First Day: Dawn of Evil
It was a city once so grand. Tall buildings, and thousands of people once made it live. The days were full of joy, sorrow, work, and play. Now, after the demons attacked, the city lay in ruins. The buildings crumbled. Corners of streets are now makeshift graveyards with all the people buried under the rubble. What once was the Motor City, now is a demon's fortress.
The wind whipped through the streets. News papers, with articles covering the first day of the invasion, blow about the street freely. The city is quite now, except for the few screams of the helpless victims or the sounds of gun fire from the few Marines that are still fighting. Atop a still standing building, a figure of a man kneels, bathed in shadow, watches the city. His eyes full of fire at the death and destruction caused.
"NO! GET AWAY!" screamed a woman carrying a baby. She was being chased by a trio of Goatlings. The woman ran with all her might but could not escape. Her energy was running low. Running all day, no food, and carrying her baby was doing her in. The Goatlings cackled in their demonic voice as she finally gave up and fell.
Slowly the lead Goatling moved up to her. The woman tried to scream but couldn't manage to make a sound. The Goatling was drooling in anticipation of her flesh. Inch by inch it crept up on her. Crouching down to pounce on her, the Goatling suddenly screamed out in pain and died. A trio of gunshots could be heard from above the street.
The man jumped from atop his resting place. "Don't touch her!" the man said in a firm voice. The shadow gave way after he fell into the light. Landing in a kneeling position, his red trench coat falls in a circle around him. His shoulder length silver hair falls to cover his face. Standing up, the man glares at the two demons opposite him. His eyes full of rage, her raises a black handgun and points it at the Goatlings.
"Son of Sparda," barks one of the Goatlings in it's own tongue, "You've plagued us long enough!" The Goatlings begin to charge. Crack. A bullet flies through the skull of one of the Goatlings, killing it instantly. Angered by the lose of it's comrade the last standing demon charged forward with more fervor. Reaching it's target, the demon swung it's mighty claw for the Son of Sparda's head.
With a smile on his face, the Son of Sparda gracefully dodged the blow. Spinning to his right he stops with his back to the Goatling, his face looking to the left, and the barrel of a white handgun in his right hand under the Goatling's chin. Roaring in one last act of defiance, the Goatling falls dead as the Son of Sparda pulls the trigger.
Holstering the pistols, the Son of Sparda helped the woman, he just saved, up to her feet. Staring at the child, he begins to have flash back of his own child hood. Quickly dismissing them though, he turns away from the child and her mother and walks off toward the east. "Wait!" shouts the woman. "I want to thank you for saving me and my baby. What's your name?"
Looking back at the woman, the Son of Sparda smirks at her. "My name," he begins, "is Dante."
Dante's face freezes on a pool of water. Demons mill about it constructing a throne room. Two humanoid figures stand above it staring in disgust at the figure. One banishes the picture from the pool and turns toward the railing on the balcony overlooking the rest of the city. The other falls in behind him, a step back and to the right.
"What shall we do about him?" One says gently.
"He will become a distraction if we let get too far." The other states flatly.
"And what if he gets here?"
"I'll not be able to beat him with out 'it'."
"Do you know where 'she' is?"
"Yes, I can feel 'it'. 'She' does still have 'it'."
"Shall I retrieve 'it' for you?"
"Yes."
"And what of 'her'?"
"Kill 'her."
"Yes... Father."