Devil in My Mind

Cowboy Deadlocked

A few days later in Dante's office, he lounges on the sofa, taking a shot of whiskey. Though he's familiarized himself with the neighborhood, he's had no luck finding Slade. No demons around anymore either. Weird.

He gets up to take a wiz, leaving the bathroom door opened because who cares, right? No one else is there. As he pees he catches, in the corner of his peripheral vision, a scythe-wielding demon in the lobby.

"Well then, here we go." Zip, kick-flush, snatch! He grabs his Ebony and Ivory handguns from his holster, then maneuvers, shooting the monster in the head. Another one appears on the stairwell.

He springs onto the rotating ceiling fan, firing repetitively until they throw their arms up in the air and die. As they disintegrate... crash! The light fixture breaks and shatters. He is uninjured but there's a horde coming from the windows, the inner walls, outside?

Unafraid, he darts up the stairs, planning to flip out the second story window and crush any demonic stragglers with an abrasive landing.

"UGH!" He jumps into invisible glass like a bird colliding into a sliding glass door. "Arg, are you kidding me?"

Ambushed and surrounded, he banters with his enemies.

"You shitheads don't happen to know how to open the window, do you?"

They charge at him.

"I'll take that as a no."

He puts up a good fight, taking down numerous devils, some more demanding than others. Each one magnetically feeding him their raspberry-shaped souls of fire and blood, upon their defeat. Charging him up for a slick Devil Trigger.

When jousting the final one, at the last second, it glitches out, reconstructing itself into Slade. The Devil Sword only dings him. Dante stumbles.

"How entertaining," Slade compliments, as he slowly steps closer. Dante swings, shoots, jumps, tries everything he can think of but it does nothing.

"Take five, Dante. Have another Jack Daniel's, on me."

Hologram Slade glitches another shot of whiskey on the window cil. It's real. Dante is able to pick it up. He downs it.

"Pretty smooth for a Jack Daniel's," he rates, then tosses the glass over his shoulder, and keeps attempting to strike Slade. Again, it does nothing.

"Settle down. We'll definitely be battling later. Until then, let's you and I... talk."

Dante cooly takes a seat on a Persian rug.

"Fine, what do you want?"

"How do you like your corridors? Are they how you remember them?"

Dante ponders before confirming, "Yup, pretty much. Better, actually."

"How serendipitous for you. But really, why do you think that is?"

"Hell if I know, honestly, I don't really care."

"I see. You're not a contemplative man, are you. I suppose with all that strength, logic and reason need not get in the way of your fun, am I right? You don't truly believe this shop of yours built itself, do you?"

"You built it then? What, am I in some kind of simulation?"

"I don't like to brag, but this place is everything you know, down to the last detail. The floor plan, the clothing provisions, every piece of furniture. It's clear you've never stopped to consider there could be more for you than Devil May Cry."

"Wouldn't be so sure about that one, Slade."

"Your juvenile interjections won't minimize my point, Dante. Let me make myself very clear, I've already tried this once. Your sword does real damage to you in my hands. Constructing a cage you'd choose not to leave, all to make you well again, what a grueling task! One you can't even comprehend. But I cut you once, you didn't die. I made you well to cut you again. This time, you will die and that sword of yours will remain in my grasp while you rot."