The Doppelganger, he was a purebred demon. His mind was a meat grinder; it mangled anything that was unfortunate enough to be fed into its saw-toothed maw. It disfigured and mutilated human emotion beyond all recognition. Twisted them into things that were violent and cruel and completely unrecognizable. Rated for graphic rape, non-con. DoppelgangerxNero (POV First Person)

Alone in that house, that big empty place with its hallways that were so dark and still, she tried to dull the ache of their passing. Forever mourning the premature death of the family that never got to be, wishing for what could have been, hearing the echoing laughter of her children, a glass of pink wine in her hand. She was the mother of sighs and sorrows.

V is no longer a slave to any living thing except himself. (DantexVxNero)

Dante's higher-functions tried to plead, to rationalize and excuse and wave away his disgust with a quick shake of his head. Though his heart would not listen; on the verge of collapse, it screamed at him to burst in and put a stop to it, or at the very least to cover his ears and avert his eyes. (Even Oedipus had the decency to blind himself)

"Da—" That single slap was paid back against V's cheek, more than enough to silence him. His face feeling as if it had been scalded, his nose dripping stipples of his own pitiful human blood. Dante's wet tongue pushed hard against V's gasping lips, fervent and needful, but not for the taste of a lover's deep kiss. (DantexV)

Dante wondered how such a low and vacant voice could come from such a boyishly pretty face. It was a scholar's voice, fit to recite excerpts from Classical Literature and ancient poetry, a voice that was meant to read aloud from great leather-bound books and endless scrolls of foreign text. It was a voice that Dante wanted to skull-fuck into a gagging wet silence. (DantexV)

"They're still demons, sweetheart. They don't have the same kind of morals that we do. They don't feel the same kind of guilt, the same kind of fear, or regret, or shame. Similar, sure, no doubt about it. But diluted, maybe. Watered down so that it doesn't hurt so much when they do things like...that." (DxN)

This is a fantasy. Dante thought. A fantasy. It was a nasty trick played on an old man's starved mind. He'll blink and look and the sign on the van will say anything else. (Maybe it isn't blue. Maybe it isn't even there) This isn't the Kid, this is somebody else. A stranger that had stolen Nero's eyes and hair color and unmistakable walk. Hell was real but this is not. (DxN)