HALLOWEEN. AFTERNOON.
Distance. Space. Borders. Limits. When the red door closed behind him, all visual evidence of an office room disappeared. No windows. No desk. Ceiling fixtures were non-exiistent. The ceiling itself seemed non-existent. Instead, billions upon billions of small, miniscule stars spread out across the seemingly infinite, boundless room. The stars pierced through the otherwise pitch-black darkness, and they floated gently, their motions continuous as forever though slow.
Their multitude of colors, of moving glitter of stars, seemed to stream freely - however, some, especially those that licked underneath Dante's feet, flowed slightly more heavy and slightly more quickly towards what seemed to be like a miniature galaxy. However, instead of the stars spiraling uniformly towards the center, the stars converged into a swirling, gray-white shroud that covered the center of the forming miniature galaxy. While the cloud was tall, it began to thin rapidly, its heavy-whire shroud concentrations disappearing slowly, making the scene behind it more apparent, revealing little by little the man who controlled this model universe of his in his own office . . .
Navy-blue tunic. Navy-blue pants. Long red cape. Gold on the edges of his cape and clothing. A mustached face with black eyes, the whites of his eyes glowing slightly green. Hair on the sides of his head that was the silver of age, of wisdom, of experience. Unmistakably floating in the air, above the galaxy's center below him, this particular man focused his glowing eyes on the silver-hair man in front of him, shortly before Dante himself cordially said -
"Dr. Stephen Strange," Danta nodded, and bowed in humble acknowledgement. "The slayer of Dormammu, and Memphisto's imprisoner."
Dr. Strange nodded acknowledgingly. "Dante, Son of Sparda, the half-devil hunter, slayer of Mundus."
Dante raised his head. "It is an honor to finally meet you in person, Master Mystic. Your reputation and history with the other realms have made you highly respected - and highly feared."
"Likewise, hunter," Dr. Strange replied. He floated down from above the spiraling galaxy below his toes, which dissipated as soon as he left. "Your reputation has also commanded high respect and acknowledgement as well." Strange finished by hovering on the same level that Dante was standing. "Being able to slay a High Lord of Hell is extraordinarily difficult, I must say."
"So is slaying one of existence's worst rogue dark realm lords as well," Dante retorted.
Dr. Strange extended his hand, gripping Dante's extended right hand and firmly shaking it before releasing his hand again. Danted nodded in return.
"So, Son of Sparda, how may I be of hunble assistance?"
"Dr. Strange, I am looking for some information. On a resurfacing. A return. An unholy resurrection."
"You will have to be more specific than that, demon hunter. It is the Devil's Night tonight - many unholy uprisings and resurrections are about in this reality." Stephen Strange's eyes began to glow green more fiercely.
"This resurfacing will tatke place here," Dante said. "New York, around this area. Close to your backyard in fact, master mystic."
Dr. Strange sighed in recognition. "Ah, yes, him. The spirit from not too long ago." Plumes of smoke began to circle around him, and more began to cover Dante's feet, while a wall of smoke rose behind Dante's back. The smoke flashed and glowed neon green, and a column of smoke spiraled between Dante and Strange - formless at first, then, more defined. Then, transparent.
And then, an image formed from the smoke that formed inside the now transparent sphere. Rather, a predominant image atop swarms of black shadows that ran past him beneath his feet. This predominant image formed the shape of a human male. Milky skin. Black, long hair. Cleanly shave goatee. Piercing auburn eyes. And a black, mid 1800's suit that neatly covered his body underneath a longer, heavier black overcoat. And as this image raised its right hand, conjuring red flame from his palms, it began to silently laugh manically, as if both overjoyed and tortured at the same -
"The spirit from days not far. The spirit of pride - and glutton. The Spirit of Samuel Sonata."
Dante raised an eye. "What do you know of Sonata?"
"Alas, Son of Sparda, I know much of Sonata - or should I say, the demon formerly known of Sonata." Strange reached his left hand palms down above the Sonata sphere. Smoke enveloped the sphere, covering the dark shadows and the Samuel Sonata figure. "Indeed, you are correct in your inquiry - he is planning to resurface, and tonight of all nights as well."
"You know?" Dante asked. "Do you plan on stopping him from fulfilling his vengeance?"
"Unfortunately, I do not," Dr. Strange replied. Before Dante could interject, Strange continnued, "I know that my decision sounds unsavory at first, considering the conditions. But already I have far greater challenges and evils that I must slay tonight/"
"Greater than an unholy resurrection?"
"Unfortunately, yes. There are far greater evils that threaten our realm of existence, even ones that you don't know about, demon hunter." Dr. Strange looked away, sighing distraughtfully. "It is a compromise that I hate having to make, but it is a compromise that I have chosen, and will not back down now."
Turning an eye towards Dante, Strange grinned. "However, I believe it is a compromise in which the choice I have made is faithfully correct."
Dante raised an eyebrow once again. "How so?"
"Well, Son of Sparda, look around you once you leave here. You are in a city of heroes. Heroes who have slain powerful foes and demons themselves. Any one (and probably all) of them will rise to the challenge Sonata will set forth.
"And besides, YOU'RE here, aren't you?"
------------------------------------------
HALLOWEEN. LESS THAN FIVE HOURS AGO.
". . . did you do this? Is this you?!!" Daredevil growled.
"Well, Devil-boy," Dante smirked, Ebony and Ivory resting on his hips. underneath their holsters, "You at least got part of the story right. Like I said, these guns don't shoot themselves." Dante cracked a grin. "Nor do cars blow themselves up."
Distance. Space. Borders. Limits. When the red door closed behind him, all visual evidence of an office room disappeared. No windows. No desk. Ceiling fixtures were non-exiistent. The ceiling itself seemed non-existent. Instead, billions upon billions of small, miniscule stars spread out across the seemingly infinite, boundless room. The stars pierced through the otherwise pitch-black darkness, and they floated gently, their motions continuous as forever though slow.
Their multitude of colors, of moving glitter of stars, seemed to stream freely - however, some, especially those that licked underneath Dante's feet, flowed slightly more heavy and slightly more quickly towards what seemed to be like a miniature galaxy. However, instead of the stars spiraling uniformly towards the center, the stars converged into a swirling, gray-white shroud that covered the center of the forming miniature galaxy. While the cloud was tall, it began to thin rapidly, its heavy-whire shroud concentrations disappearing slowly, making the scene behind it more apparent, revealing little by little the man who controlled this model universe of his in his own office . . .
Navy-blue tunic. Navy-blue pants. Long red cape. Gold on the edges of his cape and clothing. A mustached face with black eyes, the whites of his eyes glowing slightly green. Hair on the sides of his head that was the silver of age, of wisdom, of experience. Unmistakably floating in the air, above the galaxy's center below him, this particular man focused his glowing eyes on the silver-hair man in front of him, shortly before Dante himself cordially said -
"Dr. Stephen Strange," Danta nodded, and bowed in humble acknowledgement. "The slayer of Dormammu, and Memphisto's imprisoner."
Dr. Strange nodded acknowledgingly. "Dante, Son of Sparda, the half-devil hunter, slayer of Mundus."
Dante raised his head. "It is an honor to finally meet you in person, Master Mystic. Your reputation and history with the other realms have made you highly respected - and highly feared."
"Likewise, hunter," Dr. Strange replied. He floated down from above the spiraling galaxy below his toes, which dissipated as soon as he left. "Your reputation has also commanded high respect and acknowledgement as well." Strange finished by hovering on the same level that Dante was standing. "Being able to slay a High Lord of Hell is extraordinarily difficult, I must say."
"So is slaying one of existence's worst rogue dark realm lords as well," Dante retorted.
Dr. Strange extended his hand, gripping Dante's extended right hand and firmly shaking it before releasing his hand again. Danted nodded in return.
"So, Son of Sparda, how may I be of hunble assistance?"
"Dr. Strange, I am looking for some information. On a resurfacing. A return. An unholy resurrection."
"You will have to be more specific than that, demon hunter. It is the Devil's Night tonight - many unholy uprisings and resurrections are about in this reality." Stephen Strange's eyes began to glow green more fiercely.
"This resurfacing will tatke place here," Dante said. "New York, around this area. Close to your backyard in fact, master mystic."
Dr. Strange sighed in recognition. "Ah, yes, him. The spirit from not too long ago." Plumes of smoke began to circle around him, and more began to cover Dante's feet, while a wall of smoke rose behind Dante's back. The smoke flashed and glowed neon green, and a column of smoke spiraled between Dante and Strange - formless at first, then, more defined. Then, transparent.
And then, an image formed from the smoke that formed inside the now transparent sphere. Rather, a predominant image atop swarms of black shadows that ran past him beneath his feet. This predominant image formed the shape of a human male. Milky skin. Black, long hair. Cleanly shave goatee. Piercing auburn eyes. And a black, mid 1800's suit that neatly covered his body underneath a longer, heavier black overcoat. And as this image raised its right hand, conjuring red flame from his palms, it began to silently laugh manically, as if both overjoyed and tortured at the same -
"The spirit from days not far. The spirit of pride - and glutton. The Spirit of Samuel Sonata."
Dante raised an eye. "What do you know of Sonata?"
"Alas, Son of Sparda, I know much of Sonata - or should I say, the demon formerly known of Sonata." Strange reached his left hand palms down above the Sonata sphere. Smoke enveloped the sphere, covering the dark shadows and the Samuel Sonata figure. "Indeed, you are correct in your inquiry - he is planning to resurface, and tonight of all nights as well."
"You know?" Dante asked. "Do you plan on stopping him from fulfilling his vengeance?"
"Unfortunately, I do not," Dr. Strange replied. Before Dante could interject, Strange continnued, "I know that my decision sounds unsavory at first, considering the conditions. But already I have far greater challenges and evils that I must slay tonight/"
"Greater than an unholy resurrection?"
"Unfortunately, yes. There are far greater evils that threaten our realm of existence, even ones that you don't know about, demon hunter." Dr. Strange looked away, sighing distraughtfully. "It is a compromise that I hate having to make, but it is a compromise that I have chosen, and will not back down now."
Turning an eye towards Dante, Strange grinned. "However, I believe it is a compromise in which the choice I have made is faithfully correct."
Dante raised an eyebrow once again. "How so?"
"Well, Son of Sparda, look around you once you leave here. You are in a city of heroes. Heroes who have slain powerful foes and demons themselves. Any one (and probably all) of them will rise to the challenge Sonata will set forth.
"And besides, YOU'RE here, aren't you?"
------------------------------------------
HALLOWEEN. LESS THAN FIVE HOURS AGO.
". . . did you do this? Is this you?!!" Daredevil growled.
"Well, Devil-boy," Dante smirked, Ebony and Ivory resting on his hips. underneath their holsters, "You at least got part of the story right. Like I said, these guns don't shoot themselves." Dante cracked a grin. "Nor do cars blow themselves up."