Blackmoon's AN: Now, don't get all confused/pissed off/both about this chapter. I know the last one was all about Sparda, and now this one's about Dante. You see, it's a back-and-forth thing. We're doing both of them. So sit back, and enjoy it.
Twilight Scribe's AN: And another thing! Last time Sir Blackmoon did something like this and intro'd a demon who didn't appear in-game, people began to whine needlessly. Now, if y'all have a problem with these new characters, you're more than entitled to whine about it, but at least give him some credit, okay? They're not OC's and they're not Sues or Stus spawned from the seething mass of Sparklypoo that's been festering in cyberspace for decades now. (If they were, I wouldn't stand for them either and I'd make him rewrite them.) These four are genuine demons from demonology lore. (Though "Yla" isn't a demonic name. Yeah, yeah, he knows. Cut him some slack.) Blackmoon does his research and does it well.
Chapter 2: A Call to Arms
"Devil May Cry.
What?" Dante sighed in exasperation. "No, this is 4897. The pizza place is 4898. No, it's alright. Bye." Weary, the half-demon demon hunter put the phone back on the receiver and reclined in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the table. "Damn wrong numbers."
Billiard balls clacked across the room as Lady hit the three-ball into the side pocket. "Who was it?" she asked Dante, although given the growing trend, she already knew the answer.
"Some guy across town wants a triple-anchovy. I don't think it's possessed or anything, but you can go check it out if you want."
It had been going on like this for weeks. The Temen-Ni-Gru Affair (Lady came up with the name- Dante's version consists mostly of obscenities) had been over two months ago, and shortly after that, the two hunters had set up the Devil May Cry shop. However, with the exception of a couple isolated missions and a fight with a demon jellyfish, most of their calls had been wrong numbers or pranks. Having nowhere else to go, Lady stayed with Dante, sleeping on the couch; they'd take turns sleeping and going into town, just in case someone called.
The phone rang again. This time, Dante yanked it off the receiver and held it to his ear. "I told ya last time, dude, it's 4898. Learn the number already!" he snapped. The voice that came back on the other end was that of a young woman, sounding like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"I'm sorry, is this... uh... Devil May Cry?" she asked.
"Oh," Dante mumbled eloquently. "Um, yeah. Sorry. Whaddya need?"
"There were... noises upstairs. I thought I heard some sort of monster or something... There was screaming... I... didn't know who else to call."
"Alright. Just gimme your address and I'll be right over."
---------------
Fifteen minutes later, Dante was standing at the front door of an old apartment building. He would've been there in ten, but he and Lady got into an argument over who got to go demon-slaying this time. These "arguments" were never very pretty to watch; suffice to say, Dante won, and Lady had to find a way to remove a billiard ball from the depths of a concrete wall. The woman from before buzzed him in and the devil in red made his way up to the fourth floor of the building- the loft where she had said the noises were coming from. Without any sort of care or finesse, he kicked the door open, twirled his guns out from their holsters, and aimed into the wide room before him.
It was an artist's loft, clearly. Open, with bay windows and a hardwood floor. Furniture was sparse, with only a few chairs, a couch, and a table in the main living area. In a lot of ways, it reminded Dante of his own place back at Devil May Cry. Except this one was drenched in blood, like Jackson Pollock's private Hell. There was one man in a black robe, arms outstretched like Jesus on the cross, in the center of the room with his back toward Dante. He was muttering something, chanting something in an unholy dialect. There were several other men in the room, too, to be sure, but most of them were, well... for lack of a better phrase, "in two pieces".
Dante stepped into the apartment, his boots reverberating loudly in the open room. "Looks like a helluva party you threw here, buddy," he said with his usual sarcastic flair. The robed man stopped chanting and turned his head halfway towards the unexpected guest.
"Oh, you certainly got that right."
The air seemed to thicken. Then, it cracked and shattered like glass. Dante knew that phenomenon well enough already- it was a demon summoning, and he was far too late to stop it. Four demons- no, four devils- appeared in the room, one after the other, breaking their way through from the Demon World. Thanks to Vergil and that Arkham guy, the barrier between the worlds was weakened. It was still intact, sure, but with the Temen-Ni-Gru and all, it only took a little assistance from the Human World to bring a demon over from the other side. Unlike before the Temen-Ni-Gru's revival, though, now the devils could come over in their true forms, without the limitations of being forced into a half-demon body.
"Behold, Surgat Who Opens All Locks!" cried the summoner in glee as the first devil came through. It was a tall beast, at least twelve feet in height at a rough estimate, with flesh of a purplish-black color and a marking of an eight-pointed star glowing upon its chest. Its head was adorned with a pair of wicked bull's horns, and its face was featureless, save for a gaping mouth filled to the brim with teeth like knives. The thing called Surgat stood upon legs like those of a goat, coated in a dark, shaggy fur and terminating in a pair of cloven hooves. Truly, the stereotypical demon of men's fears.
"Witness, Yeter'El the Fearful One!" cackled the cultist, who seemed to be going more insane by the second and the next devil made its entrance. This one was more humanoid in appearance, but could never be mistaken for a human, even by the most unobservant viewer. Yeter'El's body looked frail and thin, and he appeared to be wearing a dark cloak- until, on further examination, one would realize the cloak is a part of his body, with no clear definition of where the garment ends, and where the charcoal-like skin of the Fearful One begins. From its hands sprouted silver talons that glinted in the fluorescent light of the room, from its back there grew a pair of vulture's wings; abysmally black, tinged with dust and the gore of the fallen. Yeter'El almost seemed to compensate for Surgat's lack of facial features by having an excess- two pairs of crimson eyes, one pair situated above the other; never blinking, but constantly darting back and forth, surveying the surroundings.
"Witness the coming of Yla, Born of the Great One!" the madman added now, ever more ecstatic. This third beast bore resemblance to Yeter'El, but where Yeter'El was frail, Yla was muscled. He had pale skin that radiated a faint light, majestic white wings, blond hair, and a stoic demeanor. In many ways, he was the stereotypical angel of legend, save for his clawed hands and his third eye, positioned in the center of his forehead.
"And the great master... Bael Who Rules Below!" The final demon made his appearance at long last. Yet, for all the imposing appearances of the ones who came before, Bael was the most understated. In fact, his appearance was virtually unchanged from his appearance over fifteen years before- aside from the great scar across his right eye and the shining, ornate greatsword he now carried slung across his back. "I think that's quite enough from you," Bael said to the cultist, and reached for the handle of the sword. In one swift motion, he cleaved the man in half and returned the blade to its resting position. With a detached air, he began to walk towards the door, saying to his cohorts, "I think it's time we did what we set out to do all those years ago. I think it's time we bring back the Temen-Ni-Gru."
"Not so fast, buddy!" Dante interrupted, cocking his pistols for effect. "I went through a lotta crap with that place a little while back. There's no way I'm doing it again for you guys."
"Charming," scoffed Bael. "And just what makes you think you have any say in the matter?"
"Just try and stop me."
Bael smiled, a grin dripping with malice. He cracked his knuckles and put his hand on his sword's handle. "Gladly. It'll be nice to see how my skills have fared over the years..."