The club was packed, most of the people on the dance floor while others clustered around tables or by the bar. A young man sat at the far end, toward the back, his body half-turned and right leg propped on the lowest ring of the stool. His left leg was stretched out, his hand tapping his thigh in accordance to the beat of the music. A group of young women entered his field of vision, and he flashed them a winning smile. All of them melted into a fit of giggles.
"I think they'd stand there and watch you all night," drawled the voice of the bartender, gaining the young man's attention.
"It's what they've been doing ever since I walked in," he remarked with a nonchalant shrug. "But I'm not complaining. I might even take a few of them home," he added with a devious grin.
The bartender laughed and shook his head. "That's something I'd like to see, Dante. It may create quite a scene since nearly every woman here has eyes for you. Well, except her," he informed him, pointing.
Dante looked across the room, finding the woman in question. She sat alone at a table on the opposite side of the dance floor, her gaze fixed intently on the glass of water in front of her. She had long, black hair and was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and red shirt with billowy sleeves. Dante scrutinized her, not because she was fairly attractive- he preferred blondes after all- but there was something…strange about her. He wasn't sure what it was, yet his senses indicated she was not what she seemed.
Abruptly Dante rose to his feet, reaching beside the bar to take hold of the large sword propped there. He deftly placed it on his back and slid a glance the bartender's way. "I think it's time I did something about her lack of interest," he remarked, grinning. The other man laughed good-naturedly, then turned to an approaching customer.
Dante casually made his way across the room, his trek taking him into the thick of the dance crowd. He passed by relatively easily, for the sight of the sword at his back and tall, broad-shouldered frame was enough to create a pathway, until he stood before the woman. Sliding into the seat across from her without being asked to do so, he leaned forward and folded his hands on the table surface. The woman raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me, but that seat is taken," she stated, annoyance evident in her tone.
"Yes, I know. It's currently occupied by me. And you are?" Dante replied, smiling pleasantly. She leaned back and crossed her arms, obviously not amused.
"Cute. I think you might want to find another seat."
"Oh, why would I want to do that? Although we've just met, I do know there's something not quite right about you," Dante continued, watching her reaction. Her brow furrowed in mild confusion, then she frowned.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"I think you do," Dante said, his grin becoming feral. This time the woman's expression betrayed her fear. His hand hovered near his holster as he anticipated the first move. All at once her eyes lifted upward, relief entering her gaze at the exact same moment Dante felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head.
Dante chuckled. "Never heard of a devil needing a bodyguard. Why don't we have a proper introduction?"
"The introductions aren't necessary. You are going to get up and move away from here, or else I'm going to ruin that pretty face of yours. What's it going to be?" hissed the voice of Dante's unseen assailant. The tone had a definitive edge to it, as well as a slight accent he could not place, but he was not frightened. In fact, he found the entire situation highly amusing.
"Well, since you want to do things the hard way," he sighed. A split second later the gun was free from its holster, the table was knocked over, and Dante jumped to his feet. He dimly heard the woman release a cry of shock, as well as the gasps from the surrounding crowd, when he whirled around.
A tall, narrow-faced man dressed entirely in black glared at Dante from beneath long, untamed bangs the color of cornsilk. A long ponytail dangled well past his waist. Bright blue eyes stood out against the marble white of his skin, but it was not his coloring that attracted Dante's attention. He could sense something powerful within this man, something not…human.
"What? You're not going to transform and start trashing the place? I was hoping you'd make this fun for me," Dante commented with mock hurt, Ebony and Ivory aimed at the blond man. He flicked his wrist, a second handgun appearing. It slid into his palm with a gesture of long familiarity, and as the lights played upon them Dante noticed the guns were unlike any he'd ever seen.
"It will be fun, but not for you," the man declared, then opened fire. Even Dante, who had spent the majority of his life hunting devils, was not prepared for the thick stream of yellow energy that shot out of the barrel. He dodged it easily, performing a backflip and landing a short distance away. The shot collided with a strobe light, sending it crashing to the floor and the remaining dancers scrambling for safety. Dante returned fire, watching in amazement as his opponent dodged his bullets. A grin tugged at his lips. Perhaps this was going to be fun after all.
Soon the dance floor turned into a war zone, punctuated by frightened screams, exploding bottles and light fixtures that sparked in a riot of color. They traded fire for several moments, each man demonstrating inhuman abilities that later would be compared to movie stunts by shocked onlookers. Dante ran across the north end of the dance floor, releasing round after round, while his enemy did the same. Growing weary of their bullet storm, Dante sheathed his pistols and raced headlong for the blond man. His hand was on the hilt of Alastor, its blade crackling with lightning as he pulled it free. By this time he was nearly upon the other, and he lifted the sword to take the man's head off. That did not happen.
With amazing reflexes and an almost precognitive reaction, the man sheathed his guns and grabbed the blade with both hands, preventing it from coming down on him. Dante gave a surprised grunt of effort, then was shoved back. Immediately his senses picked up other forces at work, and he began to wonder if certain devils were psi talents as well.
Dante came at the blond again, and each strike was dodged. The man lashed out with both hands, grabbing onto Dante's wrists and pulling him forward. Alastor flashed between them, highlighting his blue eyes to such effect they glowed. A partial grin pulled at his lips, something that snared Dante's attention. He suddenly smiled back. A brief sense of respect passed between them, then the two broke apart to start firing again.
By this time the majority of the club had emptied, save a few employees who huddled behind overturned tables. Dante caught sight of the raven-haired woman crouched beside a trembling waitress, her eyes following his every move. Suddenly she glanced upward, shrieked the name, 'Simon' in warning, then the ceiling gave way.
Chunks of masonry spilled down onto the dance floor, sending up a plume of smoke so thick Dante couldn't see past it. He dropped back, one hand near his mouth and nose as he avoided breathing in the dust when he saw several figures materialize in the smoke. So, the devils didn't come alone. Dante coughed before smiling. The more the merrier.
He darted out toward the center of the club, Alastor drawn as he sought his enemies. Four heavily armed men were there, yet they didn't seem to notice Dante. He was quick to gain their attention by cutting down the one nearest him, the scream the man emitted a garbled cry of surprise before he died. The remaining three tuned in on him as one, lifted their guns and prepared to open fire. Just as Dante could see yellow light forming within the barrels the blond man dropped down from some unseen perch, landing deftly on the center gunner's shoulders. He locked his feet around the man's neck, gave it a severe jerk, then flipped backward as his unsteady perch collapsed. The two opened fire, Dante quick to catch on to the fact that these men were targeting the blond. It gave him a distinct advantage. Besides, he didn't want to be left out.
Dante charged for the man on the left just as he was about to shoot the blond, Alastor biting into his shoulder like a hot knife through butter. As he dropped, blood gushing from the wound, the single man was joined by four others. Suddenly aware that their strange weapons were trained on him as well, Dante taunted them with an obscene gesture. Their reply was a barrage of yellow rain, forcing Dante back to avoid being crushed by the loosened light that dropped down. Backed up near the DJ booth, aware that the blond man- Simon, his mind deduced- stood beside him, Dante assessed the situation.
More men than before dropped down into the room, each bearing a weapon that appeared highly powerful. Apparently these guys didn't want to take any chances. The woman was also there, watching the activity with a strange calm that Dante was certain shouldn't have been so normal.
"They must have followed us," she said worriedly. Simon's nod was grave.
"I take it these guys aren't in league with you," Dante remarked, sliding a glance at Simon.
"Not at all," came Simon's reply.
Dante pulled his guns, twirled them before setting them in his hands. "Maybe we ought to put aside our differences and take them out. What do you say?"
The woman stared, unbelieving, at Dante before scowling. "Will you stop the macho act and just do something about it?" she snapped. Simon smirked, unsheathed his weapons and darted forward. Dante winked at the woman; she rolled her eyes. Laughing, Dante joined Simon in the center of the room, Ebony and Ivory adding their say to the laser barrage Simon was orchestrating.
The enemies were ripped apart by bullets, blade and lasers as Dante and Simon picked off each one. At first they worked separately, drawing fire from all angles as they raced up and down the length of the empty club, then eventually came to stand back to back. Guns blazing in nigh-perfect harmony, it wasn't long before the surviving men retreated. Simon killed a few that tried to scramble up ropes that had been tossed down, while Dante took out another on some kind of hovercraft. The machine went up in a bright ball of flame, then plummeted to the ground directly in front of the two men. Simon stood to Dante's left, looking none the worse for wear. Dante sheathed Alastor and his guns, then glanced over at his 'partner'.
"You know, it's probably a good thing you're not a devil hunter. I wouldn't like the competition," he commented. Simon cracked a slight smile, one Dante mirrored, then turned toward the woman. She approached them quickly, stepping over the rubble, bodies and shattered glass, until stopping before Simon. He appraised her with his eyes after lifting his hand toward her face, only to pull it back. Dante found it curious yet said nothing.
At that moment he heard the bartender's cry of undisguised dismay, Dante glancing over his shoulder to see the man stumble through the doorway. He pointed helplessly at the debris, then fixed an angry stare Dante's way.
"I hope you realize this is coming out of your tab. I don't know why I let you back in here," he grumbled.
Dante grinned, accustomed to the other man's temperament. "I wasn't alone this time, Marty. This guy had a hand in it too."
"What guy? You trying to place the blame on someone else?" Marty retorted, grimacing as he picked up a broken bottle of vodka. Dante looked around, seeing that Simon and the woman had made quite a discreet exit. The sound of police sirens urged Dante to make an exit of his own, and as he prepared to do so he caught sight of the end of Simon's black coat vanishing beyond the hole in the ceiling. A grin split his face. Although the night had not yielded any devils, it certainly proved to be one to remember.