It had been a week since it had all ended in a determined flash. Since Dante had killed Rorek, as well as Lucy. A week gone by, since that dark, wretched scene had come to pass. Needless to say, Dante had not been himself at all since then. He was nowhere close to the flippant, cocky, demon hunter he had once been. In fact, he hadn't taken on a single job since that very day.

He, along with his shop was both becoming a mess. His eyes were bloodshot. There were empty bottles, and empty beer cans all over the place. His normally clean-shaven face was starting to get a scruff. He had become emaciated due to the fact that he had barely eaten a single thing since that week had gone by. To tell the truth, he'd barely even moved off the couch since the event had taken place. And images of Lucy constantly ran through his mind.

"Why didn't I forgive you?..."

He had asked himself, with a frail voice.

"Why did I let you go?..."

He'd often repeat questions such as these.

It was obvious that he was slowly slipping away. It was ironic. This is the same Dante who had once upon a time seemed invincible. This was the same man who had traversed the Temen-Ni-Gru, defeated his overwhelmingly powerful brother, sent Mundus to rot in the deepest parts of Hell, and the same man who had slain Mundus's even more powerful son. Yet it seemed his death was going to come from losing the person he had treasured most in the world.

He rose from his leather couch, and traversed the endless sea of bottles, and cans to the other side of the room to put clothe his bare chest with a black t-shirt. He ran a hand through his mess of a white mop of hair.

"I forgive you, Lucy…. I'm the one that should be sorry…. You were so young at that time. You didn't choose to become an enemy of the world, the world chose to make you that way. All you knew was abuse, and torment. What else were you gonna do? We were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time. I'd give absolutely anything to have you back by my side…. I-… I know I woulda done things different if I had the chance…. I-… DAMN IT!"

He slammed his head against the wall. He then proceeded to slide down to his knees, eyes stinging with tears of blood as they dripped, and stained the hardwood floor. Memories raced through his brain like speeding bullets. He remembered every feature of her delicate face, her glowing, crimson eyes, her slender body, her scent, her flowing pink hair, her horns… Everything.

He recalled all the events that they had been through together. He remember when he saw her for the very first time. He had rescued her from certain death. He recalled all the time they had spent together, and how she had warmed up to him. Their trip to the movies, the sweet moments where they held each other in a tight embrace….

But what stuck out to him more than anything else in his mind was his lashing out at her, and their final moments together.

It was all too clear in his mind, and it stung his heart like a thousand needles. She had saved HIM, after HE had lashed out at her. Called her a devil, and stated that he never wanted to see her again. She had put so much of her life's energy into healing his fatal wound, cell by cell, that her body had in turn, started to degrade to her very death. She was in excruciating agony, and it had been Dante, himself, who in the end, had to set her free with a single bullet. He had buried the remains of her in the white sand of the shore, and marked her grave with his father's sword, along with his mother's amulet. He had thought it was only fitting that their spirits guide her off to Heaven.

He closed his stinging eyes tightly as he grimaced.

But in that moment…. A figure's shadow could be seen through the stained glass window of the front door. A knock was heard.