Devil May Cry

[Kaze]

I started writing a Devil May Cry fiction today out of boredom. It's not polished yet, but take a look. I don't know if I'll continue or whatever...

Also it doesn't take place during any game... if I had to put a place in the DMC timeline, it would be AROUND DMC3. Before probably... not even sure yet.



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With joy he chose that specific moment, when the creature was left gurgling on the pavement, just gathering the sense to look back up at it’s attacker, to squeeze the trigger. A compressed but immense blast from his custom, off-white colored pistol. He twisted his elbow in an all too natural manner, absorbing the sharp recoil to keep his footing. Looking at his face, it would seem he went without acknowledgement for the fresh spurt of warm slick liquid that slapped his cheek. It was nearly black, and smelled of some strange, sick mix between peanut butter and garbage.
He felt a strangely satisfying smirk take over his profile, despite the slowly undulating stream of blood-like substance he just let out of the man’s liver. No… it wasn’t a man… it wasn’t when he killed it. Dante had to remind himself constantly: these weren’t men. Not in the usual sense.
He stood at the mouth of a dimly lit alleyway, leading into a strangely less inviting, neon decorated street. The men had all but abandoned the city by now, as had any trace of sunlight, he came to realize. With a lazy scratch to his rear, Dante continued towards the bright signs, with an empty hope that the proclaimed “LIVE NUDES” would still be open for business, and didn’t immediately run out of town like every other poor soul.
It’s not like he didn’t warn anyone… it’s just that when someone tells human that “the undead are erupting from hell” on all hollow’s eve, it’s usually taken as an Orwellsian prank or odd conversation starter. Dante would know, he was alive to hear the original War of the Worlds broadcast.
His athletic and toned body gave him the look of a twenty-something human, although his shaggy and dim white hair would probably be a better indicator of his true age. Being a half-demon was pleasantly full of benefits, he discovered sometime in 1895.
He kicked away a corpse blocking his way down the oddly narrow street in an almost too natural manner. It tumbled on it’s own weight down the fairly steep hill Dante had traversed behind him.
Down the next intersection, he heard them dragging their oversized scythes mindlessly towards him. They popped from behind the corner with an oddly superhuman speed, as if they forgot their arms were decaying. The sound of 80 typewriters emitted from the barrels of his twin guns after quickly taking aim. Two of them sputtered in the darkness, shoving their shoulders back and forth as the bullets penetrated without pain. They knew none. However with the last few rounds, they went up in a burst of sand. That’s all they were, after all.
Guardians of Hell, reapers of the darkness, farming the forgotten human souls. He scoffed.
Dante wasn’t thinking about what he was doing, per say. He found it hard to contemplate the sheer gravity of his situation when he was having so much fun.
Fun.
It was that one factor that constantly separated him from the humans he had come to know. He took pleasure in what he did, destroying. One could only infer it a result of his lineage, which admittedly, Dante took for granted.
He counted five Guardians of Sloth coming from the same alley a few meters ahead. Two Guardians of Lust above on the fire escapes, strangely biding their time. As he noticed their numbers growing, he couldn’t control his smirk. This was gonna be one hell of a party.





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Yeah, I had to end it with that line.

[AkuNeko-chan]

Beautiful.
Short and sweet. Great job. <3
..Will there be anymore? :D