Warnings: Eventual Homosexual Pairing(D/N/D), Violence, Blood/Gore, Strong Language

Disclaimer: I do not own DMC, and I make no money from this story.

The milky, white moon, a soft beacon in the distance, hung low in the sky amongst dark, ashen clouds. The usual navy or cold pitch the sky above would have taken on at this hour was absent, instead replaced by a deep, almost black violet. There was no breeze blowing through the air, yet, strangely enough, one could not even feel the air around them. The atmosphere was, oddly, dead, an eerie silence looming over the stillness of the castle town below.

On one side of town was a grand cathedral, surround by a half stone, half wrought iron wall and blocked off by surrounding buildings and a gate smacked between. There once was a fountain that stood before the cathedral, water pouring rhythmically from its single tier above the wide basin below while blissfully surrounded by kempt grass and potted plants that cast their dainty leaves over the edge of their marbled pots. Now was left an empty circle where that font once joyously poured in praise of this glorious town and the god it worshiped, a dingy puddle in the midst of crumbled debris as if the shattered stone had wept a lake in memory of its former glory.

Atop the cathedral was a small, glass dome, centered above a wooden circle of floor and a baluster between two artfully carved pillars to cast a spotlight on the podium when the lights inside were dimmed. The skylight too, however, had been destroyed, shattered as if a piece of the sky itself had fallen through, scattering thick shards of glass upon the floor below. Now the weather that found entry through that busted glass had ruined the wood that had long since begun to rot. The smooth tile that once was flawless was eroded around the edges and grouted by green mold. The moonlight trickled freely through the open roof, seeming to sparkle with the particles of dust that floated through it and shining brightly to the floor as if finally able to reach in and touch it.

On the still-intact steps out front sat a figure not quite familiar with this entire town, but almost fused with this one area, he knew it so well. He had only one day in his memory that he was here and yet he felt he could remember every grain in the wood of the pews inside. The memory was so vivid in his mind because he had chosen to never forget it when he walked out of this town a whole year ago. It was not the cathedral that was the focal point of his memory, however, but the one he battled inside it. How could he possibly forget that white-haired wildfire that flew so gracefully through the air, navy coat flying behind as those long legs stretched out to wrap around his waist?

Where is he?

The single question echoed through Dante's mind as he sat on the steps of Fortuna's abandoned cathedral, propped on his elbows against the steps behind him and laid back so that he had a very clear view of the sky above the many rooftops and spires jutting up toward the stars. Quietly, he reminisced about the day he had first met Nero, staring off blankly through lowered, dark lashes that swept across his cheekbones and cast crescent shadows on his pale skin. It had only been a little over seven months since the devil hunter had last seen the younger man, yet it seemed like an eternity had crawled by at his feet.

From the very day they parted and Dante had walked so reluctantly away from Nero, he knew he would never truly be able to stay away from the only other living part-demon he knew. It was evident that some sort of connection had set itself up inside and bonded them together, for his heart had ached and yearned to return to this town since the day he walked out of it and boarded the ferry back to his own city on the mainland. His thoughts stayed brimming with images of Nero while he mournfully replayed the younger hunter's voice over and over in his mind. It sounded exactly as he remembered and yet Dante always feared that the Nero in his mind was nothing like the real man he was here to see today. Nothing would be sweeter than seeing that tangible, living face and hearing that biting, cocky voice as it playfully insulted him.

That day when this whole town was plagued by death and destruction, purposely overrun by demons, was the last day he had come here. Dante had never planned to return, but the pain that stabbed and twisted itself in his chest every time his mind drifted to the memory of Nero was enough to convince the devil hunter that he had to come back here. He had been sitting on these steps for over an hour now, waiting for Nero to show up. The funniest and possibly most pathetic thing about it, Dante thought, was that he had never made a plan with Nero to meet him here. Nero most likely didn't even know that Dante was anywhere near Fortuna. Yet, still, Dante expected Nero to find him. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Dante was almost entirely sure that Nero would feel that same pull on his own heartstrings, pulling the younger man to Dante, for even as the older man waited impatiently in such a forsaken place, his own were urging him off to the northeast of Fortuna, toward who else but Nero?

Perhaps, Nero would never find him. He may not even be alive or in Fortuna anymore. Maybe, Dante would never see him again, but the devil hunter seldom allowed the possibilities to sway him. He had always been one to wing it.