I down own Devil May cry or Supernatural.
This chapter takes place simultaneously with the previous chapter.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dante was unhappy. The phone hadn't rung in a week. The rent was overdue. His problems kept piling up. And on top of it, he worked pro bono the night before and the damned poltergeist had sent a knife through his chest, ruining his second best shirt. It didn't know what it was dealing with.
Dante kept his face stoic, but allowed his mind to survey his life. He was old, mid-thirties now, but his other half should be leveling that off soon enough, at least the occult books said so. He lived in what he called luxurious squalor. His apartment building, which he remodeled into an office, was full of unique, demonic, or just plain expensive products. Each one he didn't need, except maybe the pool table. Nonetheless he bought them, and they got dirty, and he never cleaned. Thus he lived an expensive, and disgustingly unclean lifestyle. If not for his heritage, he knew he'd have some sort of disease.
The things he needed he kept close, his sword leaning against the desk beside him. Shining in practically non-existent light Rebellion was one of his prized possessions. He kept him clean, sharp and lethal. On the table beside his legs lay his two customized Colt pistols, nicknamed Ebony and Ivory. His life was unpredictable, dirty and extremely dangerous. Just the way he liked it.
He was a devil hunter. Or just a Hunter, as they liked to be called now. Few of them had actually seen a demon, even less had exorcized one and none but him and a few others, nearly all of them Dante trained, had actually killed one. Hunters had even gone so far as to say that Dante had pioneered the modern version of the profession. He hadn't and he knew it. But the praise was enough to make his keep his trap shut, and to have a reputation like that, especially for creatures that heard, was uniquely advantageous. Not that he needed an advantage.
Then he saw the newspaper.
A ghost ship. Crashed against the rocks of Prize Island, about two hours from his office. No crew, save two. He liked it; sounded paranormal. But he couldn't work pro bono right now. The phone, dusty from little use rang on its holder. Dante hid his excitement as he kicked his desk, sending the phone into the air. With an outstretched hand he caught it and pulled it to his ear. Devil May Cry. He announced over the line.
Tony, its Rivers. Seen the paper today? Came the reply. Trenton Rivers. NYPD Detective Unit. Dante's connection to the police force in New York and a former partner turned cop. Mercenaries were illegal in America. But Dante wasn't a mercenary, just a guy who knew a thing or two about inexplicable cases. They called him in whenever they needed him. A homicide that could be a ghost. Whatever the problem, the NYPD had Dante for it, hence them looking the other way when Dante's taxes didn't come in.
Yeah. Ghost ship eh? Want me to check it out? Dante questioned.
Rivers didn't reply for a moment. Dante almost thought he hung up, look Tony. We think something real bad happened. I know how you get on a job like this, but be careful this time. There was something kept out of the paper.
What was it?
It said we didn't find any bodies. That's true, we found pieces. No organs, just fingers stuff like that. No blood. We have a theory something ate those people Tony. You got to stop whatever it was from getting loose into New York's
Fine. I'll be back by dawn, and you're buying me a drink. Dante said forcefully.
All right. Rivers said and hung up, sealing the deal with a golden beverage. Dante spun in his chair and stood up. Reaching over the dusty desk he snatched his pistols from their place and put them into their holsters behind his back. He grabbed rebellion and slung it mysteriously onto his back. With nothing to hold it in place rebellion sat suspended in air on Dante's back for little reason other than that Dante willed it.
Dante opened his door slowly and closed it even slower, hoping to something that it wouldn't fall off its hinges. It didn't and Dante almost leapt in joy if not for his unforgiving cool factor. His red (it was his colour) motorcycle sat just outside the door on the street, waiting eagerly. With a couple revs Dante sped off into the evening sun through the busy streets of New York.
The ship was on Prize Island, a smaller landmass outside of the New York area, mostly fishermen and tourists. On the way he passed a large truck, three men inside. They were either hunters, or they just didn't get much sleep. Forty minutes later he was on the ferry and in another twenty he was on the Island.
He took a deep breath, the ferry had been stuffy and his heightened senses made the hulking behemoth almost unbearable. Dante didn't talk to anyone, he simply drove and somehow he found the ship almost half sunk and crushed against the rocks. The power was out.
No it wasn't. Dante sensed them, two of them. Plasmas had a tendency to suck electricity out of anything near them, even static in the air. One was enough, but two would be an annoyance. And Plasmas didn't eat people; they fried them. That meant there was more on that ship. Dante was more than equipped to handle this job.
Hearing a truck in the distance Dante took decisive action and leapt off of the cliff. He landed softly sixty meters below on the deck. Brushing himself off, more for show than function, Dante adjusted his clothes and weaponry that had been jumbled up by the fall. He immediately sensed several things moving about the ship, more than two. Dante was right. He barely felt it, but something was on the deck watching him.
Customized pistols glistening in the moonlight Dante twirled in a circle, scanning the area with superhuman efficiency. Nothing was there. Except shadows. Either the thing wasn't moving or it had run off when it saw his hair, his coat and his pistols. It would know what he was.
He heard the truck pull up by the cliff and watched as three men began rappelling down, oblivious to the veteran. Dante remained in the shadows, his silver hair disappearing easily with the rest of him. He watched them for their own safety. The thing, most likely either a Blade or Shadow, might still be around.
Dante hadn't encountered either since Mallet Island. They were major demons, couldn't be exorcized, had to be killed. Usually killed however summoned them. Blades were almost immune to holy water, unless it got in their eyes or an already open wound and Shadows only a bit more vulnerable. These three, except maybe the boy, who obviously did his homework and got himself a sword, probably wouldn't survive the night.
As the three landed rather noisily onto the deck Dante moved to the door downstairs. They caught only a glimpse of the devil hunter as he closed the door.
No lights, well there were, but no electricity lighting them. There was nothing nearby. Dante kept moving. For a big man with a red coat and silver hair Dante was light on his feet, made no noise and for the most part, invisible. Dante moved with a vengeance, strutting through the already decaying passenger deck. He swept the place twice. Then he made a fire by the doorway. He heard the door upstairs unlock and open. "Good job." He muttered and walked into the hall. With a sigh he watched the Hunters in silence. They didn't move, waiting for Dante to do something. Dante walked down to the second passenger deck, leaving them to fend for themselves. Hopefully they'd stay there.
Dante reached the vehicle deck quickly, bypassing the second passenger deck with little more than a look inside. The place had been swept clean by emergency crews and few cars were left. There had been little in way of passengers anyhow and many tended to be walk-ons. Nonetheless Dante watched as the paint crumbled from moistened walls. Dante was able to see everything clearly. There was enough pale moonlight to allow just that, and even without it Dante's conventional senses were heightened to the point that he barely knew what darkness was. Dante heard a crash, then several gunshots rung out from the ships upper deck. "Perhaps they won't survive after all?" Dante mused aloud.
Thankfully Dante's musing had caught the attention of two bats. Larger than any bat Dante had ever seen Dante immediately drew Ivory in one hand and placed his left on Rebellion's hilt. Lightning sparkled outside, sending Dante into daylight for a second. Then the lightning arched, hitting the bats in their chests. Rather than frying, as they should, the bats grew and sparked with energy. Then the bat's let go of their plumbing perches and hit the ground in a thud that belied more weight than the eyes could see. Then they grew, standing upright like humanoids. More specifically they appeared to take Dante's appearance, though still in the impersonal being of electricity that they were.
Dante was bored. Two Plasma's were, well a slight problem. These were the first two demons he had seen in New York in over a year. But the open space of the deck gave him the advantage. Dante was fast. Faster than a large percentage of demons and he relied on this aspect of his nature more than he liked to admit. Dante put Ivory in its holster and put Rebellion in front of him in a basic stance.
The Plasma's watched him warily. They did not know who he was. Few Demon Lords admitted that the Sparda lineage still existed and most did not know at all. Mundus kept it a secret. For others to know Mundus could be defeated would have been his downfall long before Dante came along. Without a second though Dante charged forward with blistering speed.
One Plasma jumped to the side. The other stood his ground. Dante thrust Rebellion straight in a stab but the Plasma lurched back and sent it's own immaterial, electric blade clashing into the side of rebellion, sending it, and Dante, off target. The Plasma counterattacked with a wide arc from its backhand. A bad move to play against Dante. With untold amounts of experience Dante parried the blow and moved Rebellion along the Plasma's sword easily and slit it's throat. The thing groaned and swung its sword lazily over its head downwards.
Dante jumped backwards and was suspended in the air for a brief second. Then he appeared to phase out of reality. He reappeared next to the second waiting Plasma and plunged Rebellion through its torso, then fired two bullets, one into each imaginary eye. The Plasma erupted in lighting and was no more. Dante rolled out of the way of the blast and rose to his feet, guns bared at the first Plasma. It's death cries were not heard over the staccato singing of Ebony and Ivory.
The lights turned back on. Dante's head spun as he watched one of the shadows near the stairwell disappear with the rest, but this time so unnaturally that it caught his eye. "A Shadow." He murmured to himself, "This'll be a fun night." He began walking up the stairs after it. Stalking his prey.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
