A/N: This dedicated to a friend and written back in 2003. No revision has been done. Kept it as is from 2003.

The moon shone brightly on the street of the alleyway, illuminating the path towards DEVIL MAY CRY, an establishment meant for the famous and infamous Dante Sparda. It was not however known how he had acquired his powers to many in that lived along that street corner, nor do many own many housing in that path but if one may look closer, it housed many warehouses.

There was a blonde who lived there for awhile although she moved out and by the looks of things, the red clad devil hunter was all the more pleased, having several women coming in and out of there. It was little wonder why he loved his women, all that drinking, rock metal music, and debauchery. It seemed always night time when the neon lights flickered on and off, creating a halo of Las Vegas in a run down neighborhood. Inside sits the silver haired man. Lounging behind his desk, making sure he had enough booze to fill his empty nights.

It was just another day. Another day to kill demons and Dante was up to more of the same ole' thing, using Ebony and Ivory and making sure he took turns firing them. If they could talk, he was sure they'd show signs of jealousy. Drinking beer was often of late something Dante had been doing. Empty beer cans lay all over the place and the smell of his place was disgusting. He didn't know if it came from his lack of cleaning or the fact that the smells probably seeped out from the trophies on the wall. Trish had left on some kind of long journey mission to some other side of the world deal so he's left alone to care for the place and with some consolation kept his magazines atop his desk to briefly scan the contents of lack of female wear.

The phone hardly rang now and when it did, it startled him, making him jump up in his long reverie. He liked to party a little too much and play with his drums a lot. At least he could do that. The blonde that lived with him hated the sound of them and she ordered him about telling him to sell them. He never listened to her anyway but actually missed her presence to some extent because it was never good to be alone. Human females were not so pleasant; they usually enjoyed the fact that he was some kind of secret agent and found him so dangerous that they adored him endlessly. That got a bit tiring.

He closed his eyes, turned up the music and nodded his head to sleep. It was going to be another missionless evening. There was a sudden crash that broke through his window. He became instantly alert and ran to the front of his office, seeing the damages there. On the floor, lay a wrapped item, around it lay the broken shards of glass and Dante cursed thinking about all the damages he had to pay before to get his place fixed when that blonde destroyed it with fire.

He picked it up and un wrapped the item. The ice blue eyes widened at the sight of a statue, a small statue that looked unmistakably like a mummified sin scythe. Scratching his silver head, he cursed silently and knew this represented revenge from the sin scissor family. He had destroyed so many of them back in Mallet Island that they were virtually non existent. It was one of Mundus's creations and looked very much like the death bringers in between worlds.

He didn't have time to react when the enfolding dark smoke embraced his body in immediate caress, a choking embalming that seem to overtake his senses and he partially was able to emit a small scream, instantly reaching for his weapons but they were out of reach and the smoke continued to encompass his entirety, and Dante went out in a light, his eyes turning red before he passed out on the floor. The last thing he remembered was the blackness and the overbearing coldness that seeped through his veins. It was dark and was very cold, like the frostbite that would never go away.

Moments passed, and his door opened with two people walking in, both wearing long Hessian boots and made the wood planks of Dante's floorboards creak. The devil hunter lay there, hands outstretched with one gripping the sin scythe figurine. One of the figures reached out and took the piece and made a noisey clucking on the side of her mouth. She grinned evilly as the light from the neon flickering sign shone on the side of her face. Her voice cracked as she spoke the words,

"At last, Dante Sparda. It's been so long since we last met."

Then she kissed the figurine and whispered, "You did a wonderful job."

The other figure smiled at her, giggling profusely, although smaller in height than his mistress, was able to produce an equally evil smile, showing yellow glaring teeth and large round eyes. He sneered and coughed out,

"What shall we do with him now, my mistress?"

"Why what we shall always do, my follower. We shall take the famous demon hunter and tie him up. We shall do what we've come here to do. Kill him. Slowly. Torture him. It is what we've planned all along now haven't we?"

Dante moved slightly, feeling pain rip through his body, the aching prodding headache felt like a sledgehammer was making tap dances atop his silver head and all he could do was groan as he felt his arms held up by chains. He tugged at them, the dizziness in his vision a slight pain in the ass compared to his head pain but this was another matter entirely. Chained up he could usually break through them but he couldn't even devil trigger and that made him instantly sober. Something was definitely wrong.

Looking around his surroundings, he was sure he was in a dungeon with sixteenth century chain links but these chains were magical for all of his strength he couldn't budge them or make any movement to alleviate himself from this preposterous situation. Taking a slight inhalation of breath, remembering the art of breathing from one of Trish's textual books she had read up on when she joined this How to be a better breather in an anger management program and How to do yoga, it came in handy. Not that half devils like him were privy to situations that came on like this.

He felt sick, and the taste of cotton mouth was in his throat, just like the feeling of taking drugs and he didn't like them. He had experimented them when he was younger, wilder, and not that he isn't as wild now, he felt they destroyed too much of his devil triggering and the thought came on to him just now. Drugs. Damn. They must have drugged him. Something very powerful did this to him and therefore made him have the inability to devil trigger. A woman materialized in front of him. She was wearing those long Hessian boots and the fullness of her body accentuated by the tight fitting wooly dress she wore, and they barely covered her knees. She was not wearing sixteenth century clothing at least. He could however conclude he was not in some kind of bloody time warp.

With her hair long, it shone black and blue, tints of bluish coloring seem to sparkle in that dungeon and Dante's eyes scanned her, searching for any weapons or a smell of demonic energy and she possessed none of that. Although there was something else. Something he couldn't quite figure out and realized with some urgency that there was a familiarity about her he couldn't quite place.

"I see you have decided to remember me after all, Dante Sparda."

Her voice cracked, in that similar way he recalled, a faint scent about her and yes, she was the woman he had asked out a long time ago, took her to his bed and left her the next morning. It wasn't as if he didn't do that often, for he did it with less immediacy as when he often drank. After the mission to Mallet island though it did happen to him that the presence of the demon blonde was enough to keep his wildness in check. He grunted, barely able to produce any audible noise and when he did speak, there was slight slur to his speech, as if the drug that was most likely administered had its effect on him with a strong hold.

"What is it you want?" He slurred out the words, spittle started to fall ashamedly down his cheek and the woman who had formed in front of him like a ghost, reached out to touch the dribble there and replaced it with her lips. They felt cold on his cheek, making him shiver and he felt so powerless, so human.

"I can read your thoughts you know. I know you are powerless, you poor thing you."

The woman reached out and caressed his silver strands and smiled. She really loved Dante Sparda like this, helpless and alone, once a powerful figure, now a mere pathetic invalid.

"You've been drugged, yes, I can read your thoughts, my lovely Sparda."

Then she pushed her head back and laughed, the laughter rang through the cells of the entire room, bouncing off the corroded walls and the enchantment of it, rang and rang in his ears. He was helpless and drugged and Dante Sparda was up against someone he didn't even have any knowledge of since she smelled of human and something else. Though it was quite hard for him at this stage, not knowing your opponent and not understanding the reasons behind their manipulative plans and that was all he could think of as he faded into the background of his memory.

Looking at the silver haired man's body going into a complete slump, the woman with the eerily appearance walked closer and took the chains off. She became immediately worried that her prey was dying and cursed her stupid fool of a follower because he might have given this hunter a little too much in the way of administrating drugs. Can't get good help these days, she cursed out loud, and let Dante's arms go around her as he slumped his dead weight on hers. She groaned, smelling his hair, the tangy wispiness of it, and realized how much she had missed him. It took so long for her to get her plans in order and glad that the wench, Trish, or who ever that blonde was left in time for this to take place.