red-letter day (noun): a day that is pleasantly noteworthy or memorable (from the practice of marking festival days in red on a calendar) - New Oxford American Dictionary
A Red-Leather Day
by Genesis R
On the horizon well outside of town, a solitary figure was visible. It was too far from the outskirts for this to be one of the townspeople; too dangerous, too, as there had been reports recently of a malevolent presence in the no man's land. But the figure seemed uncaring of that fact as he strode along nonchalantly, occasionally pausing to kick at a loose rock.
In fact, the traveller was headed away from town, although he seemed not to have any more particular direction than 'away'. His path meandered sideways, creating more of a huge circuit of the city than a straightarrow escape.
The tallest of the city's skyscrapers were still barely visible behind him when the man finally slowed to a stop, dragging his boots in the dust and sending up a small cloud. He tilted his head up, shielding his eyes from the late morning sun, and just stood there. The desert breeze tugged at his hair and whipped bone-white tendrils into his eyes and the corner of his mouth. Irritated, he raked a hand across his forehead, clearing his vision temporarily.
In appearance he was maybe as young as sixteen, maybe as old as eighteen but no more. Despite this, his hair was white; not bleached, there was no hint of any other color, just unnaturally pale. He was dressed in faded jeans and a white t-shirt that could have benefitted from a laundering. On his right shoulder rested a nail bat — a two-and-a-half-foot piece of wood with railroad spikes driven randomly through the end.
The young man's name? Dante. He currently was introducing himself as "Dante, the Devil Hunter" but without a single slain demon to his name, that title was kinda hard to back up. In fact, that was the whole reason for him being out here to begin with: if he could kill any devil, even a little one, then he could honestly press his claim, and maybe get some respect — and business — from the locals. It was his lucky day when the rumors started around town that a demon had taken up residence in the surrounding badlands, and, because of the lack of local devil hunters, Dante was the only one to step up and take the mission. Thing was, to collect the bounty, he had to provide proof of the creature's demise... although at the moment he was having a hard time proving its existence.
For a big bad demon who supposedly ate a whole bus full of tourists, it sure was hiding itself awfully well.
"I would say my reputation preceded me, but seeing as I don't have one yet, you're just bein' cowardly!" Dante shouted to the sand dunes and brassy sky. "So where the hell are you?!"
He turned in a full circle, but no raging monster came rising up from the ground to take up the gauntlet. The desert wind intensified slightly, just enough to throw more sand into the air and his face. Dante coughed, holding his arm over his mouth.
"Be that way," he muttered, his eyes watering because of the grit. "I'm going home. You stay out here; I hope you choke."
Turning toward the inch-tall skyscrapers on the horizon, Dante started walking back, his face set into a scowl. To think he'd woken up early just for this! Some distance to his left, the wind kicked up a column of sand, swirling around in a miniature dust storm.
Just what I need. Dante continued on, hoping the whirlwind would go on its own merry way. But with his usual rotten luck, after drifting randomly for a short while, it headed straight for him. Realizing this, the prospective devil hunter accelerated into a jog.
Sand was accumulating in his boots, and the dust devil was gaining ground. Abruptly Dante changed direction, lengthening his stride and taking off at right angles to his previous course. The sandstorm altered its path similarly.
"Ohhh... I gotcha now." The teen stopped running and turned to face his pursuer. "A real dust devil, huh?" His nail bat swung idly at his side.
The whirlwind showed no signs of stopping as it neared him, forcing Dante to give ground reluctantly, retreating as a huge shape coalesced from the column of swirling sand. The ground shook underfoot; the wind subsided. A murky shape, solid but with fuzzy outlines — like a sandcastle half washed away by the tide — loomed as tall as a two-story building. Small red eyes, no doubt nearsighted, glowered down from the long-snouted head. A thick tail, nearly as long as the monster's body, twitched restlessly from where it was draped across several dunes.
"You! Human! Prepare to die!" it bellowed in a predictably loud, only partly intelligible voice.
"So cliché," Dante muttered, spinning the nail bat in his right hand like a baton. "But then again, I guess you are being original. Who woulda thought there'd be a huge demonic gator all the way out here? There's not a swamp around for miles!"
"Were you even listening?" the creature thundered, in a more accusatory tone this time. "I said I'll kill you. Aren't you scared?"
The teen made a show of turning all the way around before his incredulous gaze returned to the sand demon.
"Scared? Of you?" He slapped the body of the nail bat into his palm. "Are you trying to be funny?"
"No."
"Oh. Too bad, I think you might've had a career in comedy..."
Dante really couldn't help it. He naturally reacted with sarcasm to his enemies... and his friends... and everyone in general. It occurred to him too late that it might not be a good idea to taunt demons — especially the very first demon he'd ever encountered in the field — without knowing how they would respond.
As a matter of fact, it responded rather predictably, and for Dante, disastrously. It picked up its taloned paw as big as a sedan and swatted the teen. He landed face first a dozen yards away, and his subsequent swearing was muffled by a mouthful of sand. Luckily he'd kept ahold of his weapon, for all the good it might do against this thing.
Behind him, the demon shuffled its feet, kicking up more dust. Its eyes glowed brighter red and it threw its head back, long snout aimed at the sky. Dante had just finished spitting the majority of the sand out of his mouth when he realized that the creature was inhaling deeply. It kept sucking air in for five seconds, ten, then it abruptly reached lung capacity and stopped.
Dante was already running by the time the demon lowered its head and spewed forth a devastating blast of wind and biting sand. He dodged that first round easily, having had time to see it coming and head for the creature's flanks, but he doubted he'd get that much warning next time. For instance, that tail looked quite heavy and most likely mobile, too... Sure enough, he ducked as the huge mass of sand? muscle? lifted and swung slowly just inches over his head.
Momentarily out of danger, Dante hefted the nail bat in both hands and brought it down with all his strength onto the monster's ankle. A bucketload of sand burst into the air at the blow, and the demon growled, but it didn't look as if that much damage had been done.
"That hurt," the demon whined, slowly sidestepping away from the white-haired teen.
"Not as much as I wanted it to, though. I'd at least hoped for blood." Dante looked mildly upset.
"But I am bleeding!" The anguished howl split the sky.
Dante looked at the thin trails of sand cascading from the rather obvious dent in the demon's back leg, and reconsidered. Just because he bled red didn't mean all demons relied on the fluid to live, maybe? Problem was, if this thing was made of sand, and it was surrounded by miles of sand, did that mean it could regenerate? And this fight was already getting on Dante's nerves.
The demon swiped again with its front paw but fell far short of its target. Nearsighted, just like he'd thought. Dante took a firmer grip on his weapon and jogged after the monster's retreating rear end. He'd rather take his chances with the tail than with the head, and if he could keep chipping away at one leg, he could bring this thing down to his own level.
He knocked a few more chunks out of its ankle, the demon howling and writhing above him, when it sneezed. The blast seemed to radiate outwards from its whole body; the force of it was enough to knock Dante down again, where he lay momentarily blinded by yet more sand.
"Enough of that!" he shouted in outrage. Standing up again, he grabbed up the nail bat from where he'd lost his hold on it, and charged back into the battle.
The first blow knocked out a huge canine tooth, that dissolved into dust on the wind as soon as it left its owner's mouth. The second blow took off a whole toe of the left front foot as it was raised to swipe at him again. The third blow sent Dante into the nearest dune. This time he stayed down as the demon coughed up more sand and spewed it everywhere. However, when the teen finally decided it was safe enough to lift his head, his opponent had changed somewhat. It was still the same shape, but smaller than before, now more the size of a city bus than an entire building.
If he wasn't so covered in dirt and sweat, and if this battle had been a bit more fun and less infuriating, Dante would have laughed aloud. "Pretty sweet attack you've got there," he shot, although he was quick to dodge any blows that might follow. This thing was so dumb, it wasn't using its surroundings as fuel for its attacks — it was shedding part of its body each time! And those legs were looking awfully spindly right now...
Dante was so focused on his target that he ran headlong into the blunt end of the demon's snout. Its red eyes glowered at him.
"I will kill you!" it shouted, but its mouth would have been better off snapping at the hunter than talking.
Dante rolled to the side and with his free hand tossed sand into the creature's face. Surprisingly enough, it worked, and the red light went out as the demon shook its head violently, roaring. The hunter took the opportunity to roll under the creature and out the other side, where he laid into its legs with a vengeance. This fight had gone on far too long already — Dante was ready for a cold shower and a box or two of pizza, and oh yeah, maybe the bounty for this thing.
The demon's front right was the first to give and its head and chest crashed heavily to the ground, kicking up — you guessed it — more dust. It groaned. Lifting its head, it glanced down at its leg in surprise.
"Huh. It's never done that before." It tried to stand, putting weight on the stump, but more sand crumbled off and it fell again.
Dante walked slowly to its front, nail bat on his shoulder. "Not bad for a first time," he said, surveying his handiwork. "But I'm guessing you're not quite done yet?"
This time when the demon sneezed, Dante was ready for it and leapt up and back to avoid the worst of it. He charged back in almost immediately, ready to finish the job, but that attack seemed to be the demon's last hurrah. Its body was almost gone now, eaten up to fuel its own attacks. The light in its eyes slowly faded and its form began dissolving into yet another sandstorm. Choking, Dante backed up and held the collar of his t-shirt over his nose and mouth.
"Nice finale. Woulda preferred fireworks, by the way."
Somehow the demon's voice was still functioning from amid the quickly-accumulating pile of sand.
"I guess you weren't half bad, to be able to beat me." The voice was like distant thunder, and fading fast. "Since you were so worthy an opponent, I'll give you my soul. It's an honor, a real hon—"
Dante waited a moment, then kicked the sand heap just to make sure the voice wasn't going to keep talking posthumously. The air swiftly cleared of particles, and the white-haired teen had to shield his eyes from the sudden glare of the demon's soul condensing out.
First it looked like ball lightning rising into the sky, then it turned a dark red color and the light descended, expanding as it did so. Dante ditched his nail bat headfirst into the sand without a second thought. This was the first major demon he'd killed, ever. And now, now that he could finally bring home something to show for himself, something with which he could prove his title as demon hunter, well... maybe his little shop would actually see some business before it went under.
Dante stood under the glowing red orb and waited eagerly for it to come within arm's reach.
A sword would be nice. A sword would be real nice. A big, heavy, hefty deal with spikes and horns, and maybe a skull or two for good measure.
Actually, any weapon would do. Anything was more stylish than a nail bat.
The red shade darkened to the color of blood and something solidified at its core. It was still several feet above his head. Next thing Dante knew, a hot leathery mass was draped over him like... like... like, well, something heavy and slightly sticky and absolutely reeking of demon blood, and for a moment he couldn't find a way out from under it. Then he threw up both arms, effectively sweeping the thing off his back, and he turned to face it.
He stared at the shape in the sand for a long time before at last nudging it with the toe of one boot. "It's clothes," he said in the same tone a child would use when they open their last gift on Christmas, just knowing it's the toy they've wanted all year, only to find out that it's actually —
"A coat. What the hell do I want with a leather coat?!" The teen shouted his indignation to the heavens, which were doing their best not to listen. "I don't... what the... no..."
Dante felt his knees go out from under him and he fell, exhausted, into the sand. Where he stayed for all of five seconds once it registered that the sand was scorching and it was getting in his nose again. Pushing himself back up, he stalked over and retrieved his nail bat. He glared at the demon coat and shook his weapon at it, then turned back toward the city.
Typical, now that he was ready to head back, enough time had passed fighting that stupid sand demon that now the sun was hovering precisely in the direction he needed to go. Typical. Add to that the fact that of all things he got a coat, in the middle of the desert, in the heat of the day!Just what kind of twisted were the Fates?
He went only a dozen steps before stopping and turning back. Leather isn't cheap, he mused, remembering how badly he'd wanted leather pants but had had to settle for much cheaper — and so less stylish — jeans.
"At the very least, I'll make you pay. Literally." He hurried back and snatched the coat from the sand, flipping the body of it over his left shoulder to mirror the nail bat on his right.
In a much worse mood than he'd been when he'd set out that morning, Dante slogged back toward the city. His boots felt about ten pounds heavier, thanks to all the sand he'd accumulated in them; his hair and skin — hell, even his lungs — felt dirty and gritty. It was all he could do not to sneeze every few steps.
He stopped halfway back to town. The metal zippers and buttons and whatnot on the coat were burning his hand and arm, and the mass of leather itself was feeling more and more like a slimy, sweaty creature plastered to his back. Dante considered ditching it, as he hardly had the energy left to fight a demonic coat right now, but he'd hauled it this far. He might as well get it all the way to the city and see what the pawn shops would give for it.
Dumping the nail bat into the sand again, he took the coat in both hands and shook it thoroughly, holding his breath as he did so. Once all the sand settled down, he swung the coat around his shoulders and gingerly put his arms down the sleeves. It actually wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. The inside of the coat was lined, so the leather itself wasn't sticking to him. The fabric interior was smooth and soft, and somewhat cool despite the desert heat. As the garment settled into place, it molded itself to his body as if it was made just for him. It felt like an extra layer of skin, thick and protective and incredibly comfortable.
Dante had been afraid that it would be cursed somehow, having come from a demon after all. At the very least, he'd expected it to be hot and nasty, but this — He never wanted to take it off.
He crossed his arms over his chest, checking for pulling across the back, but the coat fit like a dream. The sleeves were just the right length; there was heavy reinforcing around the shoulders; the back was split to allow movement — and dramatic silhouettes in the wind. One part that confused him was a belt-like bit with crescent-shaped latches, because seriously, who belts a coat? There were two vertical cuts in the lapels at mid-chest height and he fingered them thoughtfully, already considering what kind of harness would fit there, and what weapons could go in that harness, and how much it would all cost him.
More than the bounty on the dragon, at any rate.
Dante set off toward home, nail bat and red coat firmly in place. Every step of the way back to town — and it was a long way back — he cursed Vergil's 'intel' from long ago. Seriously, who ever heard of a demon giving weapons to the person who killed it? Like demons would ever do anything that nice.
Now who the hell would believe him when he claimed he'd killed the sand demon, and offered a coat as proof? He would never see that bounty.
His faith in the world safely set at a very low threshold, Dante decided that there was a good reason there weren't very many — or any — demon hunters around. It just wasn't a profitable venture.
A/N: This resulted from me and anonymous1stClass discussing where Dante got that iconic coat of his. There's no way he could have ever afforded it, that's for sure, so we figured that he must have won it off a boss, the same way he gets his weapons in DMC3...
Oh yeah, and if you're wondering why he doesn't have Rebellion, the answer is that he hasn't gotten it yet. According to my head canon, he doesn't get it until a little later, maybe right before 3 starts. I've been working on the timeline for the games, but several sources are contradictory, so I'm making it up as I go. I have a story planned for Rebellion's origins, which I will (hopefully) post some day, so I don't want to spoil it too much. Just know that the nail bat was intentional, not an oversight. :)
Like it? Not? Have your own theories on that coat? I love to hear from you guys!
Hope you enjoyed!