Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry or any of the characters. That would be Capcom.

Dante had to admit: this was a classy place.

Nothing less could have been expected of a swanky five-star joint like this, though. Scarlet carpets lined charcoal tiles, sweeping by every authentic rod iron table. Silver slates adorned the walls, which caught the dim light emitted from the crystal chandeliers and just the right angle. Every table had a golden candle-like lamp and a small rose bouquet. The waiter had bowed even called him "sir". This place certainly lived up to its reputation as highest class in town.

So, what was Dante, as we know and love him, doing in a suit with his hair (sloppily) pushed back, at the most pretentious restaurant at town?

His date was very pretty. Long platinum blonde hair framed her peach face, and fell down onto the front of her powder pink dress. Her wide, sea-green eyes were framed by silver artificial lashes, and a pair of pink-stained lips completed her face. She was the Barbie doll from every guy's wet dream.

This date had been in celebration of their two-month anniversary; the longest Dante had dated anyone in four years, give or take. He had to say, it was going perfectly. Thankfully, he had managed to get this reservation for today, though it had been a struggle. This place was booked until next year, and he had just barely lucked out with someone canceling their reservation last minuet. He was thankful he didn't get a call tonight.

Ugh. Work. He didn't want to think about that.

Demon hunting had become a common job nowadays. The demon activity had spiked to unconceivable heights in the past five years, and now, demon-hunting squads were becoming more popular. He didn't have much to worry about though. It was usually some rich schmo hiring a few skilled combatants and trying to say he had a demon-hunting firm. Lots of the time, he was called in to clean up their messes. In the end, he came out on top and eliminated the competition.

The spike in demonic activity was unsettling, though. A shudder ran up his spine as he remembered Temen-ni-gru. That was something he hoped he never had to deal with again. Still, It could be any number of things, and none of them good.

"Dante" the soft voice of his partner snapped him out of his reverie "Are you thinking about work again?'

"No" he sighed, and then quickly changed the subject. " You sure look pretty tonight"

'Awe, thank you, Dante!" she giggled, moving a piece of hair to reveal a sparkly pink earring. Damn, that girl loved pink. " A girlfriend of mine told me to use the Sakura lip-gloss tonight, and I was like 'no, that'll never work…"

Dante stifled a sigh as she began to babble about her endeavor to get ready tonight. His mind shifted back to the issues with work, though he still threw in the occasional grunt, to make it look as if he was still being attentive.

"DAMOCLES!"

Immediately, Dante's head whipped around, not to the source of the angry cry, but to the man it was addressing.

Leapold Zacharaia Damocles was another one of those "Rich company, moderate services" people. He's a forty or-so white man with an account number bigger than the number of demons Dante had slain in his entire life. This man was, without a doubt, a humongous rat. His business, the National Damocles Hunting Firm, wasn't fully operational yet, however, he'd already started eliminating other completion. He would hire other people trying to make their way into the demon hunting business, send 'em on a mission he knew they couldn't handle, and scare them so bad that they would drop the profession right there and run with their tail between their legs. Damocles had tried this scheme on him numerous times, and Dante just wound up taking his money. After a while, he figured Damocles had given up on him, but continued to widdle down other competition.

Dante knew, however, that someone had caught on, and he really didn't want to be that poor, greying bastard right now.

In the doorway to this 'suit-and-a-reservation' restaurant was a woman. She had reddish leather boots and a white blazer with some matching, very short shorts. At least he assumed.

She was, after all, covered from head to toe in blood.

It was splattered all up her body, hiding any abnormalities in her skin, am practically all of (once) white clothing. As his eye traveled up, his chest began to tighten. She had black hair, which looked muddled with blood. It was short, and the ends frayed out, giving it the look as if it had been violently chopped by a demon blade, or frustrated stylist. He saw a pair or orange-tinted glasses upon the bridge of her nose, not letting him see the color of her eyes.

Or colors.

He didn't dwindle there for long. He noticed a lengthy lock of ink black hair in her gloved hand. However, the hair was still attached to a green, horribly disfigured demon head.

The woman stalked towards the table where Damocles was sitting, and no one made a move to stop her. It honestly didn't surprise him. She looked as if anyone who got within a ten-foot radius of her was joining that head dangling from her hands. Viciously, she tossed the head onto his table, the blood leaving dark stains on the tablecloth. That wasn't the only stain to be made tonight, as he heard several people lose their hor'derves on the carpet.

"Next time you try pull that little stunt," she warned, underlying tones of anger lacing her voice "Do your research. Will you?"

With that, the blood-soaked woman was in the wind, gone as quickly as she had come.

Dante turned to his date, who had an aghast look of horror on her pretty features. He decided then was a good time to get the bill.

After seeing his home safely, he decided it was time to return to his home/ Workplace. As he pulled up to the front of the building, he decided the first thing her needed was a nice long nap to clear his head.

After all, he was convinced that he had just seen a different kind of demon. One from his past.