Rated: R for violence, language, and some adult situations. Nothing "American Pie", so get your mind out of the
gutter please! Nor is this "Pulp Fiction" with Dante being the equilvent of John Travolta's character and Trish being
the female version of Samuel L. Jackson. LOL!
Disclaimer: Well, Dante doesn't belong to me. Though I certainly wish it. Anyway, the wizards at Capcom own
him. Wizards? Uh, well, they never DID explain why they gave Sparda's character the same dialogue of Dante's, did
they? Or what was REALLY going on between Trish and Dante (Eeewwww). Or that stupid clockstopper device that only
pauses time for a second during the Phantom battle in "Dante Must Die" Mode. Or why you can sometimes see during
the demo Dante wearing a jacket than trenchcoat and if you look REAL carefully you can notice Dante's shadow doesn't
show the shape of his trenchcoat at all in the final version of DMC. (Check out his shadow during the Nelo Angelo intro
scene for a somewhat better view of it) And did y'all notice that they deleted out a scene from the demo? Yeah, they show
Dante waving his sword before holstering it at his jacket at the scene where you first battle Phantom... Hmmm...
ANYWAY! (Sheesh, I've been playing that darn game for TOO long!) BTW, anyone catch the "Dino Crisis 2" sign shown at the
very beginning of the game? It's when Trish looks around. Check out the dark wall. The other wall of the street shows
another sign too. Though, it's hard to tell what it says.
Comments: I tried to put in all the stuff I've gathered from the game, including info I got from its strategy
guides so that it won't sound fake. This is my first "Devil May Cry" story so bear with me! ;-) Still, I've been busy
doing Alien fics so violence and language should seem familiar terroritory for me. (gulp) I hope! BTW, this story takes
place a little after the Mallet Island affair. Enjoy! Please read it! I'm begging you!
Chapter 1: Sin City
It hurt each time he did it, he reflects to himself bitterly. His skin would feel so hot that he'd swear it
was boiling, felt the blisters emerging above sour shivering skin as rain of electricity surged through him with one
blow after the next. And even then, the hotness wouldn't stop. It'd invade the entire length of his body, coursing
over and over again. Hands. Head. Feet. Legs. Arms. Everywhere. And his muscles would suddenly contract, convulsing
involuntarily as it was being tortured by unmistakable, truly terrifying heat. There was also a loud, annoyingly
piercing sound that would occur on both sides of his ears, like a train ramming at full speed ahead by Gold almighty
himself. If the heat didn't get him then the noise certainly did. Sweet mother, it hurt like hell and he hated doing
it each time. Sure the healing would kick in some and the noise would momentarily reside because of it, but damn that
pain. The less he Devil triggered, the better. That's the way he sees it anyway.
Devil Trigger... a lonesome whitehead man sitting at a table thinks to himself humorously. He never knew why
he called it that when he transformed into a demonic creature with incredible strength, lighting speed, and a lust
for fighting. Devil Trigger... Devil Torture seems like a better suitable word for it. Maybe he was suffering from a
hangover one night and thought 'hey, Devil Trigger sounds nice' out of the blue. Yeah, right. Like he would even
remember that the next day. Hangovers... you've gotta love 'em. And anyway, does the name of it really matter? Who
cares what they call it, right? It hurts as hell.
He never knew he possessed this... power until he visited a certain island that literally put his world
upside down. Sure, he knew he was different when he was just a pup. Him and his long-deceased brother both were. It's
not everyday little boys and girls are born with silver hair and have the ability to jump across a damn canoe, you
know. Jesus. And those times when he'd find his body automatically heal itself when an injury would occur. It kind of
scared him. Made him worried. He just knew that he was... different somehow. And the dreams, no, the nightmares,
would come to him each time he shut his eyes. As he grew older, they weren't as scary as they used to be because he
got used to them. But when he was a kid, they made the boogeyman look like a side note. He was fucking Santa Claus
compared to the creatures that stalked him in his nightmares.
Later, when he was in his preteens and learned the truth after a talk with his mother about his father's
death, it only made things worse. He never knew his father. About the only things he had of him were two twin gun
pistols and a sword called Force Edge. But simple mementoes weren't enough to know the face behind the name Sparda.
According to his mother, he was as handsome as they came and was as gentle as he was tough. Ha, his mother would
constantly remind him that she saw his father in his distinctively light-blue eyes. When the questions arose over
his 'untimely' death, he was given an answer that was the last thing he expected from his mother. It was then that
his mother explained that due to his father's TRUE origins, he, as a demon, couldn't live long in the realm of
light. Darkness would soon come for him as his father continuously told her regrettably.
He and his brother didn't know WHAT to think of this. After all, if what their mother said was true then he
was a part of the evil the world despised. Feared. Hated. For crying out loud, he had just come from a Catholic school
learning that all devils were the bad guys and all angels were the good guys! Sweet mother of mercy...
Naturally, the truth made him feel ashamed of himself. Every normal kid was going through problems like acne,
raging hormones, and peer pressure. Him? He was worrying over the day he'd turn into a monster like they always show
in the movies and wreck havoc on everyone. Hell, his brother took it in better than he did. In fact, his brother
continuously tried his best to comfort him, to remind him that he was human too... that he wasn't bad. Even though
deep down he was glad he had his brother there, he took him for granted, as he'd later discover.
He turned into a complete rebel during his teen years, figuring that if 'normal' folks learned the truth, then
they'd STILL think he was evil no matter how good he tried to be. They'd burn him at the stake. So he said screw 'em.
So what? He is who he is. But the abduction and murder of his beloved mother and brother shut those thoughts off and
brought him back to reality. And no matter what he was, his brother was right. He was still human. He could still feel.
Hurt. Love. And in that unfortunate day, a day where he remembers that he left his brother and mother with hurtful
words before storming out and then coming back only to see a group of demons capture them, he felt an undeniable heat
of anger and vengeance.
His father's guns were mysteriously taken about the same time of his mother and brother's abduction. But he
remembered how they looked like and knew that they'd be his keys in undoing all the demons and devils that took the
life of his brother and mother. He modeled his own guns after his father, as a tribute and mark of legacy.
Even now that frustration is still fresh, still hot. He can even remember now how he lay on the floor
helplessly, in shock, as his mother fought to protect him and his brother. Eventually, failing. When it was all
over, when the demons had decided that he wasn't worth the trouble in killing, when they had stolen everything he loved
and cherished away from him, when life had stopped, he shred a tear and vowed revenge. He vowed that when it was all
over, that the devil may surely cry too.
Drowning the last drop of whiskey from his shot glass, the mysterious white-haired man motions for a
voluptuous brunette-headed lady carrying a tray of alcoholic beverages to come over to his table. He knows of a
certain woman who would come down on him if she caught him drinking. After all, he's here on official business.
But don't all work and no play make a Devil hunter a depressed hunter? Right? And besides, Las Vegas ain't exactly
the perfect place to just sit around and do nothing.
Las Vegas... Yeah. Also known as Sin City. Also known as the perfect place for devils to hide out at. He knew
a lot of demons, concealed by fake human bodies so that the world wouldn't know what they really were, came here often.
Running. Killing to feed. The typical stuff demons do when they're bored, ha. Las Vegas and a few others are as
attractive to demons as shit is to flies. It might be the greed. Temptation. Vices. Whatever it was, its 'scent'
called on any demon looking to hide out for a while and go on a killing spree. After all, these days, cops don't know
the difference between homicidal incidents from demon kills. It's easy for the bloody bastards to get away with it,
which is why there needs to be a 'handyman' to keep them in check. That's pretty much why he located his business near.
Devil May Cry. Actually, it is called Devil Never Cry nowadays and it's just a few miles away from Las Vegas.
DNC is deep in the Nevada desert, somewhere in the middle of nowhere but near everywhere. Where DNC is located, it is
pretty much the best place to be at. While Nevada tourists wanting to strike it rich continuously overlook its location,
the city harboring his pride and joy is colorful enough. Granted, his city may not attract many people or is as
extravagant as Las Vegas, New York, and all those other big shot cities, but he likes seclusion. He works better when
there aren't a lot of people raining on his parade. Cops especially. There's nothing worse than explaining to a cop
that you axed the guy at the corner of the street because he was actually a demon. No sir. In fact, if he can recall,
he had to move his business from Waco, Texas, because of a similar case like that a few years back.
The man brushes back a strand of wild white hair from his left eye. In doing so, he catches a glimpse of a
large television screen not far away from him.
"In about three days from today, we will be seeing a truly unique eclipse at around noontime," a male newscaster
reports. "It's going to be one for the history books since it comes on the day of Leap year."
"Scary," a female news anchor comments and laughs, smiling towards the camera.
"Tell me about it! This is definitely one to record since this has never happened before. You already know that
the psychics will be calling, predicting horrible revelations."
The two laugh at the joke as well as the ones inside the studio.
"Hey handsome," a waitress says as she approaches the white-haired man's table, breaking away his concentration
regarding the eclipse news. She glares at him with bright-lit eyes, obviously liking what she sees. "What's a good-
looking guy like you doing here all by yourself?"
"What's a pretty girl like you working in this dump?" he answers suavely.
The waitress instantly blushes and places a shot glass on the man's table after retrieving his empty glass. She
brushes back her straight hair from her face, nervously smiling.
"So, uh, that's a great hair style you got," she replies, trying to sound casually and noticing the white silver
hair, "Did you dye it white or something?"
"No. I'm all natural." He grins, fiddling his gloved fingers around his shot glass.
She smiles too, standing up and allowing the white-headed man to get a good view of her body, especially toward
her nearly exposed chest.
"Funny, I'm all natural too, in case you haven't noticed," the waitress injects sensually.
Before the man can reply to that, his cell phone rings. He sighs as he digs deep into his extremely long, red
trench coat's pocket. He obtains the cell phone where the cover of it displays a nude devil woman on it. The man answers
it, leaving the waitress 'on hold' for now.
"Yo, Romeo," a woman's voice comes through sarcastically, "You done romancing?"
"Trish," the man realizes, laughing in a throaty purr, and soon glancing around the crowded casino.
Surrounding him are about a hundred people who are all presently gambling. Some are playing the carefully lined
up machines towards the back of the room, yanking down the sticks and praying for rain. Most are playing card games,
betting on an obscene amount of cash to gain even more of it. Others are simply busy rolling dice, calling out numbers
only to curse out in anger soon afterwards. The room the white-headed man is in is well lighted. Crowded but big enough
to not get claustrophobic. The man soon stops looking and gives a wink at the still standing waitress before addressing
the voice on the other line.
"Don't tell me you're spying on me, babe. It ain't attractive," he says shortly, leaning back against his chair.
"We're here on business, Dante," Trish reminds sternly, "And from what I'm seeing, you're too busy with that
waitress to check on our client."
"Relax," Dante replies confidently, checking on a bald-headed man sitting at a table a few meters away from
his own. "He's cool. Baldy, there, ain't in danger. I can see him from where I am and he knows I'm carrying enough
arsenal to make even the Marines envious."
Dante uncovers a part of his trench coat, soon revealing a shiny white gun with the words 'Ebony & Ivory'
engraved on it. Afterwards, he looks up to check on the bald man again. As if on cue, the bald-headed man momentarily
stares at Dante from across. Dante playfully acknowledges him by waving his hand at him. The bald man smiles nervously,
not knowing how to react. Instead, he returns to his glass of alcohol. He's downright scared, Dante notes.
" 'Sides," Dante soon adds jokingly, "I wouldn't put a man who gives me payment in advance in any sort of
danger. That's a part of my company policy, y' know."
"Really? Then how come I've got a bad feeling about this?" the voice on the other line answers softly and very
worried.
"Doll, I've got this covered. You're forgetting that I've done this gig more than my old man kicked demon ass
in his days. I'm a pro at what I do so chill out. If anything is going down, it'll be the demon I'm running through."
"All right, but I'm still checking on you."
"Yeah? From where?"
"I'm close."
Again, Dante checks the casino, trying to find the location of his caller. Clever girl, he ponders as he has
yet to locate her.
"By the way," Trish continues, "I brought along Alastor. Just in case, you know."
This makes Dante laugh his heart out. "Damn, woman, how the hell did you manage to hide THAT? It's as big as me!"
"Simple. Women-have-more-creative-minds-than-men-do," Trish answers casually.
Dante can just imagine her grinning. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, Trish, but I pick guns over swords anytime.
Those King-Arthur-Knight-era days are over. Get with the program, darling. Ain't nothing better than having a Pinocchio
puppet go splat upon impact of a bullet."
"Yeah, or so you say. But I have Alastor for you anyway. Guns aren't always the answer to everything, Dante.
And they'll probably be days where Alastor can kick more ass than those puny pistols of yours."
"Whatever. I'm hanging up now. It's bad enough that getting paid for this gig is hard to come by, but now I
have to pay phone bills so I can keep in contact with my 'sidekick'. One of the pleasures of working alone is not having
to pay for extra fees, honey."
"Yeah," Trish begins sarcastically, "Lord knows, I'd 'hate' for you to pay for my tampons when you could be
phoning those '1-900' calls."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Trish. I'm rocking out. Call ONLY if you need to."
"Cheapskate," Dante hears before the two hang up.
Dante returns his attention to the waitress whom he gives credit for being patient. She brushes back her hair
again, still observing him with interested eyes. In a weird kind of way, he'd like to show her how he REALLY looks like.
Maybe to see if she still digs him as cute. Ha. That'll be the day. But he won't, or, in this case, can't. For some odd
reason, he can't invoke his Devil Trigger without that large-ass sword, Alastor. Force Edge also works, but only if it
is transformed into its true form, Sparda. And last time he checked, not only does it effectively work exclusively in
the underworld, but he also gave it to Trish since he has Alastor as it is. He can only guess that him Devil triggering
has something to do with ancient weapons being contaminated with demon blood of the past. Maybe that blood invokes his
devil side. After all, back at a certain island he visited a couple of weeks ago, a statue called the Watcher of Time
was only called by if he had successfully gained the blood of his defeated enemies. Whatever. It's just a guess.
"What time do you get out, babe?" he asks as he drinks his shot.
"My shift's over at ten," the waitress answers immediately, excited.
Dante is about to continue the 'conversation' until he sees a tall, attractive woman dressed in all red leather,
walking toward the bald man. Dante's eyes narrow coldly. Already he knows this woman really isn't a woman. The way she
moves, the way she... smells... it spells demon all over.
The waitress turns and notices Dante looking at the extremely beautiful woman across. Misinterpreting this as
him checking out another 'babe', she grabs one of the glasses on her tray and flings the liquid all over his face.
"Men!" she grumbles as she storms off, "You're all the same!"
"Ow!" Dante squints, feeling a burning sensation over his eyes, "Damn! That hurts..."
His phone rings but Dante doesn't bother answering it. He already knows that he should be on the move now.
Ignoring the painful sting in his eyes, he stands up to approach the red-leathered woman with the now-frightened bald
man.
"What's the matter?" the red-clothed woman whispers gently to bald the man as she sits next to him, not noticing
a white haired man walking from behind. "You look... nervous."
"I'm- I'm fine, Laura," the bald man tries to sound calm, trying not to give the devil hunter away by staring
at his direction.
"Scared that your wife might catch us here?" the clocked demon smiles seductively, still oblivious.
"Uh, yeah," the bald man lies, "Yeah, that's it. I'm scared she's here. You know wives these days... They
carry weapons and plead insanity once they shoot their cheating husbands over fifty times."
"Don't worry about it," she replies soothingly and places a beautiful hand on his lap, "I'm here. I won't let
anything happen to you. And besides, it's not cheating. It's love. So are we going to my place again?"
"Um, well... I..." the bald man begins.
"I hope this isn't about me telling you that I'm actually a..."
"Excuse me, missy," Dante cuts in, standing over the demon woman now, momentarily checking the bald man to see
if he's all right. "Mind if I cut it?"
At first, the demon woman is confused. She senses something awkward about the man standing next to her.
Everything from his hair to his eyes. She later returns her gaze back at the bald man. Confused. She knows something
is up but can't place her finger on it. When she looks back at Dante, however, she finally realizes what's going on.
Betrayed, she instantly gets up and does a hand swipe with large and sharp finger nails at the bald man across the chest.
With lighting speed, she quickly runs through the crowded casino to retreat.
"Wonderful," Dante mutters as he runs to assist the man with the wound soaking his white shirt with blood,
trying to ignore a couple of security guards who notice the scene.
"No!" the bald man yells to Dante on the ground, "I'm fine. But get her! Get that horrible devil and make her
scream like the pig that she is!"
Something about that response hits Dante at home. Sure, he likes carnage and there's nothing better than
hearing the bad guys get theirs. But...
"Go!" the once-silent-but-now-vocal-man screams with prejudice. "Get her! KILL HER! I didn't pay you just to
stand around, I paid you to get that devil bitch!"
Without a word, Dante stands up. Despite some of the thoughts rushing through his mind, he begins tracking
the demon. Before the security cops arrive at his last location, he's already lost among the crowd of gamblers who are
all too busy gambling to notice the scene.
Outside the entrance of the casino, the demon woman runs as fast as she can out of the casino. Several cars
nearly run over her as she dashes across a street. They beep at her, screaming and cursing. The lights from nearby hotels
and other casinos momentarily blind her and the crowds of people make her feel claustrophobic. Wide eyed like a deer
caught in the tail of a car's headlights, the woman demon stares at the incoming traffic in bewilderment. One of the
cars is about to collide with her but she leaps up high into the air before it can connect. The driver, awed by the
scene, doesn't pay attention to the road ahead and clashes against another driver, which then causes a chain reaction
all over the block.
Dante instantly sees the crashes of cars as he exits the casino a few seconds later. He immediately scans the
area for the rogue devil and catches on a scent. He runs and leaps over the damaged cars with very high and inhuman
jumps, starting the hunt.
Already a few blocks away, the demon woman continues running for her life, going into a deep and dark alley
way. Her fake human body begins to fade and her once milky white skin begins to ripple. She momentarily stops running
and feels the heat of pain run through her body as it transforms back to its original form.
"No!" she screams as her eyes bulge with red and her back begins to split into half with blood spilling
everywhere.
Large horn-like bones emerge from her back, stretching painfully outwards with wet sounds as the muddy ground
spills with now green blood. The devil howls up at the pale white moon above as once-delicate feet turn brittle and
into a decayed color. Toe and fingernails turn black, increasing its length and sharpness. Her breast sag downwards,
melting away from her chest to reveal a harden and dark bone-like structure. In the end, a hideous creature replaces
everything once remotely human.
The devil, now completely transformed, resumes sprinting down the misty and near black alleyway. She runs and
is about to reach the street beyond it until a red motorcycle pulls over and blocks the way. A woman with dark clothes,
glasses, and long brownish flowing hair points a sawed-off shotgun towards her direction, instantly making the demon
stop. The devil decides to retreat the other way but that path is cut off too, as a whitehead man dressed in a red
trench coat slowly emerges from the misty alleyway. He carries two different colored pistols on both gloved hands as
he walks towards her.
"Please... don't..." the demon woman says but in an awkward language that she's aware neither the woman or
man can understand.
Dante points Ebony, his black colored gun, at the creature, not understanding the words the devil used. But
they're most likely the language used when darkness once covered the world, or so the story goes. In any account, the
language this demon speaks might be the very first language ever spoken by tongue. His old man probably spoke it too.
If only he knew it so that he can make out the demon's words. But deep down... he already knows what it means. He sees
it in the devil's eyes.
"Dante?" the black clothed woman says from behind the devil, "Do you want me to take care of it?"
Dante doesn't reply. He remains silent, still pointing the gun at the demon but not firing. Hesitating.
Thinking. Waiting. No... he thinks at a single thought that crosses over his mind. He has to. He has to take it down,
at whatever cost. It's his job. It's what he's sworn to do. For his mom. His brother. His father. Everyone. He needs
to take out each and every demon that comes his way. It's... it's his job... Job. Everyone. Right? Kill. Mother.
Destroy. Brother. Annihilate the bastards. Father. But...
"Please... don't..." the demon replies again in the same weird language.
"Dante?" the woman with the glasses asks again, slightly lowering her shotgun. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing..." he answers coldly and holsters his twin guns, "Trish, give me Alastor."
Trish glances at Dante very puzzled. Alastor? Why does he need Alastor? Why not shoot it down and get it over
with? Didn't he prefer guns over swords anyway?
The demon sees the dark clothed woman recover an extremely large and lethal sword from her motorcycle's side.
It sparks with electricity and power, so much that it scares the devil. Meanwhile, Trish throws it at the Dante who
catches it by the handle with ease. Shocked by the knowledge of what's going to happen in the next few seconds, the
devil pushes itself against a wall, pinned down, unable to summon up its own strength. It now knows who this white
haired man is. It's the son of Sparda, a devil slayer regardless of him being a part of them too.
Dante nears the demon woman, readying his sword and gazing in a stone face. Cold. Hard. Even as she pleads
again, the white man still approaches her, seemingly oblivious to her.
Meanwhile, Trish gets off her bike, sensing something off about her partner. His once light blue eyes now flash
red as he steps in front of the devil's face. Something's off with him, she can feel it. Before she can question it,
Dante raises Alastor high above and swipes sharply towards the demon. It's quick, almost painless. But once the devil
observes its fresh wound, it yells in agony. Its entire arm is cut off! Green blood sprays the pavement of the wall
she falls against. Still pleading, the devil tries to retrieve its arm from the ground. Yet, Dante grabs it before
she gets the chance to and eyes her coldly once more, hand ready with the sword. The devil looks up at the slayer,
anticipating another strike. Strangely enough, Dante just turns away from her.
"I'm taking your arm," he says indifferently to her, "You're a demon... you'll be able to recover soon..."
"What?" Trish begins, seeing that Dante has no intention of taking out the demon at all.
"But if I ever see you again," Dante continues very hard to the devil, back still facing her, "I'll take off
with more than your arm. Understand?"
The demon slowly nods, grateful that the slayer is showing mercy to her. But regardless of that, she moves as
fast as she can since this 'mercy' doesn't seem absolute if she sticks around longer than intended.
Trish takes off her glasses in silence, watching the demon run deep into the night until she completely loses
track of it. She doesn't bother looking at Dante.
"Why did we even take this assignment if you weren't prepared to follow it through?" she finally says.
"But we did," Dante replies quietly, looking at the hideous blood soaked arm he possesses in his hands. "Guy
wanted evidence that we axed her, so here it is."
"Yeah, he wanted evidence to indicate that we killed her, Dante."
Dante ignores her and starts walking toward the red motorcycle, soon starting it up. Trish shakes her head
regrettably as she puts back her shades, knowing that any talk from him will only come when he's ready. Yeah, right,
she knows. Like he's that open about himself? Whatever was on his mind will probably stay there. He's always been the
secretive and closed up type. Sighing with that, Trish goes over and rests at the back seat of the bike. Trish could
almost swear that the bike itself is ticked off too, roaring out loud as they speed off into the night.
Meanwhile, at the corner of a street a few blocks away from the alley, an extremely old woman watches the
two hunters driving away. She squints her light gray eyes at them. Silent. Listening. Smelling their scent. The cane
her hand holds onto quivers slightly as she balances herself with it. She squints again, seeing only a red spot now
from far away, hearing only the echoing roar coming from the engine the hunters ride then. The old hag stops squinting.
And then she smiles with her bright red eyes that pierces deep into the chilling night. She smiles again and again and
again. It's certainly a wicked smile at that.
gutter please! Nor is this "Pulp Fiction" with Dante being the equilvent of John Travolta's character and Trish being
the female version of Samuel L. Jackson. LOL!
Disclaimer: Well, Dante doesn't belong to me. Though I certainly wish it. Anyway, the wizards at Capcom own
him. Wizards? Uh, well, they never DID explain why they gave Sparda's character the same dialogue of Dante's, did
they? Or what was REALLY going on between Trish and Dante (Eeewwww). Or that stupid clockstopper device that only
pauses time for a second during the Phantom battle in "Dante Must Die" Mode. Or why you can sometimes see during
the demo Dante wearing a jacket than trenchcoat and if you look REAL carefully you can notice Dante's shadow doesn't
show the shape of his trenchcoat at all in the final version of DMC. (Check out his shadow during the Nelo Angelo intro
scene for a somewhat better view of it) And did y'all notice that they deleted out a scene from the demo? Yeah, they show
Dante waving his sword before holstering it at his jacket at the scene where you first battle Phantom... Hmmm...
ANYWAY! (Sheesh, I've been playing that darn game for TOO long!) BTW, anyone catch the "Dino Crisis 2" sign shown at the
very beginning of the game? It's when Trish looks around. Check out the dark wall. The other wall of the street shows
another sign too. Though, it's hard to tell what it says.
Comments: I tried to put in all the stuff I've gathered from the game, including info I got from its strategy
guides so that it won't sound fake. This is my first "Devil May Cry" story so bear with me! ;-) Still, I've been busy
doing Alien fics so violence and language should seem familiar terroritory for me. (gulp) I hope! BTW, this story takes
place a little after the Mallet Island affair. Enjoy! Please read it! I'm begging you!
Chapter 1: Sin City
It hurt each time he did it, he reflects to himself bitterly. His skin would feel so hot that he'd swear it
was boiling, felt the blisters emerging above sour shivering skin as rain of electricity surged through him with one
blow after the next. And even then, the hotness wouldn't stop. It'd invade the entire length of his body, coursing
over and over again. Hands. Head. Feet. Legs. Arms. Everywhere. And his muscles would suddenly contract, convulsing
involuntarily as it was being tortured by unmistakable, truly terrifying heat. There was also a loud, annoyingly
piercing sound that would occur on both sides of his ears, like a train ramming at full speed ahead by Gold almighty
himself. If the heat didn't get him then the noise certainly did. Sweet mother, it hurt like hell and he hated doing
it each time. Sure the healing would kick in some and the noise would momentarily reside because of it, but damn that
pain. The less he Devil triggered, the better. That's the way he sees it anyway.
Devil Trigger... a lonesome whitehead man sitting at a table thinks to himself humorously. He never knew why
he called it that when he transformed into a demonic creature with incredible strength, lighting speed, and a lust
for fighting. Devil Trigger... Devil Torture seems like a better suitable word for it. Maybe he was suffering from a
hangover one night and thought 'hey, Devil Trigger sounds nice' out of the blue. Yeah, right. Like he would even
remember that the next day. Hangovers... you've gotta love 'em. And anyway, does the name of it really matter? Who
cares what they call it, right? It hurts as hell.
He never knew he possessed this... power until he visited a certain island that literally put his world
upside down. Sure, he knew he was different when he was just a pup. Him and his long-deceased brother both were. It's
not everyday little boys and girls are born with silver hair and have the ability to jump across a damn canoe, you
know. Jesus. And those times when he'd find his body automatically heal itself when an injury would occur. It kind of
scared him. Made him worried. He just knew that he was... different somehow. And the dreams, no, the nightmares,
would come to him each time he shut his eyes. As he grew older, they weren't as scary as they used to be because he
got used to them. But when he was a kid, they made the boogeyman look like a side note. He was fucking Santa Claus
compared to the creatures that stalked him in his nightmares.
Later, when he was in his preteens and learned the truth after a talk with his mother about his father's
death, it only made things worse. He never knew his father. About the only things he had of him were two twin gun
pistols and a sword called Force Edge. But simple mementoes weren't enough to know the face behind the name Sparda.
According to his mother, he was as handsome as they came and was as gentle as he was tough. Ha, his mother would
constantly remind him that she saw his father in his distinctively light-blue eyes. When the questions arose over
his 'untimely' death, he was given an answer that was the last thing he expected from his mother. It was then that
his mother explained that due to his father's TRUE origins, he, as a demon, couldn't live long in the realm of
light. Darkness would soon come for him as his father continuously told her regrettably.
He and his brother didn't know WHAT to think of this. After all, if what their mother said was true then he
was a part of the evil the world despised. Feared. Hated. For crying out loud, he had just come from a Catholic school
learning that all devils were the bad guys and all angels were the good guys! Sweet mother of mercy...
Naturally, the truth made him feel ashamed of himself. Every normal kid was going through problems like acne,
raging hormones, and peer pressure. Him? He was worrying over the day he'd turn into a monster like they always show
in the movies and wreck havoc on everyone. Hell, his brother took it in better than he did. In fact, his brother
continuously tried his best to comfort him, to remind him that he was human too... that he wasn't bad. Even though
deep down he was glad he had his brother there, he took him for granted, as he'd later discover.
He turned into a complete rebel during his teen years, figuring that if 'normal' folks learned the truth, then
they'd STILL think he was evil no matter how good he tried to be. They'd burn him at the stake. So he said screw 'em.
So what? He is who he is. But the abduction and murder of his beloved mother and brother shut those thoughts off and
brought him back to reality. And no matter what he was, his brother was right. He was still human. He could still feel.
Hurt. Love. And in that unfortunate day, a day where he remembers that he left his brother and mother with hurtful
words before storming out and then coming back only to see a group of demons capture them, he felt an undeniable heat
of anger and vengeance.
His father's guns were mysteriously taken about the same time of his mother and brother's abduction. But he
remembered how they looked like and knew that they'd be his keys in undoing all the demons and devils that took the
life of his brother and mother. He modeled his own guns after his father, as a tribute and mark of legacy.
Even now that frustration is still fresh, still hot. He can even remember now how he lay on the floor
helplessly, in shock, as his mother fought to protect him and his brother. Eventually, failing. When it was all
over, when the demons had decided that he wasn't worth the trouble in killing, when they had stolen everything he loved
and cherished away from him, when life had stopped, he shred a tear and vowed revenge. He vowed that when it was all
over, that the devil may surely cry too.
Drowning the last drop of whiskey from his shot glass, the mysterious white-haired man motions for a
voluptuous brunette-headed lady carrying a tray of alcoholic beverages to come over to his table. He knows of a
certain woman who would come down on him if she caught him drinking. After all, he's here on official business.
But don't all work and no play make a Devil hunter a depressed hunter? Right? And besides, Las Vegas ain't exactly
the perfect place to just sit around and do nothing.
Las Vegas... Yeah. Also known as Sin City. Also known as the perfect place for devils to hide out at. He knew
a lot of demons, concealed by fake human bodies so that the world wouldn't know what they really were, came here often.
Running. Killing to feed. The typical stuff demons do when they're bored, ha. Las Vegas and a few others are as
attractive to demons as shit is to flies. It might be the greed. Temptation. Vices. Whatever it was, its 'scent'
called on any demon looking to hide out for a while and go on a killing spree. After all, these days, cops don't know
the difference between homicidal incidents from demon kills. It's easy for the bloody bastards to get away with it,
which is why there needs to be a 'handyman' to keep them in check. That's pretty much why he located his business near.
Devil May Cry. Actually, it is called Devil Never Cry nowadays and it's just a few miles away from Las Vegas.
DNC is deep in the Nevada desert, somewhere in the middle of nowhere but near everywhere. Where DNC is located, it is
pretty much the best place to be at. While Nevada tourists wanting to strike it rich continuously overlook its location,
the city harboring his pride and joy is colorful enough. Granted, his city may not attract many people or is as
extravagant as Las Vegas, New York, and all those other big shot cities, but he likes seclusion. He works better when
there aren't a lot of people raining on his parade. Cops especially. There's nothing worse than explaining to a cop
that you axed the guy at the corner of the street because he was actually a demon. No sir. In fact, if he can recall,
he had to move his business from Waco, Texas, because of a similar case like that a few years back.
The man brushes back a strand of wild white hair from his left eye. In doing so, he catches a glimpse of a
large television screen not far away from him.
"In about three days from today, we will be seeing a truly unique eclipse at around noontime," a male newscaster
reports. "It's going to be one for the history books since it comes on the day of Leap year."
"Scary," a female news anchor comments and laughs, smiling towards the camera.
"Tell me about it! This is definitely one to record since this has never happened before. You already know that
the psychics will be calling, predicting horrible revelations."
The two laugh at the joke as well as the ones inside the studio.
"Hey handsome," a waitress says as she approaches the white-haired man's table, breaking away his concentration
regarding the eclipse news. She glares at him with bright-lit eyes, obviously liking what she sees. "What's a good-
looking guy like you doing here all by yourself?"
"What's a pretty girl like you working in this dump?" he answers suavely.
The waitress instantly blushes and places a shot glass on the man's table after retrieving his empty glass. She
brushes back her straight hair from her face, nervously smiling.
"So, uh, that's a great hair style you got," she replies, trying to sound casually and noticing the white silver
hair, "Did you dye it white or something?"
"No. I'm all natural." He grins, fiddling his gloved fingers around his shot glass.
She smiles too, standing up and allowing the white-headed man to get a good view of her body, especially toward
her nearly exposed chest.
"Funny, I'm all natural too, in case you haven't noticed," the waitress injects sensually.
Before the man can reply to that, his cell phone rings. He sighs as he digs deep into his extremely long, red
trench coat's pocket. He obtains the cell phone where the cover of it displays a nude devil woman on it. The man answers
it, leaving the waitress 'on hold' for now.
"Yo, Romeo," a woman's voice comes through sarcastically, "You done romancing?"
"Trish," the man realizes, laughing in a throaty purr, and soon glancing around the crowded casino.
Surrounding him are about a hundred people who are all presently gambling. Some are playing the carefully lined
up machines towards the back of the room, yanking down the sticks and praying for rain. Most are playing card games,
betting on an obscene amount of cash to gain even more of it. Others are simply busy rolling dice, calling out numbers
only to curse out in anger soon afterwards. The room the white-headed man is in is well lighted. Crowded but big enough
to not get claustrophobic. The man soon stops looking and gives a wink at the still standing waitress before addressing
the voice on the other line.
"Don't tell me you're spying on me, babe. It ain't attractive," he says shortly, leaning back against his chair.
"We're here on business, Dante," Trish reminds sternly, "And from what I'm seeing, you're too busy with that
waitress to check on our client."
"Relax," Dante replies confidently, checking on a bald-headed man sitting at a table a few meters away from
his own. "He's cool. Baldy, there, ain't in danger. I can see him from where I am and he knows I'm carrying enough
arsenal to make even the Marines envious."
Dante uncovers a part of his trench coat, soon revealing a shiny white gun with the words 'Ebony & Ivory'
engraved on it. Afterwards, he looks up to check on the bald man again. As if on cue, the bald-headed man momentarily
stares at Dante from across. Dante playfully acknowledges him by waving his hand at him. The bald man smiles nervously,
not knowing how to react. Instead, he returns to his glass of alcohol. He's downright scared, Dante notes.
" 'Sides," Dante soon adds jokingly, "I wouldn't put a man who gives me payment in advance in any sort of
danger. That's a part of my company policy, y' know."
"Really? Then how come I've got a bad feeling about this?" the voice on the other line answers softly and very
worried.
"Doll, I've got this covered. You're forgetting that I've done this gig more than my old man kicked demon ass
in his days. I'm a pro at what I do so chill out. If anything is going down, it'll be the demon I'm running through."
"All right, but I'm still checking on you."
"Yeah? From where?"
"I'm close."
Again, Dante checks the casino, trying to find the location of his caller. Clever girl, he ponders as he has
yet to locate her.
"By the way," Trish continues, "I brought along Alastor. Just in case, you know."
This makes Dante laugh his heart out. "Damn, woman, how the hell did you manage to hide THAT? It's as big as me!"
"Simple. Women-have-more-creative-minds-than-men-do," Trish answers casually.
Dante can just imagine her grinning. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, Trish, but I pick guns over swords anytime.
Those King-Arthur-Knight-era days are over. Get with the program, darling. Ain't nothing better than having a Pinocchio
puppet go splat upon impact of a bullet."
"Yeah, or so you say. But I have Alastor for you anyway. Guns aren't always the answer to everything, Dante.
And they'll probably be days where Alastor can kick more ass than those puny pistols of yours."
"Whatever. I'm hanging up now. It's bad enough that getting paid for this gig is hard to come by, but now I
have to pay phone bills so I can keep in contact with my 'sidekick'. One of the pleasures of working alone is not having
to pay for extra fees, honey."
"Yeah," Trish begins sarcastically, "Lord knows, I'd 'hate' for you to pay for my tampons when you could be
phoning those '1-900' calls."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Trish. I'm rocking out. Call ONLY if you need to."
"Cheapskate," Dante hears before the two hang up.
Dante returns his attention to the waitress whom he gives credit for being patient. She brushes back her hair
again, still observing him with interested eyes. In a weird kind of way, he'd like to show her how he REALLY looks like.
Maybe to see if she still digs him as cute. Ha. That'll be the day. But he won't, or, in this case, can't. For some odd
reason, he can't invoke his Devil Trigger without that large-ass sword, Alastor. Force Edge also works, but only if it
is transformed into its true form, Sparda. And last time he checked, not only does it effectively work exclusively in
the underworld, but he also gave it to Trish since he has Alastor as it is. He can only guess that him Devil triggering
has something to do with ancient weapons being contaminated with demon blood of the past. Maybe that blood invokes his
devil side. After all, back at a certain island he visited a couple of weeks ago, a statue called the Watcher of Time
was only called by if he had successfully gained the blood of his defeated enemies. Whatever. It's just a guess.
"What time do you get out, babe?" he asks as he drinks his shot.
"My shift's over at ten," the waitress answers immediately, excited.
Dante is about to continue the 'conversation' until he sees a tall, attractive woman dressed in all red leather,
walking toward the bald man. Dante's eyes narrow coldly. Already he knows this woman really isn't a woman. The way she
moves, the way she... smells... it spells demon all over.
The waitress turns and notices Dante looking at the extremely beautiful woman across. Misinterpreting this as
him checking out another 'babe', she grabs one of the glasses on her tray and flings the liquid all over his face.
"Men!" she grumbles as she storms off, "You're all the same!"
"Ow!" Dante squints, feeling a burning sensation over his eyes, "Damn! That hurts..."
His phone rings but Dante doesn't bother answering it. He already knows that he should be on the move now.
Ignoring the painful sting in his eyes, he stands up to approach the red-leathered woman with the now-frightened bald
man.
"What's the matter?" the red-clothed woman whispers gently to bald the man as she sits next to him, not noticing
a white haired man walking from behind. "You look... nervous."
"I'm- I'm fine, Laura," the bald man tries to sound calm, trying not to give the devil hunter away by staring
at his direction.
"Scared that your wife might catch us here?" the clocked demon smiles seductively, still oblivious.
"Uh, yeah," the bald man lies, "Yeah, that's it. I'm scared she's here. You know wives these days... They
carry weapons and plead insanity once they shoot their cheating husbands over fifty times."
"Don't worry about it," she replies soothingly and places a beautiful hand on his lap, "I'm here. I won't let
anything happen to you. And besides, it's not cheating. It's love. So are we going to my place again?"
"Um, well... I..." the bald man begins.
"I hope this isn't about me telling you that I'm actually a..."
"Excuse me, missy," Dante cuts in, standing over the demon woman now, momentarily checking the bald man to see
if he's all right. "Mind if I cut it?"
At first, the demon woman is confused. She senses something awkward about the man standing next to her.
Everything from his hair to his eyes. She later returns her gaze back at the bald man. Confused. She knows something
is up but can't place her finger on it. When she looks back at Dante, however, she finally realizes what's going on.
Betrayed, she instantly gets up and does a hand swipe with large and sharp finger nails at the bald man across the chest.
With lighting speed, she quickly runs through the crowded casino to retreat.
"Wonderful," Dante mutters as he runs to assist the man with the wound soaking his white shirt with blood,
trying to ignore a couple of security guards who notice the scene.
"No!" the bald man yells to Dante on the ground, "I'm fine. But get her! Get that horrible devil and make her
scream like the pig that she is!"
Something about that response hits Dante at home. Sure, he likes carnage and there's nothing better than
hearing the bad guys get theirs. But...
"Go!" the once-silent-but-now-vocal-man screams with prejudice. "Get her! KILL HER! I didn't pay you just to
stand around, I paid you to get that devil bitch!"
Without a word, Dante stands up. Despite some of the thoughts rushing through his mind, he begins tracking
the demon. Before the security cops arrive at his last location, he's already lost among the crowd of gamblers who are
all too busy gambling to notice the scene.
Outside the entrance of the casino, the demon woman runs as fast as she can out of the casino. Several cars
nearly run over her as she dashes across a street. They beep at her, screaming and cursing. The lights from nearby hotels
and other casinos momentarily blind her and the crowds of people make her feel claustrophobic. Wide eyed like a deer
caught in the tail of a car's headlights, the woman demon stares at the incoming traffic in bewilderment. One of the
cars is about to collide with her but she leaps up high into the air before it can connect. The driver, awed by the
scene, doesn't pay attention to the road ahead and clashes against another driver, which then causes a chain reaction
all over the block.
Dante instantly sees the crashes of cars as he exits the casino a few seconds later. He immediately scans the
area for the rogue devil and catches on a scent. He runs and leaps over the damaged cars with very high and inhuman
jumps, starting the hunt.
Already a few blocks away, the demon woman continues running for her life, going into a deep and dark alley
way. Her fake human body begins to fade and her once milky white skin begins to ripple. She momentarily stops running
and feels the heat of pain run through her body as it transforms back to its original form.
"No!" she screams as her eyes bulge with red and her back begins to split into half with blood spilling
everywhere.
Large horn-like bones emerge from her back, stretching painfully outwards with wet sounds as the muddy ground
spills with now green blood. The devil howls up at the pale white moon above as once-delicate feet turn brittle and
into a decayed color. Toe and fingernails turn black, increasing its length and sharpness. Her breast sag downwards,
melting away from her chest to reveal a harden and dark bone-like structure. In the end, a hideous creature replaces
everything once remotely human.
The devil, now completely transformed, resumes sprinting down the misty and near black alleyway. She runs and
is about to reach the street beyond it until a red motorcycle pulls over and blocks the way. A woman with dark clothes,
glasses, and long brownish flowing hair points a sawed-off shotgun towards her direction, instantly making the demon
stop. The devil decides to retreat the other way but that path is cut off too, as a whitehead man dressed in a red
trench coat slowly emerges from the misty alleyway. He carries two different colored pistols on both gloved hands as
he walks towards her.
"Please... don't..." the demon woman says but in an awkward language that she's aware neither the woman or
man can understand.
Dante points Ebony, his black colored gun, at the creature, not understanding the words the devil used. But
they're most likely the language used when darkness once covered the world, or so the story goes. In any account, the
language this demon speaks might be the very first language ever spoken by tongue. His old man probably spoke it too.
If only he knew it so that he can make out the demon's words. But deep down... he already knows what it means. He sees
it in the devil's eyes.
"Dante?" the black clothed woman says from behind the devil, "Do you want me to take care of it?"
Dante doesn't reply. He remains silent, still pointing the gun at the demon but not firing. Hesitating.
Thinking. Waiting. No... he thinks at a single thought that crosses over his mind. He has to. He has to take it down,
at whatever cost. It's his job. It's what he's sworn to do. For his mom. His brother. His father. Everyone. He needs
to take out each and every demon that comes his way. It's... it's his job... Job. Everyone. Right? Kill. Mother.
Destroy. Brother. Annihilate the bastards. Father. But...
"Please... don't..." the demon replies again in the same weird language.
"Dante?" the woman with the glasses asks again, slightly lowering her shotgun. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing..." he answers coldly and holsters his twin guns, "Trish, give me Alastor."
Trish glances at Dante very puzzled. Alastor? Why does he need Alastor? Why not shoot it down and get it over
with? Didn't he prefer guns over swords anyway?
The demon sees the dark clothed woman recover an extremely large and lethal sword from her motorcycle's side.
It sparks with electricity and power, so much that it scares the devil. Meanwhile, Trish throws it at the Dante who
catches it by the handle with ease. Shocked by the knowledge of what's going to happen in the next few seconds, the
devil pushes itself against a wall, pinned down, unable to summon up its own strength. It now knows who this white
haired man is. It's the son of Sparda, a devil slayer regardless of him being a part of them too.
Dante nears the demon woman, readying his sword and gazing in a stone face. Cold. Hard. Even as she pleads
again, the white man still approaches her, seemingly oblivious to her.
Meanwhile, Trish gets off her bike, sensing something off about her partner. His once light blue eyes now flash
red as he steps in front of the devil's face. Something's off with him, she can feel it. Before she can question it,
Dante raises Alastor high above and swipes sharply towards the demon. It's quick, almost painless. But once the devil
observes its fresh wound, it yells in agony. Its entire arm is cut off! Green blood sprays the pavement of the wall
she falls against. Still pleading, the devil tries to retrieve its arm from the ground. Yet, Dante grabs it before
she gets the chance to and eyes her coldly once more, hand ready with the sword. The devil looks up at the slayer,
anticipating another strike. Strangely enough, Dante just turns away from her.
"I'm taking your arm," he says indifferently to her, "You're a demon... you'll be able to recover soon..."
"What?" Trish begins, seeing that Dante has no intention of taking out the demon at all.
"But if I ever see you again," Dante continues very hard to the devil, back still facing her, "I'll take off
with more than your arm. Understand?"
The demon slowly nods, grateful that the slayer is showing mercy to her. But regardless of that, she moves as
fast as she can since this 'mercy' doesn't seem absolute if she sticks around longer than intended.
Trish takes off her glasses in silence, watching the demon run deep into the night until she completely loses
track of it. She doesn't bother looking at Dante.
"Why did we even take this assignment if you weren't prepared to follow it through?" she finally says.
"But we did," Dante replies quietly, looking at the hideous blood soaked arm he possesses in his hands. "Guy
wanted evidence that we axed her, so here it is."
"Yeah, he wanted evidence to indicate that we killed her, Dante."
Dante ignores her and starts walking toward the red motorcycle, soon starting it up. Trish shakes her head
regrettably as she puts back her shades, knowing that any talk from him will only come when he's ready. Yeah, right,
she knows. Like he's that open about himself? Whatever was on his mind will probably stay there. He's always been the
secretive and closed up type. Sighing with that, Trish goes over and rests at the back seat of the bike. Trish could
almost swear that the bike itself is ticked off too, roaring out loud as they speed off into the night.
Meanwhile, at the corner of a street a few blocks away from the alley, an extremely old woman watches the
two hunters driving away. She squints her light gray eyes at them. Silent. Listening. Smelling their scent. The cane
her hand holds onto quivers slightly as she balances herself with it. She squints again, seeing only a red spot now
from far away, hearing only the echoing roar coming from the engine the hunters ride then. The old hag stops squinting.
And then she smiles with her bright red eyes that pierces deep into the chilling night. She smiles again and again and
again. It's certainly a wicked smile at that.