Devil May Cry: Volume 2

Phase 1: Part 1

Some things cannot be seen even under the burning eye of the sun. Those who know the reality of these things find them while the world is sleeping; these people rise at dusk to live in the night. They make their way under the artificial lights of the city. It is another life altogether, always living under a black sky.

There is a shop where these kinds of people congregate.

The name of the shop: Devil May Cry.

"Give me a break, Dante. You know this isn't the time to be picky, right?" Enzo punctuated each word with an exaggerated gesture. He was a small, animated man, well known in the underworld. Judging by his tailored suits, he made a decent living as an informant, presumably by knowing precisely how far to try a man's patience.

"I don't know what you don't like about this job," Enzo continued, "but you haven't been getting decent work recently, right? Here I am, offering you a job even though you're complaining that all the work has dried up. Don't you know how wonderful I am?"

"You never let me forget." Dante sighed dispassionately. He sat on a leather sofa that he'd stolen, and his long legs formed a bridge to a large desk. "I've only ever taken work that interests me. That's my policy."

Dante had pioneered an underground movement the underworld called Devil Hunting. More and more freelance mercenaries were trying to get in on the action, although none compared to the original. Dante cut a striking figure with his silver hair and piercing eyes. Yet he exuded a childish quality that disarmed his enemies and made him approachable to strangers. Few of those strangers had the stamina to put up with his schtick long enough to become his friends.

"Yeah, I know all about that policy of yours. But that doesn't mean all you're gonna get is demon work, you know." Enzo rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "You need to learn to be more flexible, my friend. Aren't you behind in your rent?"

"I appreciate the offer, but really..."

"What does that mean? 'But really.'" Enzo plopped on a nearby stool in a huff. Dante could be infuriating, but he was still the best in the business. He scanned the room. None of the furniture or accessories matched. Strange antiques jostled up against a huge billiard table and modern lamps. Plush toy animal heads were mounted on the wall like hunting trophies. "Your shop is so weird."

He hopped off the stool and sauntered over to the pool table. It was only a matter of time until he hit on whatever it was that would get Dante on the ball. "By the way, whatever happened to that beauty? You had a really pretty chick, didn't you?"

Dante raised an eyebrow but showed no further signs of life.

Enzo lit up inside. This was the tack to take. "What was her name again? You know, the girl? Where did she go?"

"Who knows?" Dante said flatly.

"What a waste. Hey, did she run away?"

Dante swung two large pistols toward a large mirror on one wall. Brandishing weapons always made Enzo shut up, but this time there was an edge behind the act. His nerves had been slowly fraying over the past several days. Something was in the air. Dante had passed the time with the work that Enzo had brought him, but now he knew that his energies had to be focused on whatever was going to happen.

Dante studied his reflection in the mirror, his gaunt face tucked behind two crossed pistols. The hilt of his beloved sword— he called it Rebellion— peeked over one shoulder. This was it. It would start now.

"Hey, Dante!"

"Wait. The phone is going to ring."

An old-fashioned telephone rattled away on his desk. Dante swiftly lifted the handset to his ear and felt his tension drawing away. An unmistakable password emanated from the receiver. "Okay. I'll take the job."