A pretty haphazard take on the new DMC by Ninja Theory. Just an attempt to tie it into the main universe, since they're still not clear whether its a complete reboot or another prequel.

The old woman watched in silence as the Earth burned around her. The very ground had melted and a fine sheen of black-glass like material now covered what was once her hunting grounds.

The whole world had gone literally gone to Hell when he disappeared all those years ago. He had called her and said he was going away for a while. He told her to keep fighting and that he'd be back.

He promised he'd come back to the people who would sooner crucify him than admit that they needed him.

He promised he'd come back to her.

Until then, she had to fight.

But she was growing tired of fighting. Each day the sun grew dimmer and the nights got colder and every sound heard in the dark promised death.

The few remaining humans took their last stand against the menace. They dwindled swiftly, since more than half of the so-called "soldiers" really were just poor souls looking for release from Hell on Earth. They jumped readily into battle, little more than suicide-bombers, bent on taking the monsters along the ride to oblivion.

Many people, some who could not stand the horror, along with the ones who revelled in it, sided with the darkness. They erected statues and buildings, made a new world order born in blood, anger and fear. The demons themselves were the leaders, the new kings of the world. The remaining humans, those not ravaged when the Underworld seized control of the Earth, became servants to the darkness.

They called the city Limbo City, which in itself was a joke and a half. Demons littered the street, the new dominant species, while humans hid in the shadows like vermin. Being eaten was almost considered a good way to go these days. Being taken to the building called Wingsis Alae Rehabilitation Unit, a place where nightmares were made real, was on the other end of spectrum.

And then, during one mission, full of hopelessness and death just like all the others, inside the so-called "rehabilitation center", really more of a slaughter-house for insurgents like herself, she saw him.

He was just a boy, barely grown into his body. His face was different but the defiance and arrogant smirk he wore during the tortures inflicted on him was painfully familiar.

During the brief hours when he was unchained, he talked with his hands, just like he used to.

When he was still him. When he was alive. The woman, now battered and broken by the years, could only suffer in silence as each memory the boy elicited cut through her heart like cruel knives.

They kept asking him what his name was. She broke him out, almost exclusively because she thought she would die of utter disbelief if he ever said his name out loud.

"Hey, thanks for the save lady," he said later between puffs of cigarette smoke, sitting in the abandoned shop the woman had made her own. "I owe you big time."

"Where do you come from?" she asked immediately.

"Around."

"Your parents?"

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Take a guess."

Of course. Most children were orphans these days.

"What's your name?" she asked, the question burning in her mind. She knew it couldn't possibly be him.

"Tony. Tony Redgrave," he replied, holding out a hand for her to shake.

The name on the precious guns he always had by his side. It would be unfathomably cruel if that was merely coincidence.

She took off the dark glasses covering her eyes. "Lady."

"Wow. Really?" he said, squinting to get a look at her eyes. As soon as he saw her one crimson eye and one blue eye, he grasped his temple with one hand, letting out a quiet groan of pain.

"What's wrong? You alright?" she asked, kneeling beside him.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head again, fixing her a pained smile. "So, Lady huh? Thanks for bailing me out again."

"Not a problem. What were you doing there by yourself anyway?"

"Needed some answers."

Interesting. She decided to probe. "How'd you survive?"

He shrugged. "Got lucky."

"No, getting killed fast is lucky. You don't have a scratch on you."

He growled irritably at her, rubbing the white patch of hair on his head.

White hair. Holy shit.

Without thinking, she drew her 9mm from her waist and shot him straight in the head. It might have been the years of constant fighting, it might have been the depression, the desperation, the sheer and utter despair she had been feeling everyday, but she had to know.

BLAM!

She watched in horror as he fell backwards, an unmoving heap on the ground.

The tears began to fall from her eyes as sobs racked her frame. With a final roar of frustration, she put the gun to her temple and fired.

Instead of the expected millisecond of pain and tunnel of light (or fire n' brimstone, she presumed), she felt a strong hand wrenching the pistol from her grasp, managing to move fast enough to stop the hammer from hitting the firing cartridge.

"You know, that really only works on me," said the boy, gripping her forearm tightly.

Her eyes widened. "Holy shit."

A/N: I most likely will not be continuing this since we really know next to nothing about how the story will play out in the new game. I'm really pretty ambivalent on the whole thing but I'm going to hold out until we see some actual gameplay.