Arrivals of Rivals

"I honestly think that look suits you."

"Hmm."

"The hair sets it off."

"It could be."

Lady headed in behind Regan, the women standing in a clothing boutique that Lady liked to frequent, and checked the length of the knee long jacket that Regan was now wearing. It was black, made of leather, and Regan was trying to get a feel for it. She'd never worn a jacket like it before, was more used to the thick types of wool and cotton jackets she wore on the ranch, but that didn't mean she didn't think it looked good. The sleeves were long, the collar pointed, there was a belt that was hanging open, secured to the jacket by the belt loops around the sides, and there was a slit in the back like with most trench coats of that same style which placed the sides around her legs nicely.

After the women had left the hotel room, having hung out for just a while and discussed a few things with Marvin, Lady decided to take Regan to a clothing store because she definitely wanted to let Regan get a coat at the very least to conceal her weapon. Having gone along without hesitation, Regan grabbed her six shooters which she'd packed when she'd come to Capulet City, and headed out the door with the female devil hunter.

"I think blue is your color too," Lady added casually as she tugged on the bottom of the jacket to see the length of it, trying to make sure it would completely conceal Demoncaller.

"Yeah, I hate wearing green like most people would think suits me better, it makes me look like Christmas," Regan grumbled, then saw Lady standing up straight again in the mirror behind her.

"Well, it's long enough," she informed her on reply, "You should be able to hide it pretty easily."

"It's heavy."

"It's leather," Lady smirked. "That's why I never wear it, it weighs me down. You shouldn't have much of a problem with it though. Not with these abilities you have anyway."

"I hope not," Regan muttered on a sighed out breath. Beneath the coat she was wearing a light blue top with a v cut neck and a black stripe down the middle between her breasts, and there was a harness around her shoulders of black that connected beneath her breasts as well, her two six shooters holstered in it under her coat. On her legs was a pair of leather pants which she couldn't say she disliked or liked, they felt comfortable enough, but somehow she got the feeling that if she wasn't wearing a trench coat, she knew exactly where everyone would be looking, and it was behind her.

Rolling her eyes over the thought, Regan turned around in her thick heeled black boots and looked at Lady, adding in a comment the only thing she could think of that was an all encompassing plus about the outfit, "I bet Dante will like it anyway," she chuckled in amusement.

"Probably," Lady smirked, heading to the cashier to pay for everything they'd picked out, and then exited the store without much more of a concern a few moments later.

Lady's bike was parked in the lot outside of it, the two women stopping in front of it, when Lady asked, "So, you're really interested in Dante, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," Regan replied, "I don't know. You can't help who you like I suppose. He annoyed the hell out of me at first. I guess he just grew on me after a while. He's not as bad as I'd first thought."

"He does that." Lady grinned after making the comment, glancing toward the redhead who was just smiling, seeing a slight look of curious questioning in her green eyes. "What?"

"Why didn't you ever, well, you know?"

Lady snorted, "Me with Dante? It's just laughable somehow. When we get along, it's usually only because we're both kicking someone's ass, and when there's downtime, we're always at each other's throats for some reason or another. Besides," Lady told her as she pushed one of her legs over the bike, "I don't really think he's my type. He's good looking and all, but I think we make much better friends."

Regan smirked over the explanation, then looked around to see that not many people were about. "I can understand that," she started, then looked back at Lady. "You know, I think I might just walk home."

"Oh?," Lady looked back in question, "everything okay?"

"Yeah," Regan nodded reassuringly, not seeming to act as if anything was wrong at all, "I just thought the walk might help me get used to the pants better," she grinned.

"I get it," Lady replied, reaching to the back of her bike and grabbing the hilt covered sword that was hidden within the machinery, slender enough to have been slipped there while the bike sat idle in the parking lot, turning her arm and holding it out to Regan. "Then I'll see you around sometime."

"Yep, looking forward to another shopping spree with you," Regan grinned, taking the sword and putting it on her belt beneath her coat before pulling the leather over it to cover the item completely. Seeing that it was long enough, they both smirked, and Regan let Lady start up her motorcycle after agreeing about the whole shopping bit with her, watching her ride into the distance a moment later. With a soft sigh, Regan turned away from the parking lot and began heading down the sidewalk once she was gone.

As she traversed the streets on the quiet Monday evening, the wind breezing quietly through her red tresses, Regan wondered to herself if she could live up to this kind of world. Knowing the truth would leave her in it for the rest of her life, she understood that, but to be the kind of person she was, or should she say, being the kind of being she was, now, would make things harder on her, wouldn't it? Or would it be harder being a simple human?

One of the reasons Regan figured she should walk to Devil May Cry by herself was the number of questions playing through her head. She figured the walk would give her time to consider them. Questions such as if the Ritual failed, or if it was brought to an end, and she survived past that night, would she become human again? Or die from the wound Arias had inflicted upon her all that time ago? Or would she remain what she was now? Some part of her demonic, a part of her she didn't fully understand yet and wondered if she ever would.

What if that was the case though? What would she do after she'd ensured her own survival? Something like Dante or Lady? Hunt devil's for a living instead of raising and training horses? Regan had never considered doing anything else besides her ranching, so the new prospect was kind of scarey to her.

It was while she was having these deep thoughts that a man walked out of the alleyway behind her, closing in, and she got the feeling she was being followed, that someone very familiar was nearby. As she went, she noticed in the rearview mirror of a car she'd passed that she was, in fact, being followed, and from the looks of it, the person following her was wearing a cloak and hood. Just like the man Imp had described.

Her heart skipped a beat with anxiety.

Regan turned down onto an empty road and stopped, looking back to wait. Her hand clutched the hilt of the blade inside of her jacket, slicing air as it was drawn from its sheath. Within the few moments she'd taken to draw the weapon, she questioned in her mind what she was doing, but somehow it just felt like the right thing to do even as she questioned it. At the same time she questioned herself, the man had rounded the corner, and Regan drew her blade up quickly to press the tip against his throat and stop him in his tracks.

They both became still, no one about at all, the wind whipping over them, through Regan's hair and the strange man's robes. Regan let her green eyes wander over him quietly, cloaked, reminding her of some type of monk, the veil of black allowing her to see, as he looked up at her slowly, two silvery white eyes that seemed somehow empty, yet somehow alive at the same time. Imp had been right. The guy did look like death. No eyebrows, sunken in cheeks and eye sockets. A face not even a mother could love, and it was questionable whether or not this figure even had a mother. But Regan pushed those thoughts from her head, and as she was about to demand some identification, he began to tell her the opposite of what she wanted to know.

"You are Regan," he spoke softly to her, his voice somehow light, not as deep as many men's were, and a bit odd to listen to.

"I don't care who I am, I want to know who you are," she replied, her grip on her weapon strong, waiting for a response. "And why you're following me," she added after only a moment.

The man looked from her face and then down at the blade she pointed at him, taking a step toward her, seeming uncaring about the slice of skin he'd caused in his throat by the sword against it, reaching his hand out to place upon her arm. Regan jerked back, not wanting to be touched, and the man simply lowered his arm in response to her refusal of contact.

Finally, he replied to her, "The Gateway will be soon."

Regan's brows narrowed in anger. Bearing her teeth just a slight bit, she asked him, "Then you are one of those cultists."

The man smiled only a bit, lifting his head back, then shaking it no at her, "I am," he paused for a moment, trying to think of the words, "you may call me The Vicar."

"Well, Vicar, cultist, whatever, it's all the same to me, pal," Regan sneered out the words. "And I don't give a damn about The Gateway, it's all a bunch of bullshit that I have no interest in. So you can go back to your boss and tell him he can kiss my fucking ass."

The Vicar remained inanimate as she spoke this. Only his lips moved as he began to reply, "You don't seem to understand. With this ritual in place, as it has come to be already with your infusion of His blood, once completed, your status in this world will rise to Goddess, and you'll be second only to Him."

"Well you can tell 'Him'," she spoke the word pointedly, "that he's a dick and I'd rather die."

"Which you will if the Ritual does not succeed. Are you so eager for such an untimely ending?"

Regan sneered at the being standing before her. She knew he wasn't going to relent, and so she took several steps back, watching him moving toward her. But his words struck a chord. She was going to die if she didn't participate? Not that it swayed her any, she'd rather die than participate, but of course, the news frightened her a bit. And that's when it hit her like a ton of bricks. This person was obviously a demon if his looks and even his title of The Vicar were any indication. And what did demons do best? No doubt he was lying about the whole thing, trying to convince her to just go along with him easily instead of putting up a fuss about it.

No fucking way she intended on doing that however.

Regan finally scoffed. Shaking her head, smirking just a bit, she replied, "If death is the only other choice, then so be it."

"Saddening to hear you say so. I had hoped this would not result in force."

"You're the one who's pushing, asshole, maybe if you'd let it go, there wouldn't be any force!"

Regan only wondered if this was going to result in a fight after she'd said the words, but it damned sure looked like it, and that being the case, she was sincerely hoping that the lessons Dante had given her earlier that day would hold true, even if she'd only taken those lessons for three hours. If not, she had the guns in her trench coat that would be highly useful considering her shooting skills.

Mind and body one, grasshopper, Dante's words rang out in her head in that moment. Damn it, where was that cheese ball when she needed him?

The Vicar was still stepping toward her as she considered this, and Regan noticed a centipede crawling from the neck of his robes and along his throat, to somewhere inside of his hood, making her stomach churn. Just run, she told herself, just get the hell out of here. If he followed, maybe she'd be able to find Dante and let him have a piece of this guy. She was pretty sure after all that he was itching for a good fight.

Knowing that was her best bet, since she definitely wasn't an offensive fighter, not at this stage in the game anyway, Regan turned quickly and took off into a sprint, deciding two things in that moment. One, looking back would be bad, and two, the place was too out in the open anyway. If a fight went down, she didn't want it to be where anyone could see her.

Regan had learned a good bit of the area since she'd come to the city, and she knew that, as she ran, she'd reach Dante's shop sooner than she'd reach the hotel room, but considering she didn't know if she actually was being followed or not, she didn't want to risk leading this Vicar guy right to Evelyn, so Dante's shop was definitely her first choice for more than one reason.

She tried to remember her way the best she could, rounding the corner of a street, the sign of which read Branch St, and she knew that led the way she wanted to go. But as soon as she turned the corner, she came to an abrupt stop and stared ahead of herself as The Vicar walked toward her. Letting out a deep breath of air before taking in another one, Regan grumbled out, "You don't give up, do ya?"

"Come with me, Regan."

"Hell. No." Regan enunciated each word and then turned to move down an alleyway adjacent to the area she was currently standing in to take a shortcut, but as she began to move into the enclosed area, The Vicar once more stepped out before her from behind a large dumpster, causing her to stop in her tracks again.

"You have no choice, Regan," he spoke to her, coming to a stop before her. As he did so, Regan heard a sound she'd never heard before, that of vortexes opening up and the sickening groans of demons emerging from them, the Quietus' that she'd first seen killing her then unknown brother. Their greyish colored bodies lumbered toward her, eyeless faces somehow leering and long, sharp tongues hanging from their mouths.

Regan knew it was now or never.

"Well, if I have no choice," she began, "then I'll just have to kick your asses before anything else can happen!"

The party was getting started, and Regan decided she'd have to save her guns for last. After all, she didn't have a seemingly unending supply of bullets like Dante did, and for now, she wasn't even sure if her guns were powerful enough to work anyway. But she had no time to question it. The tongues of the demons had shot toward her, and Regan decided to duck down as they swung over her, pulling out the sword she had concealed in her trench coat, and she rolled to the side. Once she'd hit her knees, she pushed herself up and thought back to her earlier lessons, jabbing the blade into the gut of one of the demons trying to attack her.

As it squealed and its black blood began to splatter onto the ground behind it, Regan jerked her arm away and felt one of the demons tongues wrapping around her arm. Looking back, she sliced her blade down in order to severe the appendage, causing a shriek which she ignored, realizing that another one of the slimy tongues was swinging at her while she'd been temporarily grabbed.

Her instinct kicked in, and she found herself narrowly avoiding a slice to the back by pushing herself forward, realizing as she moved that she was heading closer to yet another Quietus. This wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, finding that the enclosed space of the alleyway didn't leave her a lot of options, and that trying to avoid one attack nearly led her into another. As she avoided the tongue and came closer to the enemy before her, she turned into a spin and somewhat awkwardly drew her blade around, the sharp edge taking the demons head off without question, leaving her with a slight bit of space to think.

Don't think, just move. More of Dante's words of wisdom rang out in her head. No thinking, only action. She had to keep moving.

So, this was how it was done, she considered in the moment she had as she turned from the second demon she'd managed to kill. You had to stay on the offensive. No doubt Lady or Dante, had they been there, would have moved toward the next enemy without thought at all and simply cut them down, much as she had, but with a lot less hesitation. The discovery led Regan to wonder one simple thing.

Was she really going to get out of this alive? Or at least unscathed? Somehow she doubted it.

And she was right. The moment it took her to learn the lesson of staying on the offensive and acting without too much thought or hesitation with these creatures as she had, she felt yet another tongue wrapping around her ankle, and suddenly jerking her up. Falling back with a loud gasp, throughout the shock of the sudden movement, she tried to remember to hold onto her sword tightly as, before she knew it, her entire body was being jerked around and up through the air by the demon who'd grabbed her, slinging her around like a rag doll and into a brick wall hard enough to make it crumble around her body.

The wind was knocked from her lungs and Regan could see a flash of light in her eyes as she tumbled onto the ground, face first, some of the bricks crumbling with her. In the back of her mind, Regan knew that should have hurt much worse than it actually had, but in the front of her mind, it hurt like hell.

She needed more experience, she considered, much more experience. And in the chaos, she didn't think it was too much to ask to have Dante or Lady randomly pop up to help her sorry ass out. Gripping the sword she'd thankfully managed to hold onto throughout her flight into the brick wall, those thoughts suddenly fled from her mind when a sharp tongue jabbed its way down through her shoulder, making her cry out in surprised pain.

Groaning, seeing her blood spilling onto the cemented ground she lay on, Regan looked up when she saw the robed figure of The Vicar stepping before her. She tilted her green eyed gaze up his form, trying to push the pain from her mind as she heard his spoken words filling her ears, "You've not yet been...properly schooled, Gateway. Do you yield now?"

Regan grunted as she pushed herself up, reaching for the tongue in her shoulder when she realized that the demons were simply holding her there, and as she grabbed hold of it, she felt it jerking as if to keep her in place. The pain drew another slight cry from her lips, a cringe on her face, but she forced the tongue out of her shoulder anyway with a lowly made, feminine growl of anger.

Once this had happened, Regan managed to push herself up to her knees, feeling the wound on her shoulder closing up, something she was immensely grateful for, but knew she'd never really get used to, leaving behind the blood alone. Looking up, she breathed out harshly. As she knelt there, sword still in hand, Regan glared through narrowed brows at The Vicar, and she growled out, "Kiss my ass."

With those words, Regan stood up quickly and turned, using one of the moves Dante had taught her just a few hours ago which included striking a target three times in succession with her blade, and she used it on the same demon behind her who'd saw fit to stab her in the shoulder. The difference between herself and Dante, however, was that Regan had realized Demoncaller was much lighter than Rebellion appeared to be, so she managed to pull the move off a bit quicker, leaving her with the time to finish off the move by slicing open the demons gut with a turn to locate her next victim.

But things didn't go that smoothly. Sadly, the Vicar was right. Regan didn't have the proper experience or, for lack of a better word, schooling to keep herself on the upside of the fight as consistently as she might've liked to. As she turned, three of the demons pitted against her stabbed their tongues through her torso including her collar, chest, and shoulder. Regan grunted loudly in pain, the surprise of the attack causing her to drop her sword, Demoncaller falling to the ground with a clatter that resounded throughout the alleyway. But Regan wasn't completely defenseless yet.

With a forceful grunt, she reached for the six shooters strapped to the inside of her trench coat, pulling them both out and aiming them at one of the demons, firing at his torso, watching him shriek and reel back before she turned her arms out and aimed at the two on both sides of her, trying to move in more closely. As the demons fell to the sides away from her, more began to form from vortexes, and Regan stumbled down to a knee as the tongues were pulled from her body with the Quietuses reeling back.

The newly made onslaught by the recently formed demons forced Regan to push herself to the side, outnumbered now seven to one. After she'd pushed herself out of the way, she turned her head up to see her sword laying near the feet of a few demons heading toward her. So she pushed herself forward toward the sword and landed by rolling, grabbing the hilt with her hand as her body moved over the cement, and knocked two of the demons off of their feet in the process with her legs.

Regan came to and pushed herself up, turning and jabbing her weapon into the torso of one of the demons, slicing down another after pulling the blade out of its body to the side, all while The Vicar simply stood back and watched the scene. Two of the demons taken down, five to go, Regan made another attack, but she overstepped her aim, the Quietus knocking her blade back with its arm before shooting its tongue into the center of her chest almost, four more of the slimy appendages impaling her yet again throughout her torso and into one of her legs.

Regan yelled in anguish, blood shooting from her mouth, her fingers trying their damnedest to keep their hold on her weapon this time, but somehow, she could feel the life being sapped out of her, as if she simply could not continue taking this type of beating. In her blurred line of vision, she could see The Vicar stepping before her, her brows narrowed, face contorted in the pain wracking her form, and he stopped in front of her as the Quietuses held her there.

The Vicar looked her face over quietly, reached up a hand in order to wipe some of the blood from her mouth, which then seemed to seep into his own skin, and there almost seemed to be an expression of sympathy across his deathly face.

"Such a beautiful woman does not need to feel this type of pain. Do not be irrational, Regan. I'm offering you a chance not many get, to rise above, become more than what you were meant to be. To help me become more than I am. This...sounds fearful, I know. But I would much rather see you alive than dead."

Regan, breathing heavily, turned her green eyes up to the demonic man before her, and she sneered. But she had a counter offer for him, one that, instead of simply refusing him, would stop all of this chaos once and for all.

"Let Evelyn be. Leave her alone, and I'll agree to your terms."

The Vicar's face was unreadable as he stood there silently before her, watching her as if he might have been considering her offer, then he shook his head slowly. "There can be no deals without her death. Evelyn was born for the sole purpose of this Ritual, Regan. Not long ago, you did not even know of her existence. Does she really mean so much to you? Her life is expendable."

The Vicar found a mix of saliva and blood spit onto his face once he said that, directly into his eye, but even then, he didn't blink or flinch. Instead, he acted as if nothing were there at all. Turning, he slowly began to walk away, saying, "She will die, and you will be my soul in this world, bonded to me eternally. You do not have the strength to defeat me now, and once bonded to me, you never will."

Regan, as he spoke, could feel an anger welling up within her that was sparking to life more and more with each word. Her eyes turned completely white, sclera encompassing her pupils, and she could feel a power radiating through her body from the sword she grasped so tightly. The blade began to turn stark black, and a sound of death and anger could be heard almost as if from the distance. The skull on the pommel of the weapon began to glow where the eye sockets were located, and The Vicar turned and looked back.

Regan had definitely had enough.

Suddenly, from beneath the Quietus's feet, an explosion of black energy rose up, and the smokey visages of demonic spirits birthed forth, shrieking and raging, clawing and tearing at the Quietuses that held Regan captive before The Vicar, consuming them all in an aura of darkness. This had been an unexpected turn of events, and The Vicar watched in a slight bit of surprised confusion, until a blur of movement passed his line of vision and he felt the sharp point of a blade being embedded in his torso.

Standing before him now as he fell to a knee stood Regan, her skin blackened, eyes glowing white, and her hair a mist of fiery blood red wafting about her shoulders, as if smoke and fire in itself. A tail whipped about behind her, attached to her lower spine, her body seeming to sport its own natural armor that enveloped her feminine curves and marked her in hints of red, sparking demonic energy sporadically.

The Vicar didn't seem to be pained by the attack the fanged female demon had just performed on him however, staring up at her as the surge of lesser demons that her sword, now embedded in his lower chest, had summoned up for her with her own unwitting power began to dissipate, leaving the Quietuses completely devastated. Their bodies now lay in pieces, disintegrating into nothing, leaving The Vicar alone with the demonic female standing before him, stabbing him so viciously in the stomach.

Regan stared down at The Vicar, and as she did so, she could somehow feel life flooding back into her body, as if she were healing much more quickly now than she normally would, even in her human form. And only then did she realize that, somehow, she'd physically changed. Though, she didn't remove her eyes from The Vicar to overlook herself, too inflamed with anger to do so.

It was then that The Vicar spoke, "You have proven to me now, Regan, that you are completely worthy. Don't you see that this power is undeniable? You have proven me right."

Regan shoved the sword deeper into The Vicar's body, growling out the words, "Shut up," and she didn't even recognize her own voice. It was darkly demonic now, but she had to finish what she was saying, "I used this power to prove you wrong!"

"But you have not defeated me. You've only showed me how excellent an asset you will become."

"I said," Regan growled as she gripped the sword and jerked it up and away from The Vicar, tearing the sharp blade out of his body and through his shoulder, "shut up!"

The Vicar's body fell to the ground in a heap, severed in half vertically, and Regan sucked in a breath as she fell to her knees, her form sparking and returning to its normal state, still covered in blood and for better or for worse, completely dirty. Her sword clinked onto the cement as she hit her knees, then leaned forward onto her hands. Glancing up slowly, she looked at the corpse laying just ahead of her, still and motionless, and she then closed her eyes.

"No, you're wrong," she whispered out, "all of you are wrong."

---

The lights were flashing, the music playing, and the patrons were all drinking and having a good time, watching the ladies dance on the stage, wearing next to nothing, and then nothing itself, stripping like the pros they were.

Love Planet. Always something to be had.

Dante pushed the door to the club open and walked inside, his fist shoved into his pocket, his guitar case in his other hand. As he moved toward the bar, ignoring the dancing ladies across the room on stage for now, hearing other women in the place calling out his name in the process, he reached for a stool and pulled it out, setting his guitar case against the bar itself on the floor next to it.

The bartender was putting some recently cleaned glasses up on the shelf, looking back when he heard the name Dante being called, seeing the white haired man sitting in the stool at the counter, and he smirked a bit, walking over.

"Hey man, haven't seen ya in a few weeks."

"Yeah," Dante muttered, "I know. Been busy."

"Busy, huh? Then you probably have the money to pay off that tab."

"No, actually," Dante replied, "but I did come to see Pearce. He workin' tonight?"

The bartender scoffed, looking back toward the swinging door that led into the kitchen, then to Dante again, "He might be, but he's not gonna give you any drinks until you pay up either."

"Go easy on me, Dave," Dante muttered out, "just go get Pearce, I wanna ask him something."

"Alright," Dave replied, "just watch out though, some of the girls have been looking for ya."

Dave walked off and Dante just lifted a brow slightly, thinking how normally he would've enjoyed hearing that, wondering why he didn't care to this time around. But as he sat and turned in his chair, he saw two of the ladies that Dave had just mentioned standing near by now, staring at him with their arms crossed over their, well, bountiful chests. Suddenly it came crashing back to him why he wasn't so enthused over hearing they'd been looking for him.

He'd promised them rounds the next time he'd showed up.

"Dante Sparda!" The blonde started. "Where have you been?"

"Yeah, sweety, we've been worried about you," the brunette added.

"So I see," Dante replied, pushing one arm up onto the bar to lean on, casting a charming grin at them despite his lack of enthusiasm at their presence. "You guys look as busty as ever."

The blonde began to giggle, then she pointed a finger at him, "Hush, I don't wanna hear it. You said you were going to buy us rounds and show us your place."

"Yeah! I wanna see your sweet sound room!"

Sound room? Damn, how the fuck drunk was he the last time he'd come out here? Did they think he was some kind of recording artist or something? Lifting a single brow, Dante sighed out, "Sorry babes, sound room's under renovation right now. That's where I've been. Stereo system busted out on me and I had to spend a fortune to get it fixed. So no rounds tonight, and no tour."

"Awww," both girls drew out sadly and exchanged a pouting glance with one another, and then the brunette looked back over at him and smiled, "it's okay, sweety, we can come over some other time, right?"

Sure, Dante thought to himself, whenever he actually built a sound room for himself. "Sounds like a party," he told them instead.

They both giggled and then leaned in, kissing his cheeks, followed by turning to go back to where they'd come from, waving at him the entire way. Dante was staring to think that booze might've been part of his rotten luck with women, but he also considered that he was damned fortunate Regan wasn't there. Not only would she have spilled the truth, but she also would've probably added a slap to the face to the two he'd get from the women who'd just kissed his cheeks instead of hitting him for lying to them.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen someone more full of shit than you, Dante," came a voice from behind the bar.

Turning to look back, Dante saw the man he'd come to talk to, Garret Ethan Pearce, the owner of Love Planet. The man was what several women would call perfection to the eye, chiseled features, completely muscular body, tall, long black hair in a pony tail, and blue eyes that could melt. Dante had seen the guy fighting off women before for more or less, and he could only wonder how fitting it was that the guy had inevitably opened up a strip joint.

"Well," Dante started, "at least I entertain. What the hell did I tell them?"

Chuckling, Pearce walked toward the counter and leaned an arm against it, shaking his head slowly, "Just that you were in an amazing rock band. The guys thought the shit you were saying was so fucking funny, we just let you go on and on about how you make millions off of your albums every year."

Dante gave Pearce a bland look, then asked, "You'd think they would wonder why they'd never heard of me before if that was the case."

"They did ask that actually. You're reply was something like you were the sound man, that's why you weren't so well known."

"Christ," Dante muttered out, sitting back in his stool.

Pearce just grinned at the devil hunter, tilting his head a bit before asking him, "So what brings you here anyway? Where's my damned money?"

Watching Dante roll his eyes, Pearce pulled up his own seat and waited for a response. Finally, he got one in the form of, "Give me a break for now. I came to ask you about something entirely different, Pearce. I need to know if you've seen someone around or not."

"Yeah, I figured you wanted information on something, otherwise you wouldn't have shown up without something to pay to me. So, do we need a more private place to talk?"

Considering the subject matter, Dante decided a booth might've been the better ticket, one where his back was against the wall so he could see the entire room, and a moment later they were both heading toward one, sitting down across from each other, ignoring everything else going on around them. Pearce, once he was settled, leaned an arm against the table, and waved his hand casually, "So?"

"This might be asking for a needle in a haystack, but I was wondering if you've seen any creepy people about lately."

Dante watched the man snorting in amusement, giving him a grin. "You sure you haven't been drinking already, Dante?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, otherwise I'd be happy," Dante replied blandly. "In particular, I'm talking about a guy in a hood and cloak, looks like death."

Pearce narrowed his brows over the description, while somewhat vague, it was also pretty specific, and with a shake of his head, he asked, "Demon?"

"Could be."

"Well, I asked because you know how the girls have been wondering about where you were?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I've had other people asking about you too, just a day or two ago. I haven't seen anyone in a cloak and hood though, but I did see a guy come in here when we were slow during the day not too long ago. When he heard one of the girls mentioning your name to each other, he asked to know if the name was yours."

Dante narrowed a white brow quietly, glancing over the bar behind Pearce, asking as he looked at the patrons, "What'd they tell him?"

"Nothing. Well, not anything that was true. They gave him that cockamamy fish story you told 'em when you were drunk. When he started asking to know if they were completely sure, I told him to beat it if he wasn't gonna buy anything. That's when he asked for a drink and started asking me if I knew you."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Just that I might and I might not. The dude smiled at me when I said that though, kinda weird. But I just went about my business, deciding if he had anything else to say, he'd say it."

That was a little strange, Dante considered, deciding that whoever it was might have had something to do with this guy that Imp saw. "What'd he look like?"

"Eh," Pearce drew out, "kinda short, maybe five, five or five, seven, blonde hair, skinny. But he did say something else, he gave me a message for you the next time I saw you. Which is why I haven't just thrown your ass out yet with the tab you owe me."

"What are friends for," Dante replied somewhat sarcastically. "So, what's the message?"

Pearce scoffed slightly, seeming somehow amused, and he sat back against his booth seat, shaking his head slowly. "Hell if I know what it means but he said you'd understand." He told me to tell you that our common foe has arrived. That make any sense to you?"

Too much sense, Dante thought to himself. Arias was around, and even though that hadn't been the man that Dante was asking about in specific, the words Arias had left for Dante rang a bell so loud that it probably could've been heard by Pearce if the man had been listening hard enough. "Yeah, I know what it means. And I think I need to go now."

"Must be a damned big message if you're leaving just like that without trying to worm a drink out of me first."

"Actually," Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out some money, tossing it onto the table in front of the guy, "have a drink ready for me whenever I come back again. I'm pretty sure that'll cover it and my tab."

"Holding out on me, I see," Pearce replied, counting the money quietly as Dante grabbed his guitar case and stood up straight. Looking up at the white haired demon hunter, he asked, "What's this all about anyway?"

"I'm not quit sure yet," Dante shrugged, "maybe it'll make a better fish story than the sound man though."

Smirking as he put the ninety seven dollars Dante had just given him into his pocket and worked his own way up from the booth, Pearce told the retreating devil hunter, "Any fish story would be better than that one."

Dante snorted softly and lifted a hand, tilting it at the owner of his favorite club in farewell before he found his way to the door. He knew one thing was for sure as he left the place however. The man looking for information on the Gateway Ritual who'd then trashed Imp's shop was apparently no one's friend in all of this.

If this cloaked person was actually Democrities, Dante knew the next step was already being taken. He'd have to keep an eye out on Regan now. Somehow he got the feeling she might start acting strange in the near future.