising up his throat again.

“Dante…?” Lady blinks, slowly. Her voice is dry.

“Dante never dabbled in demonic texts, I think. He always had a bunch lying around the office, but I’ve never seen him read any or actually do magick rituals so I doubt he’d try a spell on a living being like that. But from what I’ve heard of Vergil, he was very invested in arcane studies…”

Another silence settles.

“Theoretically speaking,” Nero begins, already shaking. ‘Shut up’, his brain is begging. Do not speak, you do not need to say anything. But his mouth barrels on, “What would one need to do to cast this spell?”

Invigorated, Trish flips her hair. Her smile is wild.

“Sadly, I’m no expert on the magicks, see, I’ve been looking into human pregnancy more recently—”

Has she ever.” Lady cuts in with a scoff and roll of her eyes. Trish blows her a kiss and a wink before whipping her head back, there’s definitely a crack in her neck as she does so.

“…But the rituals typically involve several things – an exchange of blood, saliva, semen, any kind of genetic fluid really, the consuming of flesh and creating the mark. There’s usually an incantation but depending on the sorcerer’s skill that can be omitted. It is a spell for creatures that can’t have reproductive sex, after all, makes sense that it doesn’t need to involve any sexual contact or even traditional heterosexual coupling. I’ve even heard of demons that impregnate plants with these kinds of spells.” She ponders, tapping her lip.

“Nero, do you remember anything?” Kyrie finally asks him, her eyes so big and wet Nero feels he could drown in them if she gets any closer.

Well now.



Vergil had lunged towards him.

Yet Nero’s gut reaction, brand new, ravenous, curious and deranged, is to grapple his father to the ground and smash their lips together. That’s all it takes for them both. Nero’s body is not his own, the demon inside him bursting forth to take and feast and thrive on things denied for his entire life. Vergil does not soften up, but his tongue burrows inside Nero’s mouth like a fat snake on the prowl.

He tastes good. Sinfully so – nothing but pure demonic energy oozing from his very essence. Nero slurps it up eagerly, lapping at his father’s tongue and drinking his drool as though it’s delicious nectar, opening his mouth as wide as he possibly can to let Vergil further in.

“I don’t care about fighting you, Nero – you would lose anyway.” Vergil says after he pulls away, a struggle between them as Nero chomps on his lower lip to keep them locked together a little longer.

“Then fuck me instead—!” Ignoring the insult entirely, he rocks forward, grinding their bodies together and groans in pure delight once he feels Vergil growing hard against him. In its flurry of newfound freedom, his demon saps out all of Nero’s lifelong desire on power only to replace it with a smoldering lust. How many times had he dreamed of those piercing grey eyes? This is exactly what his body has been craving for years.

“You hopeless child…” Vergil murmurs before biting into his tongue and swallowing a chunk of it. Blood floods Nero’s mouth, pours down between them both, and Nero’s mind short-circuits, buzzing with unhinged primordial pleasure. He moans and shudders. He drinks down his own blood only to smash his face against Vergil’s and bite right back. Teeth crackle, tingling down to his brain. Vergil’s tongue writhes between his teeth as he pulls and rips a chunk off, sparks flying in Nero’s vision with the very possibility to snap his jaw at full power and be rewarded with Vergil grinding their hips together.

“Do me, do anything you want to me – I can take it, I want it.”

Licking at the blood on his lips, Nero’s hands grab for Vergil’s dick, squeezing and kneading through his pants. He’s grinning, he’s panting yet barely breathing. Bloody drool pools down his chin. What a stupid fucking mess he must look like and Vergil’s cock still twitches and pulses in his hands.

The moment between Nero being pushed to the ground, where his chin gets scratched tender, and Vergil pulling his ass up to undo his pants and slam his fat dick straight into him, all passes in a white blur. This should hurt, be nothing but all-consuming pain. But Nero moans, spasms of pure pleasure shaking his body so hard Vergil grips him to stay put. His nails dig into Nero’s soft flesh, tearing thin red scratches while he thrusts in at his own brutal pace.

This cock had made him, years and years ago. And now, it’s pounding inside his guts, raw, engorged and determined to burrow as deep inside him as physically possible.

He screams, gurgles, deep animalistic sounds that do not resemble his own voice, noises bursting out from him with the sheer need to be let out and heard. All Nero can do is buck back against Vergil’s thrusts. Deeper, harder, faster, punched inside him until his father’s cock is imprinted inside his body.

With what remaining indulgent sense his demon has, it grabs for Dante’s leg, reaching out and dragging him with enough force to slam his crotch right into Nero’s face. Still woozy from being punched, Dante first groans at the contact before even processing the situation. Nero presses his nose firmly against Dante’s dick, blindly fumbling to unbuckle his belt and buttons, eager to get a deeper whiff of his incredible masculine musk. There’s blood and sweat and virile demon energy just brimming from that very spot. So much stronger than anything Nero’s ever managed to sniff, and he craves that scent to be carved right into his brain.

“Hah, you’ve never given me a greeting this sweet, my darling brother~” Dante’s breath hitches sweetly while Nero sniffs and licks at his crotch, “Giving your son the special treatment?”

“Don’t play coy. How many years have you taken your turn on him so far?” Vergil bites back with a dark smile, not caring for the drool from his own mouth.

“Never laid a single hand on him, honest!”

The lazy smile on his face melts into a howl the second Nero slams his throat all the way down on Dante’s long veiny cock.

“Jesus kid— The fuck have you been doing these five years?!” His hiss is for show only, because Dante’s hands tangle in Nero’s hair to pull him back in. It’s not slow to start, not even a little, but Dante takes his sweet time bounding Nero’s head up and down on his cock, keeping him pressed down to the very root with no regard for how long Nero can feasibly breathe. And Nero rewards every moment of it with nothing but the most debauched moans.

“Fuck, if I knew you were this good, I would’ve had you in my bed ages ago – we could’ve had so much fun back in Fortuna, in the middle of that cathedral or whatever, have all those people watch you get fucked by all that debris. The blasphemy~!” Dante steadies his legs, his arms still gripping Nero’s head, then slips his thumbs in each corner of his mouth to pull it wide, then proceeds to skullfuck him.

Pinned on both ends with nothing but pure force and aggression, Nero drinks it all in. Every thrust, every, slam, punch, spank and bite, every obscenity and growl from his father and uncle’s lips while they take their pleasure from his body – he’s never felt this good in his entire life. Somehow, he still craves more.

At the first inkling that Dante’s about to bust his nuts, he tries to pull away, clearly eager to paint Nero’s face with sloppy drool and cum. Instead, Nero wraps his arms around his uncle’s hips, locking them together and sucking, squeezing his throat and gliding his tongue against the thick protruding veins on Dante’s dick until he’s choking on cum and still drinking it down. He groans gleefully all the while, drunk on every pulse of his uncle’s dick as his balls churn out an absurd load.

Salty, creamy, scalding hot as it pours into his mouth. The best thing he’s ever tasted.

Vergil does not let up in his pounding while Dante grabs his head and kissing him, lips smushed together and tongues knotting desperately. He rides out his orgasm in sheer bliss, milked dry by his eager fucktoy nephew and sucking on his stupid horrible and very much alive brother. Finally, Vergil pushes him off and flat on his back to the ground, all the while still mounting Nero and fucking him loose.

“Obviously your stamina is pathetic. Don’t go soft.” He says with a crazed look in his eyes.

Mouth free, Nero screams and writhes, spitting and coughing up cum with each of Vergil’s violent thrusts.

It goes on like this for hours. Nero isn’t sure how long, both his mind and body melted in a sticky sludge of bliss, that it doesn’t even matter what anything outside of their fuck-pile is. They press him down, stretch him and fuck him from every angle, all his holes stuffed with cum, saliva and piss until he’s sore, puffy and leaking all over. No part of his brain works. And it doesn’t need to – he just needs that perfect heat Vergil and Dante pump into him, their hands and mouths gripping him with equal desperation.

When they’re done, a kiss from each twin is all he gets before they lay him down on the ground. The goodbyes they bid Nero barely hears because he’s still smothered by a thick cloud of post-orgasmic and oversensitive ecstasy. He has no idea when they’ve managed to discuss severing the tree, but his ears only catch Vergil and Dante share something unintelligible between themselves before they’re gone.

He comes to with nothing but that book by his side and cum drying on his skin.



“Well— He— Uhh, the fight got really heated back there. He stabbed me a bunch, I stabbed and clawed a bunch back. It was all a blur. Who could say how he did it really…?” Nero’s own voice sounds like a scratched CD. His stomach is flipping, churning, and he simply cannot take it anymore.

He runs to the bucket Kyrie had left on the ground, his entire breakfast rushing out of him in acidic bitter liquid that leaves his throat and tonsils burning. All four women rush to his side. Kyrie kneels gently by his side to rub his shoulders and coo, Lady and Nico hovering close behind him while Trish crouches in front of him, cupping his cheeks and staring straight into his eyes with unblinking intensity.

“Don’t worry Nero, we’ll help you get through this.” Her smile is brimming with giddiness more than reassurance. But the close contact, her long thin fingers kneading his face, Kyrie’s fisted hands rubbing circles deep into his back muscles, Lady firmly standing above them all, solid as a wall – it puts him at ease, and his body begs for him to lean in and relax.

And then Nico shuffles her papers.

“This is going to make an amazing research paper~! Oh, I need to put these in my binder—” With nothing but a manic laugh on her lips, she runs straight for the garage, heavy footfall echoing behind her.

Vergil and Dante’s eyes flash bright inside Nero’s head. So cocky, so happy to watch him writhe on the ground and take him and fuck him, and so ready to leave him behind. Surely, they both knew. And while they’re off fucking about in the Underworld, Nero finds out he’s months into a pregnancy and he doesn’t even know what this thing growing in him is.

Just thinking about their self-assured faces makes his demonic energy enter its boiling point, only a hair’s breadth away from going full Devil Trigger and punching a hole through the floor. What the hell is he going to do?