Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Devil May Cry.

Hi there.

First time doing a Devil May Cry fiction. I'm trying to get some small details right so that things will fall in place nicely and familiarly. But of course, it wouldn't be like how the game ran so I'm trying my best to make it flow neatly. My vocabulary isn't fantastic so you may be stuck with some repetitive words.

If you can't take man on man, then you must have missed my summary.

Burn Me Up

by Seraph Wes W.

- For the courage to remember the pain, carry the sorrows, live with the lost, walk with the burn, be caught in the flame, take a leap of faith and fall all over again -

Damned afternoon.

The blazing heat from mid summer had its crazy temperature driving civilians of Capulet City up the wall as they hid indoors. Time was moving slow from the lack of business in Devil May Cry; no overnight pizzas, busted cans of beers or even the sound of the old jukebox moved. Time stood seemingly still in the dusty office.

That was until the double-leaf door at the entrance swung open violently.

A tall blonde walked in with a bag full of groceries over to the counter—a business desk, or rather the only apparent desk that seemed to still be in working order. She dropped them onto the desk, causing some dust to dissipate into the air. It had been so long… impervious to the minutes and days that had gone by since that day.

She climbed up the creaking stairway to the second floor, in hopes of finding her partner somewhere safe in the apartment. The faint scent of iron patrolled the air, staining almost every corner of the house. This scent only served to remind her of the same scenario that was about to happen soon as always. Approaching the room at the end of corridor, she entered the bedroom and open the bathroom door right next to it.

The same usual act of bullshit awaits.

The cold ceramic floor tiles in the bathroom were stained yellowish. They looked as if they had not been cleaned in a couple of years. Mild cracks crawled from the ceiling to the floor. The white basin had marks of disrepair with the corners displaying signs of aging. Even the mirror hanging above it had given way thus slightly tilting from its hinges. The woman stood by the door felt disgusted at the puddles of fluids across the floor.

A husky brute sat motionless, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his torn pale lips, the ashes trickling down onto the arm resting above his thigh. He slouched against the cracked wall next to the shower stall, a knee bent to rest the burnt arm while the other stretching straight towards the door. The tattered jeans plastered on his legs wore colors faded with sunburn, revealing his tanned line beneath it in the light.

If you take a closer look, there are some faint marks of mutilation on his naked torso such as scars, scratches and clean cuts. The ones that remain on the surface were of deeper bruises and wounds, seemingly fresh and still bleeding.

Perspiration trickled down his white hair along the corners of his moist face. His aqueous-silvery eyes hid behind the heavy swollen eye lids. Malnutrition seemed to have kicked in from the looks of his sunken cheeks. He lifted his head and looked up at the blonde who sighed with disappointment at him.

"What up, Trish?" he spoke lightly while removing the cigarette off his lips.

"Do you really have to do this?" she disgruntled at his irresponsible behavior as she folded her arms. "Does it really make you happy everyday going out late into the night picking fights then coming home the next morning smelling of booze and blood?"

He grinned slyly at her and retorted, "That's what's keeping me alive if you haven't realized."

At this point of his worthless retaliation, it became a known fact that she had just wasted her concerns for someone only capable of making talk with crap. In spite so, she knew she eventually wouldn't ignore this asshole no matter the trouble he brought. But just for this instance, she didn't want to bother a second more.

"If only Vergil were here-"

"Shut the hell up at that asshole's name!" he exploded with a middle finger sticking up at her face before she could finish her line.

"YOU SHUT THE MOTHERFUCKING UP PISS SHIT!" she yelled back and walked into the stinking bathroom, slapping the ruffian right across his cheeks. "Look at your own sorry ass before you try to fuck someone of the right mind up."

Then she stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the bedroom door behind her. The brute continued laying in silence in the bathroom, palms pressing into his eyes in his attempt to prevent the fluids from escaping his tear ducts.

"Shit, you don't have to mention his name…"

Trish walked down the stairs stomping angrily, disregarding the possibility of it collapsing from the impact. She was about to start cussing at the useless fellow upstairs when she noticed a young maiden at the front door waiting to be served.

"Hi there, can I help you?" Trish politely questioned at her potential client.

The maiden paced in with small steps, holding a small wristlet with both hands. She looked almost divine—too polite, gentle and demure. It wasn't common for someone like her to come by their rundown architecture for it would be unlikely that she would have any business with demon slayers like them. People like her should just be staying home attending to their husbands or something.

"We have not met, have we?" Trish asked once more, standing behind the business counter now.

"I'm… looking for Dante." She replied as she placed her wristlet on the counter to pull a photo out from it. She handed it to Trish who looked surprised at the person in the picture.

"Nero?"

"Yes, do you know him?" she puzzled.

"Yeah sure. The kid Dante entrusted Yamato with."

She paused for a moment, not understanding what Trish meant since she didn't exactly know the terms. The blonde took the hint and swayed her hand sideways, indicating for her to ignore what she had just said.

"Let's just say, me and Dante met up with this kid in our mission to bring down the Order and his pursuit to save you."

"Oh…" she sighed lightly, fully aware of the trouble and inconvenience she had caused being involved.

"It's okay girl, it's our job to demon-slay and his job to be hero of the day. Anyways what can I do for you? Something your hero boyfriend can't solve?" she jested deliberately.

She tilted her head down as a genuine look of worry loomed over. Then digging into her pouch, she took out another neatly folded piece of paper and placed it on the table.

"He… …he left this."

Trish sneered at the piece of paper and jested sarcastically. "Well well, I hope he didn't sleep with you and leave this piece of paper the very next day as a form of romance." She then opened up the letter and read the contents silently.

Kyrie,

I'm sorry I have to go.
I need to find my past.
I cannot allow myself to continue living without knowing my true past.
But I assure you, once I found it, I will return, back to you.

Nero.

Trish noticed the young maiden biting her lips lightly, looking nervous and uncomfortable. Though it was nothing peculiar for her to be worried about her supposed boyfriend, she sensed something amiss in her anxiety. Her sixth sense was telling her that there was more than it seemed.

Then again, it struck her that taking on this job might jut pull Dante out of his misery and get him back into some decent action. Apparently saving Dante's sanity was the utmost priority to her at the moment therefore she would take any offer that presented itself.

"Kyrie… right? Considered it done." She smiled genuinely at the lost little girl.

A heavy sigh of relief escaped Kyrie's lips. She immediately thanked Trish for their assistance with her ever-renowned pleasant glowing smile.

"I will let you know when the boy is found and of course, the payment in lieu."

There was an underlying discretion beneath the message she sent to Kyrie that even the maiden sensed it, almost as though her intentions were being seen through by this intelligent being and everything would have gone to waste if found so. To avoid risking it, Kyrie simply bowed with a gesture of gratitude as she quickly exited the office.

Snatching the piece of paper and photo on the desk, Trish ran upstairs and drive-kicked through his door.

"Wake up jackass, there is work to be done. And I'm positive you don't wanna miss this one."

She leaned against the side of the bathroom door and stared at the ruffian, dangling the photo of the boy at the tip of her fingers. He sneaked a peek at her and wondered just what it could be of greatness to spur her into such confidence.

Well, only the well-paid ones were, unless…

"What up then?"

"Your kid dumped his girlfriend to find his past."

"My kid? First of all, he ain't no kid of mine. Secondly, it's not exactly my problem now, is it?" He snickered at her, justifying his decline to her request.

"The kid is going to find his past. In any case if you may have forgotten, he has Yamato. Not to mention he's half demon as well. Just imagine what would happen if he uses Yamato for the wrong means just to find his past? He may even enter the demon world to do so."

"So?" He already knew what she was getting at.

"The Hellgates will be released once again. You want him to follow the footsteps of—"

"ALRIGHT! I get your point, you don't have to go any further."

She grinned slyly, harnessing his weakness as a weapon. "Now clean up, we've got work to do."

Dante knew his weakness and hated it. Though always a fearless hunter, there was always something still holding him back. The past that smeared his memories killed him somewhere inside back on that day. Even till now, he wished he knew what he could have done to change things. He knew why he was left in this world, and he in the other, he just… just…

Just wished things could go back to the way they were.

He took a quick shower to wash the bloodstains away. Standing in front of his mirror, he finally aligned the titled glass back straight up. Many a times he would comb back his moist hair and look into his reflection, searching for comfort in this silent room. The attempts were futile nonetheless, only scarring him deeper while he recalled further.

Just as the reminiscence was going to hit him, he shoved away its remains and picked up his shaver from the shelf. He shaved his thin layer of stubble, trying to look fresh as compared to his usual crappy self. It took him only a few seconds to realize he had been out of practice for the longest time that he cut the skin along his jaw line with the razor. But the wound healed almost immediately, since demon legacy ran through his veins.

Reaching for a clean towel in his wardrobe, he ruffled through the moisture and dried his hair before dropping the towel. He looked through the clothing that he had worn over the years. They brought back memories; rewarding ones, memorable, sweet ones and even exhilarating ones. Except for one, the red biker trench coat and khaki cargo pants. This one had a long history, way too long in fact. It contained the memories that he held most dear.

But he had locked these memories away. They were too painful to recollect.

Pulling out the black suit he previously wore in the conquest he set out for Lady where he met Nero, he fumbled roughly putting them on. Opening the hidden compartment against the wall of the wardrobe, he retrieved Ebony and Ivory to fully reload them. He tucked them away in the back of his pants before pulling Rebellion out of the small closet.

Who would have thought this small wooden junk could contain so many demon arms.

Once completely geared up, he paced down the stairway to see Trish waiting for him by the counter table, holding a large 'Out for Business' door sign in her hand.

"Thought you might wanna hang this up yourself. It has been a while…"

He sneered at her suggestion as he took the sign from her along with the letter clasped to it. He shook the letter open and read the fine print.

"Well, I never knew the kid was so heartless."

"Maybe it runs in the family." She remarked sarcastically.

"Yeah… maybe. But pops ain't like that. So we're the mutated ones I guess." He chuckled at his own comment while grabbing his infamous red coat from the rack near the wall behind his desk.

Folding the letter carelessly, he kept it in the inner coat pocket, probably in need of using it against the kid in order to get his ass back to his little girlfriend. He walked to the entrance and jam-kicked the double doors open. Lightly jumping off the 2-step pavement from his door, he threw the door sign into the air and hit it straight against his Devil May Cry signboard.

Trish followed slowly from behind and looked at the broken door—it looked like it was about to cry.

"Did you really have to do that? That door's not gonna hold out much longer."

"Hey, you want me to get the job done?"

She sighed at his stubbornness but was also slightly relieved at the sight of his usual persona. She then trotted to her bike casually and started up the vehicle.

"I'll gather my part and you do yours. Can't be babysitting you the whole time."

And with that she rode off without him right in front of his own Shop. This repeated scenario never failed to make him question himself every time why she would abandon and leave him clueless when she already had all the equipment she needed. The difference between the basics of starting from scratch and being abandoned in broad daylight like this was way too big for him to accept. Hell, she always gets the pie while I get the crumbs. Life is always so fair,that was as much as what Dante could gather from the equality between men and women.

Nevertheless, he smoothed along the Devil's Alley as he looked up at the glaring sun.

"This summer… is burning me up."

I am re-running some details because there are certain minor aspects that I want to drop from my ideas over a year ago.