First Impressions
The intense darkness of the city streets were accepted with same casual thoughts given to the weather by the occupants of Capulet City. Most of the streetlamps had long since burned themselves out in an attempt to penetrate the dense blackness and no one had ever bothered to replace them. There was no point, as the lights did no good after the sun set.
Sill, some nights seemed darker than others. The shadows grew thicker in a foreboding shroud of bereavement on occasion. Though the residents accepted this in the same way they did any other normal pattern of activities, none of them were foolish enough to brave the desolate alleys of the run down neighborhood alone. Many of them choose not to temp fate even in a group.
None of this concerned Dante. He knew what terrors waited in the blackness. But he wasn't afraid. Just the opposite. The emptiness fueled him. It called to him in a familiar voice, as if he belonged in the nexus between darkness and light. He supposed that was the devil in him.
Dante strutted through the alley with a cocky grin on his face. He knew anyone who saw him would think him insane, but he also knew most people thought that about him no matter the way he acted. He listened to the mutterings and whispers of the humans when they thought he was out of earshot. They feared him. Not because of his strength or speed, but because he was different. Part of it was his hair. Stark white from birth, not age. Another was his callous bravado. How did he survive traversing the scary streets every night on his own, they wondered.
If only they knew. They would fear him even more.
Dante stopped, staring at the dead end, his smile never faltering. "Hide and seek, huh?" he spoke to the nothingness. He reached behind him and loosed the two pistols from their holsters. "Hope ya don't mind," he continued to talk to no one, "but I'm changin' the rules a little."
He felt, more than saw, a shadow move to his left. Turning with blinding speed, he firing Ebony and Ivory rapidly. The shadow fell back and was lost.
Dante waited, his eyes scanning every part of the dead end street. A flicker to the right caused him to turn, brandishing the guns in a false X pattern. His eyes met with a blank wall.
"You're pretty good at this game," he said. Twirling the guns, he returned them to the holster strapped to the back of his red leather trench coat. His hand went to the hilt of the enormous broadsword resting at his back. He brought it down to point strait in front of him. The skull at the base of the blade grinned with sadistic glee. "How 'bout we play tag instead?"
Dante held the sword over his shoulder just in time to block the progress of the Hell Vanguard's weapon as it attacked him from behind. He rolled out of the way and stood to face the menacing creature. He sneered at the demon as it squealed in rage.
"Guess I'm it," he mused and flew at the beast.
The Vanguard towered over the halfbreed. It's unearthly scythe glowed from demonic power, but gave off no light. Instead the strange weapon seemed to emit darkness as the devil held it in it's boney grip and sliced downward.
Dodging the attack, Dante bounded upward and spun his sword. The force of the swing turned his entire body one hundred and eighty degrees so that he was once again facing the mouth of the alley. He dropped to the ground. He didn't need to turn to know that his strike had met it's mark. He listened to the wail of the Hell Vanguard as it faded.
"Tag!" he exclaimed to himself.
As Dante prepared to exit the turnoff, he caught the light scent of a sweet perfume that reminded him of someone he used to know. He halted mid step. A movement ahead of him drew his eye. He squinted at the lone figure who approached. Even with his incredible night vision, he could only pick out key features of the individual. But what he was able to see made him smile.
A young woman with long hair and legs was walking toward Dante in a slow gait. As she got closer he was able to tell a bit more about her. So long as that bit was anywhere below her shoulders, as that's where his eyes seemed to stuck staring.
The girl stopped a few feet ahead of Dante. He cursed the poor light and grinned. "Hey," he greeted. "Don't ya know it's dangerous to be walkin' these streets alone at night?"
The lady made no reply other than to cock her head at his words.
Dante stepped forward. He heard a faint siren in the back of his mind, but ignored it. His eyes studied her as he decreased the distance between them. With closer inspection he was able to tell that the woman really wasn't a woman at all. She was a teenager. Probably a few years younger than himself. But, man, she was gorgeous! Dante had seen many women he considered beautiful, but none with the same perfection of the one that currently stood before him.
He slowly let his gaze met hers. Her eyes were light brown and thoughtful. "Are ya lost?" he asked.
She shook her head. The soft waves of her tresses flowed with the gesture.
Dante took another slow step forward and smiled sweetly. "What's the matter, babe? Can't ya talk?"
"Of course I can," she replied in a voice far to old to suit her.
Dante nodded. For some reason, the woman – girl, he reminded himself – was making him uneasy. "What's your name?"
"Abigail," she told him. Her eyes lower to his chest and a slight wrinkle played at her brow.
Dante repeated the name and watched her as she studied him. "I'm Dante," he stated, not bothering with his alias.
Abigail raised her eyes back to his and the smile she gave him caused the warning in his mind to wail. "A son of Sparda," she said. "How fortunate."
Dante leaned back and stared at Abigail suspiciously. "How'd ya know that?" he asked.
Abigail raised a finger and touched the amulet that hung on a silver chain around his neck. "I'm perceptive."
Dante sighed loudly understanding why the red flag had raised. He was a devil hunter for a reason, and this girl clearly wasn't human. He gave her one last longing look and decided that he really hated his job sometimes.
Without hesitation he brought Rebellion up and aimed a clean slice at Abigail's neck. Dante frowned as the sword met with no resistance, then sneered when he realized that the girl was no longer standing in front of him.
"You're not playing fair," came Abigail's voice from behind him.
Dante began to turn, but froze as soft fingers combed through his hair. His body's reaction to the touch was indescribable. It thrilled him, yet at the same time repulsed him. It was as if his skin was repelling Abigail's caress, but at the same time desiring it. It was confusing, but highly arousing.
Abigail's breath tickled his ear as she spoke to him softly. "I'm unarmed."
Dante scoffed at the statement, but made no attempt to break away from her as she circled him and let her hand rest on his shoulder.
"I doubt that," he said once Abigail was in front of him.
She only grinned at him mischievously. Her gaze studied him intently, then paused on Rebellion.
"Is it true what they say?" she asked with a playful glint in her eye. "About men with big swords?"
Dante chuckled. He made another attempt to ignore the alarm in the back of his brain. He was perfectly aware that Abigail was dangerous, but – as of this moment – she had not really tried to hurt him. Her strange response to his aggression had been self defense. Maybe, if he was nice enough, they could be friends.
He put his free arm around her waist, amazed by how much his internal war amplified by the action. His instincts were telling him to kill her. But another part of him was begging him not to. That would be such a waste, it reasoned.
"Would you like to find out for yourself?" he asked with a grin.
Abigail stared at him as if trying to make a difficult decision. Dante silently begged for her to give a positive reply.
"I don't know," she said. "You might try to kill me again."
Dante sighed and cursed his bad luck with women. "Sorry bout that, babe," he said. "But I got a feelin' you're dangerous."
Abigail gave him another of her sly grins. It made him uncomfortable to be so close to her with such an expression on her lovely features.
"I am," she admitted.
Dante watched Abigail, trying to figure her out but failing. He felt the intense desire to rip her head off, but resisted by some strange inner power that he didn't understand.
Abigail removed herself from his embrace with a quick display of strength. Dante had not realized that he had been holding her so tightly until she moved away from him. His fist unclenched and blood returned to his white knuckles.
Abigail wasn't phased by his forcefulness. She merely glanced at him with disappointment. "I think it's best if we avoid each other," she said.
Dante nodded slowly. "You're probably right," he agreed. "I'd be lyin' if I said I trusted ya."
Abigail chuckled. "It's almost as if you know me, Dante."
He felt something akin to an electric charge run through him as Abigail said his name. The way she said it made it sound as if she could see into his very soul. Dante didn't like that at all.
"Almost," he repeated in a tight voice.
Abigail gave him one last grin then turned to exit the alley, throwing a polite wave over her shoulder as she went. Dante watched her until she was out of his line of sight. He then shook his head and muttered "Women!" under his breath before making his way back toward his home.