Patty Lowell stood on the balcony of her lavish mansion, the soft glow of paper lanterns lighting up the yard below. She had just turned nineteen, and the party thrown in her honor was nothing short of extravagant. Music played, guests mingled in tailored suits and glittering dresses, and waiters weaved through the crowd with silver trays. Gifts piled high on ornate tables, each wrapped with care and topped with bows.
But despite the celebration… Patty's heart wasn't in it.
She gazed out over the edge, her eyes drifting past the manicured garden to the edge of the estate where armed Darkcom soldiers patrolled. Their uniforms were pressed and their movements stiff. Hired by her mother to ensure no demons or magical threats could disturb the event, they looked more like prison guards than party security.
"Party poopers," Patty mumbled under her breath with a pout.
Her thoughts drifted to someone else who wasn't there.
Dante…
The one who stepped in when no one else would. When her mother, fearing demonic threats, had placed her in an orphanage as a baby, it was Dante who had entered her life when she was just eight years old. He wasn't perfect—he devoured pizzas like a vacuum cleaner and had an alarming addiction to strawberry sundaes—but he had been her rock. Her protector. Her big brother.
"Where are you, Dante?" she whispered into the night.
Behind her, the doors to the ballroom opened and her mother stepped out, graceful as always in a violet gown, her graying hair pinned in a regal twist.
"There you are," her mother said with a gentle smile. "You've been out here for a while. Everything okay, darling?"
Patty turned, putting on a brave smile. "Yeah. Just… soaking it all in."
Her mother came beside her, linking arms. "Nineteen. I still remember holding you in my arms, wondering if you'd ever be safe. And now look at you—strong, smart, and the most beautiful girl in the room."
Patty chuckled. "Thanks, Mom… though the strawberry sundae fountain might be prettier than me."
Her mother rolled her eyes with a knowing smirk. "You spend too much time with that man."
A voice called from below. "Miss Lowell! Come on! Time for cake!"
They both headed down the steps as the party erupted into applause. A jazz band struck up a soft tune. Party guests from all corners of Redgrave and beyond waved, offered her toasts, and handed her elegant, enchanted gifts.
One older man in a plum vest approached her first. "Miss Lowell, on behalf of the Fortuna Historical Society, we present to you a hand-bound volume of demonology, recovered from the catacombs of Saint Lucia's Basilica. Rare. One-of-a-kind."
Patty accepted it with a polite smile. "Thank you. I'll… make sure it's kept safe."
A young woman with round glasses stepped up next, beaming. "Miss Lowell, you're an inspiration to girls everywhere! Oh, and happy birthday! This charm bracelet protects against minor hexes and breakouts."
"Useful combo," Patty joked, and the woman giggled.
Finally, her mother approached once more, holding out a thick, aged package wrapped in silken cloth. "This… is our family's true gift," she said softly. "The Grimoire of the Lowell Bloodline. Use it only if you must, and never—never—let Darkcom know it's in your possession."
Patty gently took the book, its magic humming faintly beneath the cloth. "I promise."
A round of cheers broke out as the cake—three tiers, white with strawberry glaze and cream roses—was rolled out. A loud "Happy Birthday" was sung, and Patty smiled for the cameras and crowd, trying to enjoy the moment. But something gnawed at her—an emptiness only one person could've filled.
She turned her gaze skyward once more. Where are you, Dante?
After the cake was cut and the music swelled again, Patty found herself alone beside the gift table. That's when she noticed the plain, unmarked envelope nestled between a designer handbag and a magical hairpin.
Curious, she opened it.
"Follow the white rabbit."
Patty blinked. "Huh?"
As if on cue, she spotted movement beyond the garden hedges. A white rabbit in a tuxedo—upright, tall, and completely out of place—tilted his head toward her, then turned and hopped away into the nearby woods.
She glanced around. No one else seemed to notice.
Curiosity won over caution. Patty quickly slipped past the guests, holding up the hem of her dress, and followed the rabbit past the hedges and into the trees.
She wandered deeper, branches brushing her shoulders, the noise of the party growing faint behind her.
"Okay, this better not be some weird dream…" she murmured.
And then—
"Surprise!" came a loud voice behind her.
Patty let out a shriek and spun around.
"AHHH—! Lady!?" she gasped.
Lady stood with a smirk, arms crossed and pistols holstered, dressed far more casually than usual. She let out a light chuckle as Patty rushed forward and threw her arms around her.
"Happy birthday, squirt."
"Jeez, you scared the life out of me," Patty grumbled, still clinging to Lady.
Lady chuckled, arms folding as she ruffled Patty's hair. "Yeah, but you've got heart. Always did. Never lost that spark."
Patty smiled, warmth returning to her eyes. "Better now. I mean, it's my birthday—but something felt… off. Then I saw this rabbit and—wait, where is he?"
"I believe a proper introduction is in order," came a calm, refined voice from behind the trees.
Stepping out from the shadows, the tall white rabbit in a tuxedo gave a graceful bow. "You may call me Rabi—or Rabbit, if you prefer. And happy birthday, Miss Lowell."
He held out a carefully wrapped box with a metallic shimmer. Patty took it, intrigued, and unwrapped it to reveal a sleek, silver wizard's staff, etched with runes that shimmered faintly with blue light.
"It's called Alan's Hope," Rabi explained. "Nico made a few… creative modifications. It's forged from the fragments of Alan's Tears—a relic which youre familair with. But this one? This one's tuned for you. Birthday-exclusive."
Patty's eyes widened, gently tracing the runes. "This is… incredible. Thank you, Rabi."
The rabbit smiled softly as he watched her hold the staff—there was something in her expression that reminded him of someone long lost. Alice…
Patty turned to the two of them. "Honestly, there's a small part of me that misses Devil May Cry. The chaos, the weirdness… even the sundaes." She paused, the thought suddenly clicking. "Wait—Dante's not here, is he?"
Lady's expression shifted, her smile fading. "We've got a situation."
"Dante's trapped in the Demon World," Rabi said, his voice calm but heavy with urgency. "And as it stands… you might be the one strong enough to break him out."
Patty's breath caught in her throat. "Me? But—I haven't even—"
"You've got more power than you think," Lady said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "And we're going to help you use it."
Before Patty could process more, a sudden static hum filled the air. A gust of wind kicked up around them.
From the shadows of the trees, a tall, imposing figure stepped out—clad in twisted armor, wings furled tight against its back, and glowing red eyes locked on Patty.
An Angelo.
"Patty Lowell," it droned in a metallic voice. "Step away from the fugitives and the demon."
The Angelo raised both arms. They weren't hands—just twin massive firearms brimming with dark energy.
"Well that's new," Lady muttered, drawing her pistols.
The Angelo opened fire. Twin missiles screamed through the trees. The trio dove for cover as the explosions ripped through the clearing, setting the grass ablaze.
Lady rolled behind a boulder and returned fire with precise shots. "We've got more incoming!"
Two more Angelos emerged, encircling them.
Rabi drew his slender rapier, its polished edge catching firelight. He moved with balletic grace, deflecting gunfire with his blade before lunging forward with a flurry of piercing strikes.
Lady flipped out her rocket launcher—Kalina Ann—and let loose a shot that sent one Angelo flying.
Patty ducked behind a tree, her heart pounding, hands trembling. Her fingers gripped the spellbook her mother had given her. Come on, think!
She opened the book, flipping pages until glowing glyphs caught her eye.
She pointed the staff and shouted, "Igni!"
A burst of flame erupted from the tip, engulfing one Angelo in a stream of fire. The blast staggered it, cracking its armor and sending it crashing into a tree.
Patty stared at her staff, wide-eyed. "I just did that…"
"Damn right you did!" Lady shouted. "Now keep doing it!"
Rabi gave her a quick nod. "Looks like you're warming up."
"Glacies!" Patty shouted, swinging her staff forward.
Shards of ice exploded from the tip, slamming into the oncoming Angelos. Their armor frosted over in an instant, locking joints and freezing them mid-step.
Lady wasted no time. "Nice assist." She raised Kalina Ann and fired—rockets tearing through the frozen enemies, shattering them in an explosive spectacle of ice and metal.
As the smoke cleared, Rabi knelt beside the twisted wreckage of one of the Angelos. His golden eyes narrowed, inspecting the firearm still gripped in its gauntlet.
"I've seen this craftsmanship before," he muttered, running a gloved finger over the barrel. "But something's off. This seal here—" he paused, examining an unfamiliar glyph etched near the chamber. "We need to show this to Nico. Now."
"Good plan, Cottontail," Lady said, smirking as she helped him up. "Let's bounce."
They sprinted toward the nearest street. The sounds of wings and mechanical hums echoed behind them—more Angelos giving chase.
As they turned a corner, a familiar van screeched up, doors swinging open. Nico leaned out from the driver's seat, cigarette dangling from her lips.
"Get in, ya damn strays!"
They piled in just as another Angelo dive-bombed from above. It matched the van's speed, wings slicing the air as it glided alongside Nico's window.
"Nicoletta Goldstein," it said in its monotone voice. "In the name of Darkcom, we require you to pull over and—"
Nico, deadpan, took one long drag from her cigarette.
Then she flicked the glowing butt straight into the Angelo's eye.
"AHHHHH—!"
BANG! She followed up with a shotgun blast, sending the creature pinwheeling through the air before crashing onto a parked car.
"Yo, Lady," Nico called back, eyes locked on the road, "feel like giving 'em a lil' fireworks show?"
"With pleasure." Lady leaned out the back, Kalina Ann resting on her shoulder. "Smile, assholes."
FOOM! A rocket launched and detonated mid-air, scattering the remaining Angelos like burning confetti.
Inside, Patty was still gripping her staff, wide-eyed but breathing steady.
Rabi gave her a proud nod. "Not bad for your first spell duel."
"Not bad at all," Nico added, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. "Hope you're ready, birthday girl—'cause things are just heating up."
The van roared down the cracked streets of Redgrave, turning and weaving through back alleys and old roads until the burning skyline faded behind them. Eventually, the engine settled into a steady hum.
"Okay, I think we're in the clear," Nico said, pulling into the garage and shutting the gate behind them with a thud. "Rule number one in my workshop—no plushies, no ribbons."
Patty rolled her eyes with a fond smirk. "That was one time. And I was eight!"
"You turned Dante's shop into a unicorn massacre," Nico said, dead serious. "It looked like a kindergarten birthday party collided with a Lisa Frank catalog."
"It had themes," Patty defended with a shrug.
"Yeah, trauma was the theme," Lady quipped as she stepped out of the van.
"Anyway," Patty redirected, "Rabi found something." She nodded toward the rabbit.
Rabi gently placed the salvaged Angelo firearm on Nico's workbench. "This was no ordinary weapon. Check the seal."
Nico leaned in, squinting as she wiped grime from the engraved symbol. Her face paled slightly. "Son of a bitch… I know this mark."
"You do?" Lady asked, stepping closer, eyes narrowed.
"Yeah," Nico said, lighting a new cigarette. "My uncle used to tell me stories. There was a gunsmith… deep in the Demon World. One of the old ones. A real freakshow—metal, blood, magic, and a twisted sense of design."
"Sounds like Dante's type," Rabi muttered.
"Thing is," Nico continued, pointing to the jagged rune, "this ain't just his work—it's a signature. The kind you burn into something that ain't meant to be undone."
"Does he have a name?" Lady asked.
Nico nodded slowly, exhaling a plume of smoke
"Machiavelli" Baines barked as be enter The prison chamber ehich was damp and was cold, humming with arcane energy. Magical barriers flickered faintly like ghostlight, sealing in the prisoner—Machiavelli. He sat cross-legged in the center of the cell, garbed in a faded gray uniform, his long black hair falling like a curtain around his pale face. A canvas sat before him, and from the end of his brush came not just paint, but designs—deliberate, surgical. Blueprints for something deadly and magnificent.
The heavy door creaked open, and in stepped Director Baines, dressed in his dark military coat, his boots echoing sharply with every step.
Baine slides a file across the enchanted barrier. "You said Project Angel Trigger would be flawless. And yet—it was taken down. By the sons of Sparda. And demons."
Machiavelli didn't look up at first. The brush in his hand finished a fine curve before he responded, his voice like smooth silk laced with mockery. "Director Baines. To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit? Didn't think you'd come slumming it."
He finally glanced at the photo that slid under the barrier—an image of Dante and Vergil, both caught mid-combat, bloodied but triumphant.
"You make it sound like you wanted a weapon that could wipe out evil itself," Machiavelli continued, tilting his head. "Like… destroy sin, temptation. My god, are you humans this delusional?"
Baines' face tightened.
"Sons of Sparda," Machiavelli mused, twirling the brush in his fingers. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while. Then again, I did fake my death and leave the demon world behind. Figured I'd try retirement."
"You got sloppy," Baines snapped.
"No, I got profitable," Machiavelli corrected, rising slowly to his feet. "Earth's economy thrives on war. And that's what you wanted, isn't it? War machines. Beautiful, obedient little murderers."
He walked slowly to the barrier, standing inches from Baines, eyes gleaming with a dark amusement.
"But your little soldiers, they lack something," Machiavelli said, tapping the image of Dante and Vergil. "Something these two have in spades. Something I never thought Vergil would possess…"
He smiled.
"Humanity."
Baines clenched his jaw. "Blasphemy."
"Oh? Sparda gave up everything for humanity," Machiavelli said with a shrug. "And a very select minority of demons? They're starting to defy their nature but the overlords like Mundus, Argosax, Abigail puts their in their place. You human would be so brutal on religious freedom with blades and guns. So tell me… is it really blasphemy to defy ones nature?"
Silence hung heavy for a moment, then Machiavelli leaned in slightly, his voice low and cutting.
"Question is—are you willing to sacrifice all of humanity for your vision? For a war against a few mercenaries who understand the human soul better than you ever will?"
Baines stared him down for a beat, then turned.
"Do your job," he growled, and stormed out.
As the door slammed shut, Machiavelli returned to his canvas, humming softly to the opera still playing from a tiny speaker hidden in the wall. He dipped his brush again, adding finer strokes to the new weapon's schematic.
"Let's see what humanity's really worth," he whispered with a smirk.