Devil May Cry: Volume 1 (OFFICIAL NOVEL)

Phase 1: Part 1

Humming neon lights and glittering raindrops aren't enough to stave off the inky night. Blackness always envelops the city. Only the rising sun unveils the familiar world. This unrelenting cycle of light and dark grinds on, just as it has for millennia.

But there are things that remain hidden even in the light of day. Inhuman vapors come from the tangle of sun-cast shadows. And at night, those shadows merge with the darkness, and the creatures that dwell there are temporarily released.

No one can pull back this curtain between worlds and see things as they truly are. No one, except for one man...

"It's over, Tony!" Denvers shifted his weight, trying to cut an imposing figure but settling for "in charge". He eyed Tony Redgrave, who stood at the far end of the alley. His prey had a penchant for flamboyance, cloaking his red leather coat in enough silver ornamentation to deck out more than one Christmas tree. The charms and the talisman jangled as Tony turned to face him.

"Again? I'm so tired of this schtick. Change the channel, Mad Dog."

Denvers bristled.

This was, in fact, the ninety-ninth time he had gone after Tony. Any ordinary gangster would have stopped by the fifth. Tenth, tops. But Denvers was nothing if not tenacious— he'd earned his street name for a reason.

He bared his teeth. "I've got forty men. And every one of them is armed with military-issue stain-makers. Today, you're gonna die."

Denvers involuntarily glanced up toward the thick shadows that lined the alley's rooftops. Forty armed thugs. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. "You've got brass ones, I'll give you that." He smirked. "You always manage to pull through. But I bet you've never had to eat this much lead. Ready to die?"

The alley was still. Denvers shifted his weight again, uncomfortable with the tension. He could feel sweat beading on his brow, and hoped the thugs on the rooftops didn't notice.

"Sorry, were you talking to me?" Tony pretended to stifle a yawn. "I haven't had much sleep. Can we make this quick?"

"You bastard!" Denvers yelped. He glowered at Tony. What is wrong with this guy? He either has nerves of steel or a mental condition. Either way, Denvers had had enough. "You arrogant punk!"

"Chill out, Mad Dog. You might burst something."

"Just die!" Denvers pulled his trigger, and forty thugs followed suit. Hundreds of bullets volleyed toward Tony, kicking up a dust cloud that soon swallowed the alley. The guns sputtered out a few seconds later. Denvers smacked his lips as his men lowered their spent weapons.

"Maybe that shower woke you up." He cackled. Tony emerged from the dust, brushing off his jacket. "Didn't I just say let's make this quick?"

Denvers found the clank of the jewelry more annoying than the witty banter. He sucked in a lungful of air, getting ready to bellow.

Suddenly, he heard the clatter of empty weapons falling to the ground. One by one, his men backed away. "What the hell? Do your job!" he screeched. Someone shouted, "No way!"

"I pay you, you bastards! What's the big idea?" Denvers wrapped his sausage-like fingers around the Mauser that hung at his considerable waist. Fresh sweat pooled everywhere. Why does it always turn out like this? Nobody could've survived that much lead. So why were his men lying in bloody heaps on the ground? Denvers gripped his pistol. Ninety-eight times. And now, yet again, he was poised to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

Red and silver flashed from the end of the alley, near the bodies of over half of his men. The talismans jangled, and another thug sprawled on the pile. Denvers' remaining men approached the dust cloud cautiously, wary of friendly fire.