Devil May Cry: Volume 1 (OFFICIAL NOVEL)

Phase 3: Part 3

The earth continued to cut its elliptical path through space. Its inhabitants went about their business much as before, oblivious to the subtle changes that were taking hold each day.

The mercenaries at Bobby's Cellar were more oblivious than most. The fighters had little care for the world around them, unless they were paid to take an inter. Trading stories and squabbling over job offers proved too compelling for the hungry warriors, and so discussion of Grue was absent as the man himself.

A stout middleman was handing out jobs from his perch atop a table. "Gilver is the most popular guy tonight! Too bad he's only got one body. The rest of you hyenas better listen if you want his leftovers!"

Gilver had been requested for fifteen of the sixteen jobs on offer, but his usual habit of buying rounds ensured that the other mercenaries weren't baying for his blood. Everyone was also aware that a single man couldn't handle that many jobs in a night-even one of Gilver's caliber.

"Gilver! Where are you?" The middleman whipped his head around until he located his prized client, "Pick the one you want. I'll divvy up the rest of the other guys."

Gilver strode across to the middleman and glanced through the folders. The bandages covering his face seemed to have also migrated to his hands, so that now no flesh was visible at all. He looked like a mummy.

Tony and Enzo had hunkered down in a dim corner, watching the daily ritual unfold like anthropologists in the field. The agent had lost his role as star middleman and was happy to complain about it to anyone who would listen. That meant Tony more often than not.

"How is this a fair distribution?" he moaned. "Think about it."

"Stop whining," Tony said blandly. "Real men don't fuss over little things." But Enzo hadn't built up his business without learning to read body language, and he knew Tony was just as irritated. The silver-haired warrior continued slurping down a strawberry sundae, feigning indifference.

"Just look at yourself. I can't take you seriously!" Enzo sniffed.

Tony wiped the clownish smear of ice cream from his mouth.

"To think the day would come when some nobody gets to hand out jobs instead of me," bellowed Enzo, returning to his favorite theme. "Speaking of which, you should be out there getting half of those jobs."

"I'll wind up paired with Gilver anyway," Tony predicted. "That's not the same thing."

"Adversity breeds character. Besides, it gets boring always being top dog. This way I'll appreciate it more when this fad winds down and I'm first pick again." Tony looked over at Gilver, who was hoisting his sword theatrically. The new middleman pointed in his direction.

"Gilver's partner is Tony again! Y'all better sharpen your skills and catch up to these two, or pretty soon you'll be out on the street living like bums!"

Tony grinned at Enzo. "See? I did nothing and still work came to me. This is how real men do things." Tony swept across the Cellar toward Gilver, his coat trailing behind him.

Enzo considered the mercenary's words for a moment and then leapt from his chair. "Hey! Tony! Wait a second! Wait for me! What about me? Hey!" Even Tony was surprised by the devastation he had wrought.

The mercenary stood amid a pile of dead mafiosi. The surviving soldiers slipped and slid on the bloody ground, eyes wide at the sight of Tony and his dripping hands. The mafia had unleashed dozens of infantry, but none of them were adept at melee tussles.

Tony had neutralized the soldiers by washing the combat zone with liquid gunpowder-anyone who fired a shot would ignite an inferno that would consume them all. He was in his element, literally punching through the ranks with ease. But the mafiosi— renowned for their marksmanship— were useless without their weapons. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Blind fish. Blind fish in a coma.