Devil May Cry: Volume 2

Phase 2: Part 1

Dante emptied the shot glass and gazed out at the first pink rays of the sun peeking over the rooftops.

After Beryl had left the temple ruins, Dante had returned to his shop to unwind. He sat on the stone steps out front with a furrowed brow, lost in thought. He didn't know the true nature of the Beastheads. Even Beryl hadn't known-or at least hadn't admitted to knowing. However, there was one thing he had grasped immediately.

The Beastheads was a link to his father.

A link to his father's era, anyway. No man alive knew the secret to Dante's lineage, although many suspected he was touched by magic. None knew he was the son of the legendary Sparda, a dark knight of the demon world.

Dante ran a hand through his silver hair as he pondered his next move. Above him, the neon sign proclaiming his other name flickered in the dawn. Devil May Cry. The name that demons feared.

I supposed this means my battle isn't over. Dante stood up, resolved. A cynical smile spread across his face as he tossed the empty glass into the air. He whipped out Ebony and Ivory with characteristic speed and fired a single shot. The glass shattered before it hit the ground, sending a spray of sparkling glass raining onto the street.

Bring it on.

Whatever was happening, it was already underway.

Oblivious, the city woke with the rising sun, its denizens flooding the streets as they went about their daily routines. The first change didn't begin until the first stars poked through the sky at dusk.

"Again? What the hell is up with that rat bastard tonight?"

The agitated voice was so loud that it flooded into the alley outside the bar. The watering hole offered little in the way of class or cleanliness, but instead focused its energies on alcohol, loose women, and various other sinful pursuits. Normally at this time, the last of the respectable customers would be leaving happy hour to head home, while the first of the evening's mercenaries wandered in to prepare for the long night ahead.

But tonight was different, Businessman and mercenary alike were rooted in place, eyes locked on a small card table that had been hastily installed in one corner. A young woman shuffled cards with a pained smile. She doled out a series of hands for the solitary man sitting at the table.

Ducas the Rat stroked the triple-headed pendant that hung around his neck and broke into a greasy smile. He had tried to stay put in the hotel, but cabin fever got the better of him. And just as well. He was on a roll tonight. His new lucky charm had helped him rake in a small fortune in just under an hour.

"I'm going all in!" Ducas snaked out an arm around a small mountain of chips and moved them to the center of the table. He hadn't bothered to count his winnings yet, but it was obvious to everyone present that it surpassed the establishment's take this evening.

The dealer allowed her pained smile to collapse into a frown.

"Perhaps we can take a quick break?" She dashed from the table without waiting for an answer. A square-shouldered brute the size of a small rhinoceros swept into the vacant position at the table.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir. Would you kindly step into the VIP room for a moment?"

Nobody would accuse Ducas of anything remotely approaching intelligence, even if they were in a charitable mood. But he had slunk through the lower rungs of the criminal underworld long enough to know that dive bar requests to visit the VIP room were generally invitations to a shakedown or a good, old-fashioned pummeling. Never a good thing.

"Let me save you time," Ducas said with a confidence he hadn't felt before picking up the charm. "I'm part of Chen's Family."

The goon stepped back awkwardly, suddenly nervous. "I'm so sorry, sir."