5 months ago
The neon flicker of the bar sign cut through the misty rain outside as the heavy bass of jazz rumbled from a worn-out jukebox in the corner. Inside, the familiar smell of cigar smoke, old leather, and aged whiskey clung to the air like a memory that refused to leave.
Behind the bar, Enzo Ferino lounged with a thick cigar wedged between his fingers and a half-empty glass of bourbon cradled in his mechanical arm. The metal clicked quietly as he lifted the drink to his lips, taking a slow drag. His eyes drifted to the wall, where two framed photos hung—one of him with Bayonetta, Jeanne, Rodin, and Viola; the other with Dante and Trish, all grinning like devils at the edge of a battlefield.
"Business is good today," Enzo muttered, exhaling smoke through his nose. "No angels, no demons, no goddamn paperwork."
Then the bar doors creaked open.
Without looking, Enzo raised his voice. "If it's you Darkcom assholes again, listen—I already gave you everythin'. Inventory, ledger, even the freakin' espresso machine."
A sultry voice cut through the bar like a bullet dipped in honey.
"Oh, not even a hello for an old friend?"
Enzo turned, eyes widening slightly at the silhouette in the doorway. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating Trish, clad in leather and attitude, her golden hair cascading like a storm cloud down her back.
"Trish!" Enzo broke into a wide grin, smoke puffing out the side of his mouth. "You're the last crazy bitch I expected to walk through that door. Hell, this must be the End Times."
She smirked, eyes flicking down to his right arm. "I see you got an upgrade."
Enzo raised the mechanical limb, flexing the fingers with a metallic whirr. "Let's just say I owed Rodin, and it hurt like a son of a bitch. Still itches, too. So—what brings the lightning queen to my humble dive?"
Trish leaned on the bar, eyes sharp. "Darkcom confiscated all of Dante's devil arms. They're tearing through his old safehouses, vaults, everything."
Enzo's smirk faded slightly. "Ever since Redgrave, they've had a leash on me. Took my pawnshop, started tailin' me like I was smuggling nuclear launch codes." He took another drink. "And now Dante's gone MIA?"
"He went into the Underworld with Vergil," Trish said, tone quiet but firm. "To keep an eye on him. Hasn't come back."
Enzo let out a low whistle. "Kid's got a pair, I'll give him that. Following Vergil to hell? That's either bravery or suicidal stupidity."
Trish crossed her arms. "I'm here for the weapons. You have any stashed?"
Enzo squinted at her, playing it cool. "Ain't sayin'."
Her eyes glowed faintly, a crackle of electricity running along her arm. She leaned in, voice silky but dangerous.
"Enzo. I'm not Dante. If you think you can beat me at strip poker to get those weapons back, you'll be naked before we even deal. Now—I'm gonna ask once more. Do. You. Have. Anything?"
The air sizzled.
Enzo groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus, fine! The guitar's in the hidden panel under the bar. Nevan's just collectin' dust anyway."
Trish gave Enzo a wicked grin and casually stepped behind the bar like she owned the place. Crouching down, she felt along the wood paneling with a practiced touch. A hidden latch clicked, and the panel creaked open to reveal a familiar shape tucked in shadows.
Nevan.
The vampiric guitar-devil arm practically hummed with dormant power, its strings coiled like sleeping serpents, polished obsidian glinting under the low bar lights. The air around it crackled faintly, as if the weapon sensed its mistress.
"I tried to get Bayonetta to use it once," Enzo said, puffing on his cigar as he leaned over the counter. "She gave me this look and went, 'So uncivilized. I'm a classy lady, not Joan Jett.'" He chuckled, shaking his head. "That woman's got more sass than sense sometimes."
Trish slung Nevan over her shoulder with one smooth motion, the guitar's weight settling against her back like an old companion returning home. "Thanks, Enzo," she said, her voice low, almost fond.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, waving her off. "Just don't go bringin' the roof down again. Insurance still hasn't forgiven me for the last time."
Trish flashed one last smile before striding toward the exit, boots echoing against the worn wooden floor. As the door swung open, a gust of night air blew in with her—and in the brief flash of lightning, her silhouette vanished into the New York gloom.
Not a second later, the door creaked again.
Viola stepped in, shoulders slightly hunched from the cold, her bat resting lazily across her shoulders. Her mismatched eyes scanned the bar before drifting toward the now-vacant doorway.
"Hey," she asked casually. "Who was that?"
Enzo took a long drag from his cigar, the ember glowing red-hot. He blew the smoke upward, letting it curl toward the cracked ceiling before answering.
"Just some crazy bitch I owe my life to."
Viola blinked. "Huh. Cool."
She walked over to the counter, pulled up a stool, and sat down.
Enzo poured her a glass without asking.
Present Day
The sleek, black-and-white Grumman G-21 Goose skimmed across the water before its wheels touched down on the rugged island airstrip. Spray-painted in bold, rebellious pink across its fuselage were the words: "Devil May Cry." The engines wound down with a guttural hum, the kind that spoke of a hundred hasty landings and last-minute escapes.
Nero stepped out first, his metal arm gleaming in the tropical sun, scanning the tree-lined coast ahead. "Alright," he said, stretching his back with a grunt. "Vie de Marli. What do we actually know about this place?"
Trish stepped down behind him, sunglasses on, the wind gently tousling her blonde hair. She looked around, taking in the misty cliffs and the jungle beyond, her tone cool and deliberate.
"According to Dante's old files—what little survived—and some scattered Church records, this island was discovered by refugees from the Mediterranean. Religious exiles, mostly. People labeled heretics for clinging to the old pagan gods. Dionysus, Mithras, Artemis… the ones the world tried to forget."
Nero raised a brow. "So what—you're saying the place was founded by a bunch of pissed-off mystics?"
"And runaway slaves," Trish added, her voice thoughtful. "The two groups merged, formed a new culture. A fusion of magic, ritual, and survival. They built a community here—one the world never bothered to understand."
She started walking toward the jungle path, her boots crunching the overgrown stone trail. "Then they found a portal. A rift between this world and another dimension. That's when Argosax came through. But Sparda was here too. He sealed the demon king away before it could tear everything apart."
Nero followed, hand on the hilt of Red Queen, absorbing every word. "And centuries later, Arius shows up. Rich asshole with a god complex."
Trish smirked. "The CEO of Uroboros. He tried to unleash Argosax using artificial demons and the island's ancient energies. Dante took care of it, but that left scars—on the land and in the dimensional barriers."
"And Dante came back again later," Nero said, connecting the dots. "To stop a Balrog-type demon. One born from a fragment of Yamato…"
Trish stopped near the edge of a moss-covered temple ruin, her eyes narrowing. "Which means this place still has pieces of power. That shard… it might still be buried somewhere here. Or worse—feeding something."
Nero's gaze swept across the overgrown hills and misty ruins, tension creeping into his voice. "So how do we find it?"
Before Trish could answer, a sharp thunk pierced the silence—a smoke bomb exploded in front of them, releasing a hiss of white vapor. Nero instinctively raised his Devil Bringer arm, stepping in front of Trish, but neither of them moved to strike.
From the haze, a figure emerged with fluid grace. A woman, dark-skinned and striking, with crimson hair tied back and twin curved swords strapped to her hips. Her eyes gleamed like fire beneath the jungle canopy.
"Halt," she commanded, her voice firm and accented, shaped by the island. "Who goes there?!"
Her gaze darted to the side of the plane where Devil May Cry was scrawled in pink graffiti. Her expression shifted from caution to curiosity. "You work for Dante?"
Nero eased his stance but kept a hand near his blade. "Friend of his. Trying to drag his ass outta hell. And you are?"
"I am Lucia," she said simply, stepping closer now that the smoke had cleared.
Trish offered a small, amused smile. "Good to meet you, Lucia. You wouldn't happen to know anything about a fragment of a sword? Last time Dante was here, he sealed something nasty with a piece of Yamato."
Lucia's face turned grim. "If you're searching for that shard… then you truly walk into danger."
She gestured for them to follow and led them down a narrow path through twisted roots and broken statues. "Vie de Marli is no longer what it once was. After Dante defeated Balrog, the balance was broken. The world noticed this place. And now… Darkcom has."
Trish's brow furrowed. "They've been here?"
Lucia nodded, her voice heavy with disdain. "They came quietly at first. Agents in suits. Then came the labs. They bought out what was left of Uroboros… then liquidated them. Next was the Umbrella remnants. Darkcom absorbed their research—biotech, demon fusion, dimensional rifts. All of it."
They reached a ridge, where Lucia pushed aside a curtain of vines. "First, it was Uroboros City… Now, they call it Darkcom City."
From the ridge, the view opened up to a sprawling metropolis of glass and steel—an abomination of unnatural growth rising from ancient jungle. Towers pierced the skyline like needles, some humming with red energy. Guard patrols flew overhead on hovering platforms. Smoke curled from factory stacks beside sleek corporate headquarters. Giant banners bearing the Darkcom logo rippled in the breeze.
Lucia turned to them, her voice low. "This is their fieldwork ground. Their testing zone. Demons, experiments, bio-weapons… All bred beneath our feet. They're searching for relics, weapons, anything they can exploit."
Nero exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing at the city below. "So let me guess—we need to sneak in and grab the shard before they do."
Trish cracked her knuckles, arcs of electricity dancing between her fingers. "And burn the whole damn place down while we're at it."
Lucia raised a hand, signaling for silence. She retrieved a pair of binoculars from her belt and scanned the horizon. Her gaze fixed on a distant clearing where a sleek, black helicopter was descending. She passed the binoculars to Trish and pointed.
"We've got a problem," Lucia said, her tone grim.
Through the lenses, Trish observed a group of operatives disembarking from the helicopter. At their center stood a man in a tailored suit, his presence commanding—Director William Baines. Flanked by a team of Darkcom's top paranormal experts, they handled a glowing artifact with extreme caution. The shard pulsed with a malevolent energy, unmistakably a fragment of Yamato.
"Shit," Nero muttered, his jaw tightening. "They've got the shard. We need to get it back."
"Any ideas?" Trish asked, her eyes still on the scene below.
"We're going to need a distraction," Lucia interjected. "Something big enough to draw their attention while we sneak in."
Nero cracked a wry smile. "Well, I have been known to be a bigger thorn in Baines' side than Dante and my father combined. Let's see if that still holds true."
Without waiting for a response, Nero descended the ridge, his mechanical arm gleaming in the dim light. As he approached the perimeter of the base, alarms began to blare, and searchlights converged on his position.
Baines' jaw clenched as he stepped forward, his polished shoes crunching over gravel. The floodlights illuminated the smug figure of Nero, lounging casually on the ground with one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped across his chest like he had all the time in the world.
The Darkcom troops around Baines flinched, unsure whether to aim or stand down.
"What the hell is happening?" Baines snapped, his voice cutting through the tension. "Is it another attack from the Guardians?"
"Sir, you might wanna look…" one of the officers muttered, pointing.
Baines followed his gaze—and there he was.
Nero.
The Directors eyes narrowed. "Nero."
"About time," Nero said, stretching his arms with an exaggerated yawn. "I was about to start the party without you."
Baines straightened his suit jacket, trying to maintain composure despite the rising heat of annoyance in his chest. "Have you come about my offer?"
Nero pushed himself up with his Devil Bringer arm, brushing dust off his jacket. "Yeah, about that…"
He cocked his head, his smirk returning.
"Uniforms and crew cuts really aren't my thing."
The tension snapped like a taut wire.
"Take him down," Baines barked.
Nero's smirk widened as the Devil Bringer flared with blue energy. "Now that's more like it."
Nero's boots kicked up dust as he charged forward, twisting between bursts of gunfire with practiced ease. Bullets zipped past, but none found their mark—Nero was too fast, too fluid, ducking and weaving with the grace of a dancer and the fury of a storm.
He slammed his Devil Bringer into one soldier's chest, launching him backward like a cannonball. Another swung a baton, but Nero grabbed it mid-swing and twisted the man into a nearby crate with a crack of breaking wood and bone.
"These guys are barely a warm-up," he muttered, stepping over the groaning heap.
Suddenly, the air trembled with a low whine, like turbines igniting.
A sharp, mechanical screech echoed overhead.
The Angelos had arrived.
Sleek, armored demons with jet-black wings and crimson visors swooped in from above, their spears crackling with hellish energy. They descended in a coordinated spiral, surrounding Nero like a pack of vultures ready to strike.
Nero grinned and reached over his shoulder, gripping the hilt of his sword.
With a mechanical chhk-chhk, he revved the Red Queen.
The blade ignited with bursts of flame, engine growling like a beast. Nero raised it high, its steel gleaming beneath the floodlights. "Let's dance, boys."
The first Angelo lunged, spear aimed for Nero's chest—but he sidestepped and twisted mid-air, bringing Red Queen down in an arcing slash that lit the sky with sparks and flame. The impact sent the demon crashing into the concrete.
Two more dove from opposite sides. Nero spun, his sword slicing one midair while his Devil Bringer caught the other by the face and slammed it into the ground with explosive force. The pavement cracked under the force of the impact.
Another swooped down—but this time Nero revved Red Queen mid-swing. The sword flared red hot as he delivered a fiery uppercut slash that split the Angelo in half, its pieces disintegrating into embers
Trish and Lucia moved like shadows, slipping around the back perimeter of the Darkcom facility. The concrete corridors were dimly lit, humming with sterile artificial light. Security cameras lined the walls, but Trish was quick to jam their signals with a small pulse device from her coat. They found an access door slightly ajar, and without a word, they slid inside.
As they crept through the hall, Lucia's sharp eyes caught the glint of something metallic inside a glass display case, half-covered by a dusty tarp in what looked like an old weapons lab. She walked over, pulled the tarp aside, and stared in awe.
It was Agni and Rudra.
The twin elemental blades of fire and wind sat gleaming inside a protective case, pulsing faintly with residual demonic energy—like they were waiting for a worthy wielder once more.
"Agni and Rudra…" Trish murmured, stepping up beside her. "Dante's old weapons. You should take them."
Lucia nodded solemnly. "It would be an honor." She smashed the case open with a swift elbow and claimed the twin blades, strapping them across her back. As she did, the sound of a massive explosion shook the facility. Dust and sparks rained from the ceiling.
Trish chuckled, not even flinching. "Sounds like Nero's having way too much fun."
Lucia smirked. "I'd say you're right."
Suddenly, from a side corridor, they spotted Director Baines sprinting through the hallway, a high-security suitcase clutched tightly in his hand.
"There he is!" Trish hissed.
They trailed him up the stairwell, leading to the helipad. As Baines approached the waiting chopper, Trish raised her arm and fired a precise shot with Luce & Ombra. The bullet tore through the rotors, exploding on impact and grounding the vehicle with a screech of metal.
Baines staggered back and turned, his eyes narrowing when he saw her. "Trish…"
She stepped forward, lightning crackling across her fingertips. "You've got something that belongs to us."
Before he could answer, an Angelo soldier—one of Darkcom's enhanced enforcers—crashed onto the helipad behind him, smoking and twitching. A split-second later, Nero landed hard beside it, revving the Red Queen with a confident smirk.
"Miss me?" Nero taunted.
Baines gritted his teeth. "Your father used that blade—Yamato—to bring ruin. He destroyed lives for power. Why stand against me when I seek to control it?"
Nero's gaze hardened. "Look, I've got issues with the old man like anyone else. But I'm not about to kill what little family I've got left. Unlike you, I actually know what that word means."
"Family?" Baines let out a bitter laugh. "Your father wouldn't recognize family if it stabbed him in the back."
He clicked open the suitcase, revealing a crystalline shard glowing with eerie blue energy—a piece of Yamato.
"You want this?" he hissed. "Then come and get it."
Without warning, he slashed the air with the shard, tearing open a swirling rift in reality—a shimmering portal to parts unknown. He leapt through it.
"After him!" Trish shouted.
Nero charged first, sword blazing, with Trish and Lucia close behind. The portal closed behind them in a flash of white light.
A new portal erupted on the cracked pavement of Redgrave's industrial district, sending gusts of wind howling through the alley. Nero stumbled out first, quickly regaining his footing. Trish followed, guns drawn, and Lucia stepped out last, blades humming on her back.
They were standing right in front of Devil May Cry, the familiar neon sign buzzing overhead. For a second, there was silence—just the echo of the portal sealing behind them.
Nero exhaled and cracked his neck. "Well… looks like we're not done yet."
Trish glanced back at the sealed rift. "No. But next time, Baines won't have a portal to run through."
Lucia nodded grimly, hands resting on the hilts of her new weapons. "Then let's be ready."
The night was far from over. And the real fight… was just beginning.
"Machiavelli."
Baines' voice echoed through the dim, fortified corridor as he approached the reinforced glass cell. Inside, lit by flickering fluorescent light, sat the infamous madman himself—Machiavelli—barefoot, smirking, surrounded by strange etchings and arcane symbols scrawled all over the walls.
"I brought you a gift," Baines said, holding up a secure containment case. He opened it with a hiss, revealing the Yamato shard, glowing faintly with that distinct, unholy energy.
Machiavelli's eyes widened. He stood slowly, moving toward the glass like a moth drawn to flame. "Yamato…"
He studied it hungrily, his pupils dilating. "Fascinating. Fractured, but still humming with potential. Did you know… I was the one who commissioned the first Angelo prototypes for Mundus? I turned theory into war machines." He chuckled darkly, almost proud. "So, Baines… what exactly do you want from me?"
"I want to know if you can do something with it," Baines said flatly.
Machiavelli grinned wide, teeth like razors. "Oh, I can do something. This shard alone? It's enough to inspire some delicious chaos. But… if you really want results—real power—I'm going to need the sword itself."
He leaned closer to the glass, eyes wild. "Let's be honest. Vergil doesn't exactly play well with others."
Baines narrowed his eyes. "Then I'll make him."
Machiavelli burst into laughter, clapping slowly. "Now that's the Baines I know. Let's see if we can break a devil."