Alright, so instead of updating my other fics, I seem to have written a new one. Dammit. Oh well. I guess I just like making it hard for myself.

Here's the first chap of this one

Enjoy

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Devil May Rise: No More?

The front door banged open and ricocheted off the wall as Dante stormed into his apartment. He dropped his coat on the floor by the entrance and flung his keys into a dish on the side table. Trish looked up from the TV in slight alarm but couldn't help a smile when Dante stalked into the room.

"Bad day at the office Sweetie?"

"Babe," the hunter huffed, "You don't know the half of it."

"Well," Trish said, shifting her legs off the couch and sitting up to make room for him. "Care to enlighten me?" She patted the cushion beside her in a sign for him to sit.

Dante walked past the couch as if he hadn't noticed her or the gesture and moved towards the window, staring through the pane at the now darkened sky with a scowl on his face. He sighed heavily and circled back.

"No," he grumbled. "I don't wanna get into it." He slumped on the couch and looked across at the TV with little interest. "What'r you watching?" he asked as a way of changing the current subject.

Trish edged closer and tucked her legs beneath her as she turned her gaze absently back to the television. "I dunno. I think it was called Star Battles or something like that. A kid and two robots are trying to help this 12 inch ghost princess that seems to live inside the smaller robot. She came out again to talk to this old guy that gave the kid a giant glow stick. I think it's a weapon of some kind."

Dante snickered. "I think your talking about Star WARS," he said lightly, his grim demeanour lessening for a moment. "And there's no ghost princess. It's a hologram. A projection of her that the little robot has recorded in him. 'Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.'" he quoted in a mawkish, feminine voice.

"Oh…yeah," Trish nodded, "That makes more sense, I guess."

"Hm," Dante frowned and flicked off the TV, dropping the remote on the couch as he stepped towards the window again.

"Hey. I was watching that," Trish said with a puckered brow Dante couldn't see with his back to her.

"So turn it back on," he said, leaning on the sill as he looked out. "But in case you feel like saving your time, the Rebels beat the Empire and everybody is happy again. It's one of those 'Good Triumphs over Evil' deals everyone is so in love with."

Trish picked up the remote but didn't press any of the buttons. She watched Dante with wondering eyes; a silence falling between them that she knew she would have to break.

Setting down the remote and standing up from the couch, she padded over to the window. Dante turned his head so she couldn't see him in profile anymore and had to focus on his weak reflection in the glass.

"What's wrong?" she asked finally, her hand barely touching his arm in an indication of her concern. "You're not usually moody like this. What happened today?"

"Nothing," Dante took a long breath, "Nothing. Just the same shit happened today that happened yesterday that happened the day before that happened weeks before that happened months befo--"

"Dante," Trish had to cut him off before he rambled on like this forever. "I get it."

"No." Dante shot in, spinning on his heel as he moved to center of the room. "You don't get it…'Cause I don't get it!"

Trish frowned in confusion. "What exactly don't you and I get?"

"I don't know!" Dante shouted. "That's the problem." He shook his head, frustrated. "ME I guess. I don't get ME. Myself. I don't get why I still do this. Why I open those doors every goddamn fucking day and pick up that fucking phone and say the same goddamn words, 'Devil May Cry', then rush off to play hero again without ever questioning why."

Trish sighed but otherwise kept her silence, sensing Dante had not finished yet.

"I mean-I used to have a reason," the devil hunter continued. "I used to be looking for something. It wasn't just the thrill of fighting that got me going. I had a purpose when I started Devil May Cry. I wanted-no needed-to get back at the mother fucking devils that waltzed in and fucked up my life as a kid. I needed to know what happened to them-my mother-my brother. I had to know."

"…and what do I want now? Now that I know. Now that it's over and I've gotten my revenge." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "What am I looking for this time? What's this big search I'm on that makes me continue?"

Dante looked over at Trish, a lingering quiet descending over the room. Trish knew he didn't expect an answer from her but she decided to offer him one anyway.

"You're a good guy Dante," she said quietly.

Dante gave a short rueful laugh and cocked his head. "You sure about that?"

Trish nodded slowly, but confidently. "You want to help the people that call. I think you feel obligated to wipe out whatever evil that rises so nobody else has to go through what you did as a child."

"Maybe," Dante muttered after letting what she had said sink in. "But that's pinning a lot on my supposed good nature." He wasn't entirely convinced by her view of things.

"Well I don't know what else to tell you Dante. I'm not you. I can't tell you how you're feeling or what you're thinking. I can only guess."

"You don't need to," Dante grumbled. "I don't need you to figure me out for me."

"And what if I'm trying to figure you out for me?" Trish asked a little sharply.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you haven't been the warmest of beings since you burst in here and I'm just wondering if I'll have this charming attitude of yours to look forward to every time I take the day off and leave you to run DMC?"

"What do you mean 'LEAVE ME' to run DMC?" Dante narrowed his eyes. "It's mine. I started it and I did perfectly fine by myself before you bashed down my door and came into my life. I don't need a babysitter. I can manage by myself."

"I didn't mean it like that," Trish said, softening her tone. "I just-I want to know what's bothering you, that's all. Up until now I thought you liked your job."

Dante exhaled loudly. "'Liked' being the operative word."

Trish brought her eyes up to his, studying him. "You mean you don't anymore?"

The devil hunter shrugged, "Maybe not."

"So you're not sure."

"MAY-BE," Dante drew out the syllables, raising his voice again before dropping back to his normal tone. "…Maybe I'm just tired of being the hero. Maybe I don't want to save the day anymore and maybe I want to stop being someone's 'Only Hope.'" He growled the last words, remembering the line from the movie. "Maybe," he began pacing, "I'm tired of risking my life to save people who don't even know who I am, let alone appreciate what I've done for them and the rest of humanity."

Trish blinked in surprise and Dante dropped his eyes from her, preferring to study the floor.

"What are you saying?" she asked, somewhat unsteadily. "…you want to give it up?"

Dante didn't answer. She reached out to him but he pulled away and walked towards the door, grabbing his coat off the floor. He stuffed his arms into the sleeves and smoothed out the collar. Trish came around the corner into the hall.

"Where are you going Dante?"

"Out," he said shortly, snatching his keys off the side table.

"Where?"

"Out," he reconfirmed.

Trish heaved a sigh and shook her head. "Well when will you be back?"

"When I am."

As Dante reached for the handle on the slightly ajar door, Trish came up and pushed it shut. "Talk to me Dante," she said, matching his clipped tone. "Where are you going?"

Dante whirled to face her. "Why?" he snapped. "You suddenly tired of just looking like my mother and now you want to be her too? What does it matter to you what I d-."

He stopped, realizing what he had said and how it had affected Trish. He watched the blond woman take a step back. She was visibly shaken and unable to hide the wounded look on her face.

As she took a calming breath and reached for the handle, Dante had to step out of the way before it swung into him. Trish forced a smile, hiding her quivering lip as best she could and pushed him out the door.

"Have fun," Trish said sweetly, her voice laced with underlying venom and hurt, "…SON…of Sparda."

Dante opened his mouth to say something but the door was already slammed in his face and the chain slid into place above the locks. He reached out with his keys but quickly thought better of it. He knew he'd stepped over the line in a very big way and Trish would need time to recover from his attack on her.

As far as he knew he hadn't meant what he'd said. But at this point he also wasn't completely sure what he was thinking. Maybe he did feel what he said about Trish. Maybe he didn't. Whatever the case, Dante knew both he and the blond woman needed some time and space alone to think. Dante at least needed it to get his shit together and his thoughts straight.

Putting his keys in his pocket, he stumbled a fast and quiet apology to the door-if in any case Trish was still standing on the other side-and walked morosely down the hall and out of his apartment.

On the street, he unlocked his car and slid into the driver's seat, resting his arms and forehead on the wheel as he took deep breaths and tried to forget what had just happened between him and Trish. After a while he leaned back in his seat and fitted his keys into the ignition, letting out a sigh as the engine turned over.

"Where the hell am I going anyway?"

Checking his mirrors, he swerved away from the curb and took off down the street, ignoring the angry honks and curses from the drivers whose cars had been made to crash into eachother when Dante cut them off. Apparently objects in to the mirror really were closer than they appeared. He would have to remember that for next time. Maybe.

After the accident he drove at a more cautious rate, deciding to obey the traffic laws just this once. It wasn't like he was in a hurry to get anywhere. He hadn't made a plan. He never flat-out decided where he was going, even though he kept steering and stepping on the gas and break to push his car forward.

His main purpose was just to get away-far away-and forget what he'd said and done earlier.

As if he really could.

Something was still keeping him back. And before it had registered completely in his mind, Dante was parked outside DMC, inattentively drumming the dashboard as he looked on at the bright neon glow of the sign that reminded him of the life he'd made for himself.

He would have just driven away at that point and pretended to himself he'd never been back, except for the small fact that the lights were on inside and a shiny black car was parked out front.

He wanted to believe that he'd left the lights on when he'd left and that the expensive car was just parked there for some reason unknown to him. Maybe the guy was headed for the skin bar in the back and took a wrong turn. Dante had had to reroute a lot of lost customers like that in the past, but something told him that this one was actually for him.

Grudgingly he grabbed his keys out of the ignition and pushed open his door, standing up in the wet and dark street. He slammed the door closed, making sure that was at least locked and secure, and made his way towards DMC, somewhat more warily as he neared the door.

He didn't know who to expect from the car and he wasn't about to take any chances by being caught off his guard.

As Dante came up to the door, he leaned his ear against the hard wood, listening for sounds inside as he grabbed the handle with one hand and reached inside his jacket for Ebony with the other. In the next second, he tossed open the door and stood at the entrance with his gun pointed at the head of his startled intruder.

The short, podgy man who looked completely out of place in his finely tailored suit, gave a start and dropped the weapon he had taken off the wall and had been examining. The blade of the dagger stuck into the floor and barely missed the man's own foot.

"That's called breaking and entering," Dante said gruffly, but relaxing a bit now that he saw what he was up against.

The man stumbled out a few incoherent words before coughing into his fist and clearing his throat. "Oh I did not break anything. I assure you. The door was not bolted when I arrived. I entered. And you were not here. I merely assumed you would be back in five minutes."

"Great. I forgot to lock the door along with not remembering to turn off the lights. I'm doing well today." He griped to himself and shook his head, replacing his gun to its holster.

He walked into the room and moved close enough to the man to realize just how much he towered over him and how much the guy didn't fit the bill of an actual businessman-at least not how Dante had ever pictured them.

The guy was barely 5 foot and had the light hearted face Dante would have associated with a child entertainer than a businessman. He wore large framed classes and had a long, thick moustache that looked like the end of a push broom. In fact, apart from the suit, Dante would never have guess the man ever dealt with, let alone seen, any large sums of money.

"And how long ago did you expect me to 'be back in five minutes'?" he asked the man, scrutinizing his appearance once again.

The man looked down at his watch in a slightly jittery movement and came to the conclusion that it had been about an hour and a half.

Dante nearly laughed. "You're a pretty patient guy," he remarked.

The man nodded. "I would have waited till next morning to talk to you, had it come to that."

"It has," Dante jumped in, losing the amusement in his voice. "We're closed for the day. Sorry you got the wrong idea from how I left things but I don't normally forget to close up when I leave. And I don't see clients after hours."

"But certainly you can make this one exception." It wasn't made in the form of a question.

The man reached down and picked up a large briefcase from the floor and heaved it onto Dante desk with more exertion than was necessary. Dante stood in place for a couple of minutes but eventually gave in and walked up to his desk; the man immediately flicking open the latches on the case and pulling up the lid.

The devil hunter's face never wavered from his look of disinterest but he sat at his desk anyway to hear what the man wanted to say, tossing his hand in a manner of saying 'Spill it quickly or get out.'

The man cleared his throat again and took a seat before the desk, crossing his legs and folding his hands over his large stomach. He somehow became more at ease now that he was being permitted to speak.

"How long have you been in this sort of, shall I say, profession?" he asked calmly.

Dante frowned at the question but humoured him with an answer anyway. "Long enough," he said.

"I see," smiled the man, "And is this-"

"Is this an interview or do you actually have something worth while to ask me?" Dante bit at him, losing what little patience he had managed to muster.

"Ah yes," the man said, straightening up in his chair. "Down to business then, eh? Alright. What I am offering you is a chance to prove to the world…"

Dante barely listened from that point on. He'd already made up his mind to turn the guy down from that simple sentence and the more he heard of the man's short tale, the easier his decision became.

"No," he said finally when the man had finished. "Sorry. Not interested."

This easy reply stunned the man into silence, his eyes opening a little wider behind his large glasses. Dante stared back at him calmly, his feet now resting comfortably on his desk and his hands clasped over his chest in a mirroring gesture of the man's.

"But you must be joking," the man protested, at last.

Dante smiled vaguely, "Am I?"

The man chuckled nervously, unsure of how to react to the situation. He shoved the briefcase closer to Dante, trying once again to entice the devil hunter with its contents. "Look at all I'm offering you. You'd be mad not to take it!"

"Then I guess I'm just crazy," Dante kicked his feet off the desk and leaned over, nearly closing the briefcase on the man's fingers. "I don't need your money."

"But-"

"Look buddy, I don't know what people told you about me, or what you thought when you walked in here, but I'm gonna have to disappoint you. I'm a devil hunter. That means I waste the things that go bump in the night, the things people wish only exist in their worst nightmares."

Dante waved his hand around the room, motioning to the unusual, morbid décor of demon skulls and weaponry that were the trademarks of his profession. He caught the man with a cool stare.

"In case you haven't figured it out by now, I don't do this for the money. This isn't just a job, it's my life. So yeah, I kinda expect there to be some excitement in it if I'm going to do it everyday. Money's nothing to me. I'll do I job for free if I can get a good thrill out of it."

"But wouldn't this be thrilling?" The man stepped in, "You'd be battling hunters from across the globe. You could gain the title of strongest being in both the world and the underworld. Imagine the fame, the riches."

Dante sighed loudly and shook his head. ""You're just not getting it," he said aggressively, "I don't want fame. I don't want riches. I like living in the underground. I'm glad most people don't know about me. If I wanted the spotlight I'd be there already. I'm not desperate for money, and even if I was, I wouldn't lower myself to the kind of level you're suggesting. I'm not a fuckin entertainer. I'm not here for anyone's amusement. You want a show, go hire a clown. I won't do it."

Dante stood and walked towards the other man who visibly tensed before him.

"It's too bad you share the misconception that money makes the world go round, but the underworld doesn't work that way-I don't work that way. You can dangle as much cash as you like in front of me but that won't make me jump through any hoops. So just take your briefcase and go. I'm not interested."
The man picked up his briefcase and left silently and without much hesitation. The glaring look Dante was giving him was enough proof that the negotiations were over. He wouldn't be getting the son of the legendary Sparda after all.

Dante watched the door close and angrily slammed himself into his chair but was too restless to actually stay sitting. He got up and paced around the room, realizing quickly that he had to get out before he tore the place apart, especially since it was the man with the briefcase he wanted to rip into…Or was it himself?

Everything he had said to the man was looping around in his mind, mingling with what he had told Trish earlier.

What the hell did he believe anymore? Was he a hunter or wasn't he? Did he want to save people or was he only ever in it for the thrill?

"Fuck it. I'm not getting into this right now." He yelled to hopefully drown out the questions in his mind. He didn't want to think about anything right now.

Why couldn't he just be mad at someone other than himself for just a little while? He wanted to strangle the guy with the briefcase for making him think and question himself and his motives.

"What the fuck is wrong with people? How could he possibly think I'd be interested in-"

The phone rang. Dante rushed over to pick it up.

"Yeah-ah-Devil May Cry...uh huh....warehouse...yeah...lots of demons...sure...right....bye."

Dante grabbed his sword and flipped off the light switch as he ran out.

Time to blow off a little steam.

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Well that's it. Action in the coming chapter.

Let me know what you think.

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