I'm back, even quicker than I anticipated. This is one of those chapters where Dante is doing a lot of thinking; in this case, about Mundus, the one demon he was unable to slay, and the impact said demon had on his life-for good and for ill. I hope you enjoy. Once again, I would like to thank whomever has been reviewing my DMC work, so far. :) Your reviews have been very much appreciated. I look forward to any and all reviews I get, down the road.

Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry. It belongs to Capcom, along with the characters. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment, only. No profit is made from this.

Anger and Determination

Anger.

It didn't even begin to explain the depth of emotions Dante was experiencing. Impotent rage was closer, but it was still no match for the emotions roiling through his blood.

Why can't I get rid of these thoughts? Dante mentally chided himself; true, the nightmare hadn't helped, but it seemed no matter what he did, no matter how well things turned out in the end, he would forever be plagued by his anger toward the demon King, Mundus.

Sitting up in his bed, Dante wiped a hand over his face, sighing heavily. Mundus had been responsible for so much of his pain and suffering. The fact that he, to date, was the only demon Dante was unable to kill, only amplified the half devil's rage.

Pondering on this, he supposed that was the reason; by not being able to kill Mundus, he was denied the closure he obtained from every other task he'd undergone.

Mundus had taken his mother from him; it was because of Mundus that Sparda had been fighting so hard, and thus, his disappearance (or probable demise) was indirectly Mundus' doing. It was Mundus that had corrupted Vergil's mind through Eva's death, and whom corrupted his body, when Dante's twin had so arrogantly challenged him in the Underworld-after a battle with Dante himself, no less!

Idiot, Dante thought morosely, why the hell did you do it?

Sighing again, he managed to smile. One good thing had come from Mundus, after all.

Trish.

Though she had not started out as his ally, and had been, in fact, designed by Mundus to lure Dante into his trap, the blonde she-devil had sacrificed herself to protect him. True, it had been Dante's compassion, when he had saved her, that led to this-but it only proved to Dante that demons could learn to love, could learn compassion and understanding.

Trish had done a great deal to make up for hurting him while under Mundus' control, and when the chips were down, Trish was often the first to be by his side, supporting him through it all.

When it really came down to it, Mundus was responsible for Lady being in Dante's life, too. He was responsible for Dante's thirst to become a devil hunter, to protect the innocent, and all the people in his life that resulted from that vocation.

Though nothing could ever minimalize the suffering of losing his family to the vile Demon Lord, Dante could not deny; good had come from all that darkness.

Even acknowledging this, he could not shake the anger rising under his skin, bubbling and frothing like hot lava. It was abundantly clear to the devil hunter; there would be no sleeping, tonight.

Getting up, he walked out of his room, and slowly made his descent down the stairs. On nights like this, he needed to blow off a little steam. Grabbing his clothes from the sofa, he put them on quickly, and grabbed his long red coat from the floor, where he had unceremoniously tossed it.

Striding over to the wall behind his desk, he grabbed hold of Rebellion, and placed the claymore on his back. Ebony and Ivory were already secure in their respective holsters, his pockets containing extra magazines for them both.

"Yeah, on a night like tonight, I just need to work off the anger." He muttered to himself, heading out the double doors.

The night air was crisp and cool, invigorating to the half devil's senses. Looking up, he saw a sliver of the moon, a waning sickle in the sky. Breathing deeply, he walked down the cobblestone street, his keen eyesight taking in every detail, however miniscule it may be.

Not another living soul was out, tonight, though Dante figured it had more to do with it being after two in the morning, than the chill in the air.

Feeling a sudden shift in the atmosphere, he stopped, directly under a shaft of light from the street lamps overhead. The change was subtle, but the devil hunter had a sharp sense for these things, after all of his years hunting demons.

Hearing a shuffling sound behind him, he grinned from ear-to-ear, his fingers grasping his twin pistols eagerly.

Yes, tonight is going to be a good night, indeed.

Whirling around, he fired rapidly, both forefingers twitching on Ebony and Ivory's triggers. Blood spattered from the wounds of the demons before him, the creatures crying shrilly from the surprise attack.

Looking closer, Dante was disappointed to see they were only Chimera; hybrid demons formed, when a Chimera seed attached itself to a host. In this case, the hosts had been Assault class demons. Though Assaults were formidable-and more so, when Chimera seeds were involved-they were still just lower class demons. Dante had had more than his fill of such easy targets.

Then again, He thought to himself, noticing the ever-growing population of the demons. Grinning again, he holstered Ivory, and grabbed Rebellion from his back. This could be interesting, after all. And besides, I need all the warm-up rounds I can get.

He slashed at the demons, breaking through the ranks, only to charge Rebellion up with energy, and let loose with a flurry of shockwaves. Jumping away from the left overs, he put Rebellion on his back once again, pulling Ivory out. Firing into the horde over and over, he continued his musing.

One day, I will find you again, Mundus…and when I do, you better be ready. Because on that day, your life is mine!

Letting out a contented sigh as the last of the demons evaporated, he put both pistols away, and began the return journey to Devil May Cry.

Chuckling to himself, he came to an important realization; if anything could stamp out his anger, or at least redirect it into productivity, it was sheer determination.

Reaching his destination, he stood for a moment, drinking in the events of the night.

"Heh." He shrugged to himself, and pulled the doors open.

Well, would you look at that, he silently laughed to himself, stifling a yawn, looks like I'm ready to sleep, after all…