The lights of the town were bright against the dark of the night. And
a forest of an even darker black rested along the outskirts of said town.
In fact, it surrounded the entire place... save for one small road. Which
was the only road in and out of the town. But not all in it was dark. For
tiny, barely visible lights could be seen near a large, towering life that
emitted its own pale, desperate light. A life that, soon, would no longer
be able to be called that. Though, even with the street lights and the tiny
lights of the forest an even greater light was shown. One that gave hope.
It was a large, pink, neon sign.
In that old building with the sign was a not-so-old man. Though he bore one quality of an old man he could never be mistaken for one. No elderly person, no matter how "alive" they yet were, could ever leap on top of a two-story home nor could they wield a sword larger than themselves. But this man could. With strength and speed surpassing any average human, he defeated the legions of the Underworld... just as his father had done before him. And that was something he was proud of, although, that pride and confidence never went, completely, to his head. Because he knew that, if it did, he'd have been lost to the world many years ago.
This man owned a very... peculiar business. One that a town plagued by demons needed, which was the reason he first decided to live there. But amazing opportunities, great pay, and wonderful bars were the things that kept him there. His business was called "Devil Never Cry" and he was called Dante Sparda. Inside his home he sat on his large leather chair, heels propped upon his dark, wooden desk, polishing his prized, handmade weapons, Ebony and Ivory. Those twin pistols had been, through his entire devil hunting career, the only partners he ever had or needed. And even though plenty of good partners had come along, one including a very stunning female demon, he had never wanted one. So he never took one. He wasn't exactly the kind to do that sort of thing because, in actuality, a teammate would only slow him down.
The business line had rung quite a few times that night but only thrice had it been an actual proposition with a password. And all of them had been no serious threat, just a mere Marionette or Frost problem, nothing he couldn't handle well enough. So Dante used the rest of his night to fix up his precious weapons like he did religiously. For nearly three hours he sat in that chair, only moving to pick up the other weapons he'd used earlier. And each and every one of them was polished and cleaned until not even one speck of dirt could could be seen or felt. Dante took such care, making sure that there was never anything wrong with any of his weapons, because they'd saved his life quite a few times.
After those hours had passed, at nearly two in the morning, he headed upstairs to finally find some rest. But, just as he started to change, there came a knock on the door. Disgruntled, Dante slipped his shirt back on and reluctantly went to the door. As he opened it he sighed and turned his head in disgust.
"You gonna pay up or do we have to make ya?" Asked a man with a heavy New York accent, surrounded by his gang. The half-demon laughed, seeing that they had no idea who, or what, he was.
"Well, if you really expect me to pay for protection I don't need at all then you're gonna have to make me. But... hurry up, I'm busy." Was his quick, confident reply.
From a thick shadow, a cloaked figure watched the ensuing fight intently with curious, knowing eyes. The first move, obviously enough, was made by the member of the gang who had brought it on. He threw his fist forward in an attempt to make contact with Dante's jaw but the man ducked easily and, in response, returned the move. But his fist found its target, the other's stomach, and Dante, just before his punch landed, brought his arm up in a last-minute-uppercut. Dante smiled, hearing the howl the gang member produced, knowing that at least one of the man's ribs was broken.
The white-haired man just stood there, even as the others trapped him in a circle, because he knew what they did not. As they charged, Dante triggered, immediately stopping them in their tracks. Not one dared move, for they had taken on creatures like that but had never succeeded. Dante still stood there, waiting. But before he bothered to do anything, the gang ran away, literally carrying the one who had suffered under the half- demon's anger.
He switched back, sighing. "Goddamn punks..." The figure in the shadows watched him as he reentered his home, knowing that he was the one.
Dante, as he tore off his shirt and fell back upon his bed, felt a strange image appear in his mind. One that filled him with unknown and uncommon depression. He closed his eyes under the weight of it. The image showed a large tree, at night, with little but happily bright, darting lights all around the circumference of it. Then the image changed from one picture to, what seemed like, an entire movie. All of the images he was seeing were from over hundreds of years. Constantly changing. But, for a few minutes while the surrounding trees changed, the large one didn't. Not until he was looking at a time that seemed more recent. The smaller trees grew dark and weary quickly but the Dreaming Tree held out. It's light started growing dim only after all the others' had. Which left Dante with a picture of the present in his mind. The tree was there, of course but it was... near death. It's once bright green leaves were graying. It's trunk had changed from being completely earth brown to now having spots of shadow black taking over. The lights under it, the faeries, lessened in numbers as these changes took place. Fear grew inside their hearts for the place they once relished was becoming a place full of evil and despair. The Dreaming Tree was becoming a place that would no longer give life... but, as it was slowly being conquered, take it away.
In that old building with the sign was a not-so-old man. Though he bore one quality of an old man he could never be mistaken for one. No elderly person, no matter how "alive" they yet were, could ever leap on top of a two-story home nor could they wield a sword larger than themselves. But this man could. With strength and speed surpassing any average human, he defeated the legions of the Underworld... just as his father had done before him. And that was something he was proud of, although, that pride and confidence never went, completely, to his head. Because he knew that, if it did, he'd have been lost to the world many years ago.
This man owned a very... peculiar business. One that a town plagued by demons needed, which was the reason he first decided to live there. But amazing opportunities, great pay, and wonderful bars were the things that kept him there. His business was called "Devil Never Cry" and he was called Dante Sparda. Inside his home he sat on his large leather chair, heels propped upon his dark, wooden desk, polishing his prized, handmade weapons, Ebony and Ivory. Those twin pistols had been, through his entire devil hunting career, the only partners he ever had or needed. And even though plenty of good partners had come along, one including a very stunning female demon, he had never wanted one. So he never took one. He wasn't exactly the kind to do that sort of thing because, in actuality, a teammate would only slow him down.
The business line had rung quite a few times that night but only thrice had it been an actual proposition with a password. And all of them had been no serious threat, just a mere Marionette or Frost problem, nothing he couldn't handle well enough. So Dante used the rest of his night to fix up his precious weapons like he did religiously. For nearly three hours he sat in that chair, only moving to pick up the other weapons he'd used earlier. And each and every one of them was polished and cleaned until not even one speck of dirt could could be seen or felt. Dante took such care, making sure that there was never anything wrong with any of his weapons, because they'd saved his life quite a few times.
After those hours had passed, at nearly two in the morning, he headed upstairs to finally find some rest. But, just as he started to change, there came a knock on the door. Disgruntled, Dante slipped his shirt back on and reluctantly went to the door. As he opened it he sighed and turned his head in disgust.
"You gonna pay up or do we have to make ya?" Asked a man with a heavy New York accent, surrounded by his gang. The half-demon laughed, seeing that they had no idea who, or what, he was.
"Well, if you really expect me to pay for protection I don't need at all then you're gonna have to make me. But... hurry up, I'm busy." Was his quick, confident reply.
From a thick shadow, a cloaked figure watched the ensuing fight intently with curious, knowing eyes. The first move, obviously enough, was made by the member of the gang who had brought it on. He threw his fist forward in an attempt to make contact with Dante's jaw but the man ducked easily and, in response, returned the move. But his fist found its target, the other's stomach, and Dante, just before his punch landed, brought his arm up in a last-minute-uppercut. Dante smiled, hearing the howl the gang member produced, knowing that at least one of the man's ribs was broken.
The white-haired man just stood there, even as the others trapped him in a circle, because he knew what they did not. As they charged, Dante triggered, immediately stopping them in their tracks. Not one dared move, for they had taken on creatures like that but had never succeeded. Dante still stood there, waiting. But before he bothered to do anything, the gang ran away, literally carrying the one who had suffered under the half- demon's anger.
He switched back, sighing. "Goddamn punks..." The figure in the shadows watched him as he reentered his home, knowing that he was the one.
Dante, as he tore off his shirt and fell back upon his bed, felt a strange image appear in his mind. One that filled him with unknown and uncommon depression. He closed his eyes under the weight of it. The image showed a large tree, at night, with little but happily bright, darting lights all around the circumference of it. Then the image changed from one picture to, what seemed like, an entire movie. All of the images he was seeing were from over hundreds of years. Constantly changing. But, for a few minutes while the surrounding trees changed, the large one didn't. Not until he was looking at a time that seemed more recent. The smaller trees grew dark and weary quickly but the Dreaming Tree held out. It's light started growing dim only after all the others' had. Which left Dante with a picture of the present in his mind. The tree was there, of course but it was... near death. It's once bright green leaves were graying. It's trunk had changed from being completely earth brown to now having spots of shadow black taking over. The lights under it, the faeries, lessened in numbers as these changes took place. Fear grew inside their hearts for the place they once relished was becoming a place full of evil and despair. The Dreaming Tree was becoming a place that would no longer give life... but, as it was slowly being conquered, take it away.