(This story is a work of fan-fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to somebody else's work and/or actual events, organizations, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.)

(I do not own Devil May Cry or any other related title. All rights belong to Capcom)

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"You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend: Those with loaded guns and those who dig." – Clint Eastwood – The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

- Chapter One -

The Devil Went Down to Capulet

(Capulet City – March 25th – In the Year of Our Lord, 1888 – 6:45 PM)

Gray clouds loomed high above, blocking out the sun from shining its warm rays down on the earth. Rain fell like a torrent of arrows, hitting the dirt-covered ground and slowly turning it into mud. The dull thud of heavy hoof beats rose above the pilfering rainstorm as he galloped to the south end of the city, following the muddy road from the forest that was now far behind him. The galloping eventually slowed to a steady trot as the hooves of his mount, a bright-gray draft horse, sloshed through the deep puddles which barely covered the cobblestone path until he gently pulled on the reins, coming to a full stop at the entrance of the city.

His blue eyes scanned around at the surrounding buildings.

The city of Capulet appeared to be very much in a state of melancholy. With its low, gloomy wooden rooftops, the buildings walls either made of dark wood or solid red brick, truly a sense of malaise hung in the air. The entire city seemed to almost expand for over one mile or two, with an assemble of fourteen buildings on the right side and another fourteen on the left. Based on that description alone, the place resembled more like any other small, mid-western town rather than a city. Many of the townsfolk walking down the sidewalks on each side did what they could to pass the time and go about their own daily lives, but their spirits were very much dampened not only by the gloomy weather that surrounded them all by a few long miles outside the city borders, but by events that which had now plagued them so.

The stranger could tell from this that Capulet City had probably seen much better days. With a soft kick from his heels, his horse moved into the city, the thick hooves of his horse clip clopping against the stone pavement of the street. Many of the townspeople stopped for a minute and stared at him as he passed on by, as if he were but a mere outsider, which in truth he kind of was. Ignoring their gazes, he continued to ride on his mount across the city until he came upon one certain building. The size of the place was two floors high with five dirty-looking windows. The crude wooden construction made up most of the building's outer structure. A large steel sign that read "Apotheke Saloon" hung outside next to the heavy wooden door.

Although it was difficult to see through the windows, but the dank atmosphere could still be felt. Here, the stranger dismounted from his saddle and hitched the reins to a nearby post located out in front of the left side of the front porch. After that, the bounty hunter entered pass through the swinging doors with a feeling of caution. After all a man in his line of work never knew when he might run afoul of a crazed drunk, a homicidal desperado, or an age-old nemesis. He was welcomed by the deafening sound of incomprehensible silence and the thick nicotine-scented air. There was a flight of stairs located at the far-left side, leading up to the second-floor balcony where a few doors were located, and the mahogany bar was located at the opposite end of the saloon.

There were about more than five rounded tables here and there. Whomever was left inside the saloon, be it a small group of friends playing a quiet game of poker, a middling lonesome grog, immediately stopped what they were doing, twisted their gazes, and stared on over at him, who remained exactly where he was with droplets of rain water dripping down from the edges of his clothing. At this, they all examined him closely in great detail.

He easily stood at about six-foot-two and appeared to be forty-three years old with ashen-white hair and light-blue eyes. He wore a light-gray Stetson hat, along with a crimson-red linen duster. He also wore a black button-up overshirt, and a pair of black denim pants, as well as some black gloves. A loaded bandolier slung over his right shoulder. Around his waist was a brown leather ammo belt, with duel customized revolvers, one black and one silver, holstered to his legs. A thirteen-inch, double-edged Bowie knife with skeletal engravings hung from his right hip.

With careful ease, the bounty hunter sauntered forward towards the bar at the other end of the saloon, his silver spurs jingling at each step his brown roper boots took, all the while trying to keep his head lightly down so as to avoid enacting any kind of eye contact. Once after he approached the front of the bar, and placing his Stetson hat down on the counter, the bartender, a tall and stocky man with blond hair and a beard and mustache, stared at him. At first, he was unsure of what to say, but then found his voice.

"What can I do ya for, stranger?" the bartender asked. The bounty hunter's response came in the form of lifting his left hand up and placing several quarters and two dollar bills down onto the counter of the bar.

"Beef stew," he simply said, in a cooled voice. "If'n you got any."

"Sure thing," the bartender said. "Anything else to go with that?" The bounty hunter placed a single quarter onto the bar.

"The best beer you got," With that, the bartender eased the money into his hands and place it underneath the cash register, grabbed a glass, filled it with the beer from one of the lined four wooden casks, and then placed the beverage out in front of the stranger. After that, the bartender was off to the backroom located at the far left end of the bar. The handsome young stranger then began to relax and breathed heavily through his nose once after he took a large swig of his drink, letting the alcoholic contents cascade down inside his gullet and into his belly. Just as he was about to get more comfortable, he felt the sudden presence of two figures who now unexpectedly stood next to him on each side.

"Look what we got here, sissy," a sultry-sounding voice said. "This one's a mighty fine customer."

"Oh yes he is," another voice added.

He carefully turned his gaze over to his left and came face-to-face with the owner of the first voice. A beautiful young woman, with long red hair and appeared to be slightly younger than the stranger, possibly early-thirties. He then turned to his right and saw another girl, whose hair was a long sheen of gold and green eyes, and she appeared to be moderately around the same age as the other woman. They were both fully dressed in some nice gowns that were cut low enough to reveal swells of their breasts. The older girl's gown was colored all black, while the younger girl's gown was also black, but with with white pinstripes and French-inspired trimmings.

"So, what's your name, sugar?" the older woman asked.

"Anthony," the man grunted in that same cooled voice, with a small but pleasant smile.

"Nice to meet ya, cowboy," she said. "My name's Nevan, and this is my sister, Elena." Elena leaned closer and placed her right hand on his shoulder.

"Say, how'd you like to trade that there drink for some real firewater, upstairs?" she purred alluringly.

"You askin' me 'cause I'm so handsome?" Anthony asked.

"Nah," said Nevan with a cute smile. "Figured that you look like you've had a long day and deserve a good time. So, what do you say, sugar? You wanna have some fun?" Anthony took a quick swig of his beer, wiped the foam from his lips, and smiled again.

"Well, girls," he said, "I'm afraid that I'm gonna have to decline to the temptation of your request." Elena and Nevan stared at him in confusion, having not a single amount of a clue as to what the young man had just said.

"That's the fancy and polite way of saying 'no'," he explained.

"Aww..." the two saloon gals whined.

"Why not?" Elena asked. Anthony softly shook his head and chuckled.

"Sorry, girls," he said, "I just ain't that kind of man to be sleepin' around with women like that. Especially if two or more of them happen to be kinfolk." Before the two sisters could get the chance to speak, the swinging saloon doors opened again. Anthony and everybody else in the saloon glanced on over and saw a single figure silhouetted against the dim gray light of the rain-filled day. Anthony wisely noted the tin star that was pinned to the man's vest on his right-side breast.

"Afternoon, folks," the older man said in a low voice that sounded like it contained years of wisdom and experience. The bartender flashed the man a kind smile.

"Howdy there, Sheriff Morrison," he answered. Upon hearing the given name of the sheriff and getting a much closer look at the man's face suddenly struck a chord within Anthony. He then fully turned his body around and leaned back against the bar, the left side of his lips curling into a grin.

"Well, well, well," he grunted. "Look what the old cat dragged in."

Sheriff J.D. Morrison was a blond-haired white American who appeared to be somewhere around close to his sixties and had a neatly trimmed mustache. He wore a black, broad-brimmed Stetson hat, and was dressed in a black ankle-length frock coat, a white dress shirt, a purple vest, a bolo tie, and a pair of black saddle-jeans, as well as black loafer boots. A Colt Single Action Army revolver was holstered at his right leg. Held in his left hand was a Winchester 1885 High Wall rifle. The man smiled at the bounty hunter.

"Nice to see you too, Dante,"

(May update) If you're reading the story again and notice anything different, that is because I just recently re-wrote curtain details in the story, like changing Dante's confederate saber into a thirteen inch hunting knife, which was suggested to me by GoldenGecko, which in truth, I actually like the idea a bit more than the saber. Thanks, GG. ;)

Besides that, I hope that you all enjoyed this first ever chapter of this first ever DMC Western fanfic. If you all liked it, tell me so in the form of a review. I look forward to hearing what you guys have to say. Have a pleasant day.