Sirens wailed in the distance. The kind that clawed at your nerves, warning of something far worse than a fire or a robbery. This was the sound Redgrave had learned to fear.
"All units! We're under attack! I repeat—we're under attack!"
The message crackled through radios, urgent and panicked.
Screams followed.
"Demons! They're demons!"
"Somebody help me!"
The city had been through a lot, but this... this was starting to feel familiar. Too familiar.
Nero leaned against the window of the van, watching the traffic inch forward like molasses bleeding down concrete. The nameDevil May Crywas scrawled across the side of the vehicle in faded blue letters—more a statement of rebellion now than a business title. The van was a leftover relic from a time when demon hunting was messy, thankless, and still somehow a private gig.
He cracked the window and coughed as smoke drifted lazily across his face.
"Really?" he muttered, turning his head toward the driver's seat.
Nico didn't even glance his way. She puffed on her cigarette, eyes fixed on the road, looking more amused than apologetic.
"Shit's heavy, sweetheart," she said through a cloud of smoke. "Deal with it."
Nero scoffed and sat back in his seat, brushing ash off his sleeve.
"Darkcom stole all my grandma's tools. My daddy's too." Nico's voice turned sharp, bitter. "Bet they're makin' some real sick shit in their shiny government labs now. We need to take out whatever demons we can before they get their hands on them."
Nero stared ahead, jaw tight.
Redgrave had changed after the tree. Afterhim. When his father—if you could even call him that—decided to turn the city into his personal gardening project, things spiraled fast. Demons poured in like roaches, feeding off the chaos. It wasn't long before the world started to notice. And once the world noticed, the government did too.
They called themselvesDark Realm Command. Most folks shortened it toDarkcom. Paranormal investigators with badges and budgets. They showed up in tactical gear, flaunting strange weapons that looked like knockoff Devil Arms and claiming they were the future of demon control. In truth, they were bureaucratic parasites, sweeping in to clean up after the mess was already made—then declaring themselves the heroes.
They shut down Devil May Cry.
Dante went off the grid. Lady and Trish vanished on their own gigs. And Nero... well, he stayed behind. Someone had to.
He didn't trust Darkcom. Not because of the suits or the military posture—but because of howcomfortablethey were. No scars. No grit. Their weapons looked fancy, sure, but they lacked the raw power of Dante's arsenal, the kind forged in blood and trial. They were imitators playing exorcist.
The radio—an ugly, blocky piece of stolen Darkcom tech—sputtered to life on the dash.
"All units, be advised. Visual confirmation of a Class C demon moving southwest through Redgrave Industrial. Engage with caution."
Nero straightened.
"Well, finally," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Been too damn quiet."
Nico hit him on the arm without missing a beat. "Then don't sit there lookin' pretty. Go earn your keep."
Nero threw the door open and stepped into the Redgrave air, thick with heat and exhaust. Without hesitation, he raised his Devil Bringer arm, the glowing ether pulsing to life. With a metallic snap, it launched forward, latching onto the edge of a building above.
He shot upward, swinging like a bullet through the stale Redgrave air. His boots slammed against the rooftop with a solidthud, and without wasting a second, Nero broke into a sprint, his coat flaring behind him like a blood-red flag. The city blurred below as he vaulted over vents, pipes, and broken AC units, leaping from roof to roof with effortless grace.
The skyline shifted as he neared the edge of the Industrial District—an aging skeleton of metal and smoke, its smokestacks clawing at the overcast sky. The scent of oil, rust, and something... darker hung in the air.
He spotted movement below.
Three lesser demons—clawed, hunched, and twitching like rabid dogs—were prowling near an old loading dock, gnashing their malformed jaws and snarling at the world.
Nero grinned.
"Alright... warm-up round."
In one smooth motion, he reached back and gripped the hilt of theRed Queen. The sword purred to life as he pulled it free, and with a flick of his wrist, he revved the engine along its spine. Flames danced briefly along the blade's edge as it roared to full heat.
He dropped in hard from the roof, smashing into the ground in front of the demons with a shockwave of force. Before they could react, Red Queen slashed in a wide arc, carving through the first demon and sending its body crashing into the wall with a fiery explosion.
The second lunged—Nero responded with a shot fromBlue Rose. The double-barreled revolver barked once, then twice. Explosive rounds shattered through the creature's chest, throwing it back with a screech.
The third tried to retreat. Big mistake.
Nero's Devil Bringer surged with energy, his spectral arm extending with a crackling hum. It latched onto the demon and yanked it forward like a rag doll. He twisted mid-spin andslammedit into the concrete with bone-crunching force.
He dusted off his coat and smirked.
"I'd like to see Darkcom top that," he muttered.
A deep mechanicalwhirrrrfilled the air. Nero glanced up to see a Darkcom assault chopper hovering overhead. Its mounted minigun opened fire, ripping through a small horde of demons that had been creeping toward the east side of the district.
"Showoffs," he muttered with a roll of his eyes.
The chopper veered off with military precision, engines screaming as it soared down the line of warehouses. Nero kept moving, hopping fences and cutting through shadows, his boots echoing across rusted catwalks and shattered glass. He followed the growing noise—snarls, gunfire, and distant explosions—deeper into the maze of crumbling structures.
More demons emerged—lesser ones, but enough to keep him busy. He moved like a storm, blade and bullets dancing through them with brutal elegance. Limbs flew. Sparks lit the air. His coat was streaked with black ichor by the time he slid down a gravel slope toward an abandoned train tunnel.
Then he felt it.
Thatpresence.
Thicker. Meaner.
It stepped out of the darkness, a hulking silhouette framed by shattered train cars. The monstrous demon was twice his size, armored in pulsing bone and shadow. It roared loud enough to rattle the tunnel walls. Nero noticed fresh scorch marks and shell casings—Darkcom had tried to bring it down. Clearly, it didn't work.
The beast turned its baleful gaze toward him.
Nero raised theRed Queenand cracked his neck, the gears of the blade purring with anticipation. The flames along the edge flickered like hungry tongues, casting orange light across the tunnel walls.
"Wow," he said dryly, "you must really suck if those bootleggers actually managed to sting you."
The demon's eyes burned like molten coals as it let out a guttural laugh, a sound like grinding steel and wet stone.
"I can smell the Sparda blood in your veins!" it bellowed, its voice shaking the air. "You think you can defeatme? FOOL! My master will return, and when he does, his reign will be GLORIOUS! Earth shall burn, and humanity will kneel as nothing more than SLAVES!"
Nero's expression didn't change. He casually raisedBlue Rose, leveled it at the demon's face, and smiled coldly.
"Yeah? Tell your master this."
BLAM!
The first shot cracked like thunder, slamming into the demon's shoulder. It snarled, staggering back, but that was all the cue Nero needed. He rushed in, dodging beneath a massive swipe of the creature's claw, sliding low as the beast's other arm—twisted and shaped like a jagged scythe—sliced through a column behind him.
Steel and stone exploded.
Nero flipped to his feet, grippingRed Queenwith both hands. He leapt onto the creature's back, plunging the burning blade deep between its armored shoulders. With a shout, he revved the engine.
VRRRRRRRM!
Flames burst along the blade's path as it tore upward through sinew and bone, scorching a molten line all the way up to the demon's neck. The beast roared in agony, thrashing wildly, trying to throw him off.
But Nero wasn't done.
His Devil Bringer flared with azure energy, pulsing with raw force. He slammed the spectral fist down, gripping the demon's twisted spine andrippingit backward.
"You're not getting up from this."
With a final roar, he hurled the demon downward—boom!—smashing it face-first into the concrete. Cracks spiderwebbed across the tunnel floor as the monster let out a final, rattling breath.
Black ichor spread beneath it, thick and steaming.
Nero stepped back, panting slightly. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his glove and holsteredBlue Rose.
"Honestly?" he muttered. "For all that big talk... your master really needs better employees."
The tunnel fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic drip of water echoing off the damp stone walls and the distant hum of the bustling city above.
Nero chuckled to himself, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he leaned against the cool concrete. Another demon job was behind him. Suddenly, a squad of Angelos descended, forming a stark presence against the dimly lit backdrop. The harsh headlights of military vehicles emblazoned with the Darkcom logo sliced through the shadows, casting long silhouettes on the tunnel walls.
A man stepped out of one of the vehicles, dressed sharply in a suit and wearing dark sunglasses that obscured his eyes. He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, exhaling a frustrated groan. "Out of all the crazy things Devil May Cry has done, this has to be at the top," he lamented, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What's the matter? You suits mad that I took it down first?" Nero shot back, an easy grin spreading across his face. "And who exactly are you, and why should I care?"
"My name is William Baines," the man replied, his tone shifting to a more serious pitch. "I am the founder and chief officer of Darkcom. You just single-handedly obliterated a trainyard and the powerful demon we had intended to analyze."
"Hey, you think fighting demons is a walk in the park?" Nero retorted, a flicker of irritation igniting in his tone. "Besides, I just saved your men's lives before they could even be turned into shish kebabs. What's this about Angelos?"
Baines crossed his arms, his expression turning grave. "We've been studying Agnus' research from the Order of the Sword. From that, we created a line of artificial demons we call Angel Triggers."
"Cute," Nero said, rolling his eyes in disdain.
"Last time I checked, Dante's debts had skyrocketed thanks to the collateral damage he keeps causing," Baines continued, his voice edged with frustration. "We need to operate with a lower profile. Your father's exploits have resulted in more destruction than we can even quantify, with casualties that dwarf Dante's record." Nero fell silent, weighing Baines' words. "I'll give you one chance, Nero. Join Darkcom, and you can become an elite demon hunter, earning a good salary for both you and Kyrie. If not, we'll be watching, and the next time you step out of line, we won't hesitate to take action."
With that, Baines turned on his heel, climbing back into one of the waiting vehicles. The Darkcom entourage drove off into the night, their presence fading into the shadows of the city.
Nero sighed heavily, the weight of the encounter settling on him as he made his way to the street, where he waited for Nico beneath the harsh glow of a streetlamp. Moments later, the familiar roar of her engine caught his attention as she pulled up beside him.
"Let me guess, Darkcom got to you?" she said, her eyes scanning his face for hints of unease.
"Yeah, they were polite enough to escort me out with their Angelos and weapons, firmly suggesting I either join them or face arrest—or worse," Nero remarked, sarcasm dripping from his words.
"Are you really considering it?" Nico asked, skepticism threading her question.
"Hell no," Nero replied, shaking his head vehemently. "They brought up Kyrie, and it sent alarms ringing in my head. I can't risk them going after her, and besides, the demonic hunting scene is getting scarce."
"Hey, I know a spot Dante heads to when he needs a breather," Nico said, a bright smile returning to her face. She revved the engine, the scent of gasoline filling the air as they sped off into the city.
Unbeknownst to them, perched on a nearby rooftop, a figure masked in mystery watched their departure. The silhouette of an anthropomorphic rabbit observed intently, its eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and caution, as the world below continued in its oblivious pace.
The bell above the door jingled as Nero and Nico stepped into the glowing neon warmth ofFredi's Diner. The scent of grilled patties, sizzling bacon, and vanilla malt floated in the air. Vinyl booths lined the walls, a jukebox hummed a faint tune in the corner, and the floor gleamed in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern straight out of a retro postcard.
Suddenly, a blur of red and white rolled up to them. Cindy, young woman in roller skates slid to a stop, hands on her hips and a smile wide enough to brighten the whole place.
"Welcome to Fredi's! How can I help you?" she chirped.
"Strawberry sundaes," Nico said without hesitation, plopping into the nearest booth.
"Really?" Nero raised a brow, sliding in across from her.
Nico smirked. "Dante said it's the best place in Redgrave for 'em."
Cindy blinked. "Wait—youknowDante?"
Nero hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck. "He's... my uncle."
She laughed in surprise. "Huh. Never figured Dante for the family type. He barely says two words unless he's ordering sundaes or pizza. But hey, two sundaes coming right up!"
"Make that three," came a familiar voice behind them.
Nero turned to seeMorrison, dressed in his usual dark coat, a file tucked under one arm and a tired expression on his face.
"Morrison?" Nero asked. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Morrison slid into the booth beside Nico with a grunt. "Well, when Slum Avenue gets clogged with Darkcom agents like a damn sewer pipe, I can't exactly keep a low profile in the usual bars. So... I came here. Plus, technically—" he pointed a finger at Nero, "—I still hold the deed to Dante's shop."
"Right," Nero muttered, "convenient."
Their sundaes arrived in tall glass dishes, creamy and piled with strawberries and whipped cream. For a brief moment, things felt almost normal.
Nero dug in, then leaned forward. "Morrison... what do you know about William Baine?"
The broker stopped mid-scoop. "Let me guess—you ran into him at the trainyard?"
Nero nodded silently.
Morrison sighed, tapping the spoon against his glass. "William Baine was the former mayor of Redgrave. Straight-laced, clean record, went to church every Sunday. Had a wife, a daughter. All-American politician image."
"And then?" Nico asked, licking her spoon.
"Then Vergil planted that damned Qliphoth. Wrecked half the city. Baine's family was caught in the blast zone... and he was the only one who made it out alive."
Silence fell across the booth.
Morrison continued, voice lower. "After that, he resigned. Disappeared for a while. Then popped back up to startDark Realm Command. Built Ark Tower and started digging into every book, file, and scrap of lore on demonology, the occult—you name it. Whatever he's doing, it's big."
Nero leaned back, the sundae forgotten. "So we've got a grieving ex-mayor with access to every demonic resource in the city, running a government-backed task force... and he's the one trying to eraseDevil May Cryfrom the map."
"Pretty much," Morrison said with a sigh. "And that's the short version."
Nico tapped her spoon on the edge of her glass. "Guess we'll need to keep our eyes peeled."
"Yeah," Nero muttered, eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of Ark Tower glowing like a steel monolith against the dark sky. The tower was the crown jewel of Darkcom—a symbol of their crusade to "protect" humanity by containing or exterminating demons. But to Nero, it was more like a cage with polished windows.
Darkcom's shining beacon... built on the ashes of everything Devil May Cry stood for.
Across from him, Morrison leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low.
"Kid, I get it. This shit's hitting you hard. You think I haven't seen that look before?" He nodded solemnly. "Dante wore that same expression more times than I can count. All the pizza, ice cream, blood-soaked quips... it hides a hell of a lot until something finally breaks through."
He slid a worn manila file across the table toward Nero. "Lady and Trish have been working undercover in the Ark Tower for a few weeks now. This is what they found."
Nero pulled the file open. Inside were photos, logs, and surveillance reports. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the list of confiscated weapons.
Agni & Rudra. Nevan. Alastor. Lucifer. Pandora's Box. Vendetta. Merciless. Gilgamesh. Ifrit.
"Damn," he whispered. Each name weighed on his heart like an anchor. These weren't just weapons—they were pieces of Dante's legacy. And now they were locked away like museum relics.
"I kinda wish Dante was here," Nero admitted, a rare crack in his usually confident demeanor. There were some things—even with all his power—he couldn't do alone.
"Same here," Nico said quietly, licking her spoon.
"Right with you," Morrison added with a sigh.
Just then, the bell over the diner door jingled again.
"Excuse me," came a crisp British accent, light and refined. "I heard this is where one might find the best strawberry sundaes in Redgrave?"
All eyes turned to the entrance. Standing there, politely brushing snow from his black Victorian-style tuxedo, was an anthropomorphic white rabbit. His fur was pristine, his demeanor regal, and a monocle hung neatly over one eye.
There was a long silence.
"...Is there something in my teeth?" the rabbit asked innocently.
Without missing a beat, Nero drew Blue Rose and leveled it at him. "Start talking or I start redecorating."
"Whoa! Whoa!" the rabbit exclaimed, raising his white-gloved paws. "Please don't shoot! I mean no harm!"
"Talk fast, Bugs. Or we'll turn you into skinny rabbit stew," Nico added, folding her arms.
The rabbit straightened his coat, clearing his throat. "Would you mind if I had a sundae first? It's been a rather long journey."
Cindy, watching from the counter with a bewildered look, glanced to Nero for confirmation. He sighed and nodded.
One sundae later, the rabbit took a bite, ears twitching. "Mmm. Yes. I can see why Dante spoke so highly of these."
"YouknowDante?" Nero asked, still skeptical but easing his aim just a bit.
"Indeed. Met him years ago—basically i was the one who told him Vergil was alive and well it was not the family reunion you might expect." Rabbit said
"Right," Nico said with a squint. "And I'm supposed to believe a talking rabbit justhappensto be old pals with the sons of Sparda?"
"Hold your skepticism, my dear," the rabbit replied coolly, reaching into his coat. "This picture was taken two of your Earth hours ago."
He unfolded a photo and placed it on the table.
There, standing in front what seems to be a railway in the demon world, were Dante and Vergil. Dante was flashing his usual smug grin, hand resting on his Devil Sword hilt. Vergil stood beside him, arms crossed and wearing a deep, tired scowl—like he'd just tolerated one too many of his brother's jokes. And between them... was the very rabbit with a smile.
Nico blinked. "Okay, I gotta admit—that looks real."
Nero leaned forward, staring at the photo. "Where the hell was this taken?"
"I'll explain," the rabbit said, dusting his paws. "But first, you need to understand exactly what Darkcom is doing—and why their actions may bring about something far worse than the Qliphoth."
He paused, looking each of them in the eye with sudden writing your story