"Dante!" the daily, lecturous voice replayed in his head, disemboweling his action in replacement of reality.
"What?" he replied casually to the voice in his mind.
The shards of what was once an old-fashioned, small wire, dial phone scattered across the table as Dante slammed the phone into the receiver the wrong way, not caring to restrain his demon strength. It was the 58th call this week, without success or the password, and it seemed ever since his battle with Sanctus, humans had become less "ecstatic" about hiring demon-bred "devil hunters" to remove their "problems". And shortly following that, since his battle with the satanic overlord with a preference of demon culture over his own humanity, less and less reports of demon storms were coming in.
It was almost as if, though Lady and Trish shook off his assumption as paranoia, because there were ALWAYS demons in the mortal realm, the corresponding events of shutting the Temen Ni' Gru, the portal to the Underworld, killing the sole Demon King of said Underworld, killing a crazed old man who invented miniature, human-made portals to Hell, and killing a Demon Lord hellbent on world domination had actually SLOWED, if not HALTED or albeit decreased, Hell's populations.
'But were humans really just becoming less sinful and less evil in death?...Nah, couldn't be.' Dante reassured himself. There was ALWAYS one evil SOB plotting a way to gain ultimate power or awaiting his death to attain impossible feats and what not.
Nothing new.
Then again, he regretted saying that, as it was quite literal indeed. There WAS nothing new. No demon lords or gods or towers with evil purposes brewing within them. Not even worthless cases such as perverted, allegedly "possessed" men who went off kidnapping and raping young women.
It was up until just last week that even the "normal" demon-slaying had stopped.
In fact, if Vergil were alive, he would have been out-gasped to see how far Dante's swordsmanship had come, naturally blended in with his chauvinistic gun flair, custom tactics, and wit-filled battle remarks. For the days to weeks to months of demon inactivity, he had spent his days practicing with old swords like Rebellion, to the point he could now control it mentally. Agni & Ruby too, both of which he had discovered a mental "code" to make them shut up, but he had finally seemed to grasp decent conversation with the two bumbling devil arms.
And best yet, he could lift Sparda with ease, and from what he understood, he could freely, somewhat, control his Devil form.
Trish and Lady had decided that spending their days in a lazy demon hunter's sweatshop decoarated with the most unattacting ornaments ever seen and constantly being patrolled by authorities without much opinion on the choice of decor' was less than acceptable, and had begun spending more and more nights out together, demon-hunting or otherwise.
Nero and Kyrie were on their "honeymoon" in Fortuna, and Lucia had recently moved from Dumary Island with Matier, both trying, and failing miserably at, adapting to modern civilization. Neither were particularly fun or interesting to pal around with, despite Lucia's near dependency and insistence that he join them on their outgoings. He could count more than eleven reasons why not to, and refused to share them with anyone. Enzo...they hadn't talked, or better yet seen each other, in years since the 'Megami Nocturne Incident'. Not even Patty was available, since she had started college two years ago...
Dammit, now I must be bored, he threw himself onto the floor, spreading his arms.
If his mind was begging for so much as Patty's company, there was one sure-fire obvious hint that Dante, the mighty, all-powerful, victor over Hell, had finally, through years of demon-slaying suddenly stripped from his person had-
Gone insane.
--x--
Devil May Cry.
The shadowy figure spoke aloud, not truly speaking, but projecting the letters into it's outer being. It was shadowed, gusts of wind flung left to right around it's cloak, outling a thin side of a sword. There were buckles and harnesses draped around him, but they were not for carrying objects. No, they specifically melded together to form a "bandaging" of sorts.
He didn't know his true voice, he hadn't spoken in it for time declaration even he wasn't quite sure of anymore. But alas, he found a certain emotion, anxiety, reeling back in his morbid jaw as he spied upon the figures entering this "devil" store. There was one with long, rivers of golden blond hair, her appearance and build made her mortality young, but her true fiendliness beneath was indisputable from his vision. The woman was a demon, and beside her, a mortal woman.
Equal build, slightly more astute, a bit shorter, and with less power hidden beneath her skin. Her clothing was less...gothic, rather foreign actually, and a pale shade of blue. But despite her alien appearance, it was obvious through her blood that something demonic resided in her past. Still, he shook defiantly.
A demon female and a mortal female were walking side by side. Did it truly make any sense at all?
Was Sparda's mission to co-exist with mankind successful?
Nevertheless, friends or foes, he knew exactly what would happen. And what those two ladies were heading inside the mortal recollection of Hades. And what would no doubt eagerly awaiting such vassals of purity.
Dante, Son of Sparda. Have you truly mastered your heritage. He spoke, sweeping his arm around.
A horde of Hell Prides collapsed instantly, exploding in balloons of dissipating blood. He shoved the blade under his cloak, fitting perfectly, and lunged off the nearby rooftop. Thoughts raced alongside him, but fell just as quickly as demons as he cut through them, finally twisting and landing on the mortal earth. A crater formed beneath his feet, and the resulting boom caused any nearby glass, fragiles, and even jewelry to shatter to pieces.
--x--
"I don't think that was an earthquake, Mr. Professional." Lady said, Dante's eyes strolled down her light blue blouse, neglecting any attention or the hearty welcome.
Trish snatched his ear, yanking him up from his desk with a sharp cry.
CRASH.
The entire front of the shop exploded, giant-sized fragments of wood and metal flew back at the reunited trio. Tirsh dodged for cover as the beam supporting the front wall swooshed past her, Alastor and Cerberus stabbed the wall, curved just around her ears. Lady tried to stand but was blown back by the fierce winds, unable to see as a blinding, unnatural light shone in. Smiling, but inside a bit bewildered, Dante spun to the right, unfolding his arms and closing them in a bear hug as Lady crashed into him, legs wrapped frantically around his neck. He dragged her to the side, dropping the irritated hellion behind the bathroom wall before taking off.
'If only I could have enjoyed that...damn this thing.' he spoke to himself mentally in a lecherous voice. (Had it been Trish, she would have shot him before he had even saved her.)
Her blight was understandable, being saved by the man who could easily undress her with his mind and then that daresome rescue, but Dante didn't bother to comment or even ponder a way to jest her about it. To his surprise indefinitly, the winds were VERY strong, strong enough that he himself was having trouble standing and moving. Strong enough that his perverse rescue of Lady and ability to throw her into safety was most honestly a fluke, though his spinning manuver had saved face.
FWOO-FWA!
The door entered his vision. He cursed under the winds berating him, and with the most strength he had ever focused within the first five minutes of a battle, of what few could be called so, he leaped upwards, pushing both of his legs outward to form an aerial split, which was usually employed right before he would unholster Ebony and Ivory and blow the hell out of a Wraith. SLAP, the wind beat across his chin, forcing him to spit out the saliva in his mouth.
Now he was helpless, fumbling around in the air without any control. He was pissed now, unholstering Ivory while also reaching for a sword and firing blindly into the hard-assed elemental that had chosen TODAY to bust open his shop. The bullets didn't seem to be going anywhere, flying around in any direction the winds pulled them.
"Oww-argh!" a famillar voice yelped.
Dante's head crooked, searching for the source of the cry while still locking onto the attacker.
From behind the third wall, nearest his office desk, Trish sprawled out from around it, shoulder dissected dissemberly as though a grenade had detonated inside it, blood began to seep from her mouth, pits, and stomach.
"Dante!" a faint voice, Lady, called to him. Lady ravaged the wall plastering as her grease-red gloves gripped onto the surface of the bathroom wall, the winds expanded to even her hiding spot. He begged mentally that one of his shots didn't strike her also. Trish would live, as she'd been hit by his ammunition and survived before. Lady however...
"W.a.. the h...this?" the winds tore apart his hearing, he'd only made out those seperate letters. Impossible, even his super hearing was negated by the demon winds. This fight was about to get serious, he knew fully well.
"Get Trish out of here!" he tried to yell back. Somehow, he knew that Lady hadn't heard him, despite the level of his almost desperate scream.
Rebellion unclipped from the wall as he fed it his hand's 'towards' motion. The mental controller was great, for this situation especially, and as the sword neared him, he shuffled Ivory back into it's warm holster respectfully. Bullets are ineffective, let's try impalement! He began to grin again, fighting the eerie sense of doom he had once felt as a kid.
"Try this, bastard!"
Oh no.
Dante tried to see what was happening but couldn't. The winds themselves read his thoughts, and for one reason or another, turned away from Lady and situated their power back on Trish and himself. Between swinging past jagged debris and his own, flightless weapons being flung at him as mach speed, the true concern was Trish, who unlike previously, remained on the ground, losing more blood no less as fast than demons, even conjurations, should have.
Worser yet, he witnessed, she isn't healing. What the hell is going-!?
"Shit, no, Mary!" his attention returned to her as she crouched onto one knee with the other propped up like a pedastal. In her arms was a family namesake, the Kalina Ann, glinting with the opportunity of a clear shot, Mary tried to feign the atmosphere of perfection. Like she knew what she was doing, and that she could see the attacker clearly. He knew she didn't, and her pride as a devil hunter was about to leave her dead enough for dogs to munch on, never mind rabids.
It was too late, her finger groped the trigger and squeezed the life from it. A thin hiss of steam seeped from the muzzle, he watched slowly as the barrel heated in bullet time motion, and hated the fact that he couldn't do anything to stop it. There wouldn't be any rocket-surfing this time, no, he had to stop it before it-
BANG!
The barrel loosened, the metal of the steel bayonet heated proportionally as the commonly annoying missile exploded out of it's chamber. Ignoring Rebellion and allowing the winds to slide it under him, Dante reached for Ebony, aiming randomly and firing in the rocket's direction. What normally would have been an ace-in-the-hole firing pattern was disrupted entirely, every shot missed and ringed in illogical patterns, before slinging like a rubberband and pounding into his stomach. He grinched, never had his own potshots LITERALLY come back to hurt him.
And still, as he watched in horror, the Kalina Ann's missile tumbled into the abysmal light.
SHHHHHRRR-URAWWWWWIINNG
Almost as instantly, invisible to mortal eyes as it's speed and delicate precision was two-timingly perfect, even more than Ebony or Ivory's accuracy, the same, now burning red missile returned to her position. It struck her exposed thigh, and the seething hot metal burned away the portions of skin from her leg. She screamed, but for Dante it was thankfully cut off by both the wind's increase and the following reaction of the missile exploding beneath her stomach.
Warm, but softening scarlet liquid splattered over the devil's face. It covered his right eye, then painted his cheeks like makeup, and scarred him physically as it flooded his gapened mouth. When at last he felt his hand wipe away the cold blood from his eyes, he gazed around the floor, where not even bones or charred clothing existed. The only thing he could, possibly the only that remained, was the Kalina Ann, various parts lying beside the central flame, and tiny chips of the metal bayonet.
Rebellion winged back, he grasped it in his hand. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Agni joined it, Ruby vanished in the storm of wood, metal, devil arms, and debris messying his shop. The wind froze, releasing Dante to the ground where he immediately scoped for any sight of Mary, and the light appeared to fade.
A single, individual speck of liquid began to trace a path of water below his eye. He saw now, other than the Kalina Ann, that the shards of a single lens from her glasses was crushed by his boot. Elsewhere, blown back into a wall...
He turned away.
Dante dashed over to Trish also, who was bleeding profusely, and by this point, as he laid a hand by her neck, she wasn't breathing either. Sure, demons had extended oxygen amounts from all the soot and ash in Hell, but obviousness is obvious.
A second tear formed by his left eye, but he brushed it away with a flutter of his eyelashes.
A menacing, sword-wielding figure stood upright, not grazed or affected by the desecration he had caused by the spot where a door once shielded the interior. A red sky, patterned with slit, orange clouds and a darkening sky showered inside of the shop, or at least, half-a-shop. Dante tried to breath, but found himself taking in second-long gaspes as the rage of a thousand Hells fumed in his nostrils and burned his lungs. He summoned Rebellion back into his hand, and dropped Agni to the floor.
"Son of Sparda." the figure spoke, not flinching, "Where is your brother?"