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Dreams Will Be Made Of These	By : Britt_601 Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 3810 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or its characters. Blah, blah, blah-no money is made off of this either.

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
- 23
Chapter 22: Freeze!

Dante kicked the back of the passenger's seat in boredom. No matter how many times Dante taunted, goaded or insulted the man, he remained quiet. The other two policemen followed them, but they soon split off to head in different directions.

His view out the window allowed a slight sneer to creep onto his face, not too fond of liking the area driven in. This part of town wasn't his favorite because the snobs thrived in droves. The district didn't possess the same "homey" feeling his own territory held, never mind how dirty the place viewed visually.

He paid special attention to certain landmarks and buildings in case something bad came about. "Bad" meaning the cop took him to some dark and dank location; probably into a dungeon to torture him because of who he is. If matters steered in that direction, he held the capacity to get himself out of the predicament just fine. What worried him though endured Nero's failure to catch up on current events.

His possessions are of top quality, ranging from the vast array of books owned to weaponry to magic-imbued trinkets. The opposing members of his existence can't lay their hands on these items, unless he felt like fighting some summoned lord to put him back to sleep, then retrieve the little widgets again.

Nero needed to guard the fort down until he returned, or at least until Trish arrived to secure everything. Then either one of them, preferably Trish, could leave and kick ass to their delight. As of late, he didn't trust leaving her there with stuff as it is.

A problem existed with her rummaging through the things he brought from Whetstone, including spare money still left in the cases, to which she would claim without hesitation. No telling if she would keep certain objects to her liking, give them to enemies to foil their plans or worse yet, call Lady over and they plow through it together.

Oh no.

The urge to snap the handcuffs off and escape just for those reasons alone persuaded him enough to forfeit this investigative mission, but what would be the end result, other than Scotty boy calling it in and Ramona sending a shit load of goons to attack?

No, there had to be time to complain to them later if they went through his junk. What he needed to do is keep focus and find out what their main objective turned out to be... other than the obvious of causing mindless destruction.

“Same story, different cast,” he thought to himself.

Back to the matter at hand, Nero had to buck up and settle down, preparing for the onslaught of the cunning kind; having been prepared for the physical one bound to follow. Much worry would be forgone about his abilities. He's a sturdy fighter and can handle himself pretty well in battle; Dante bitterly remembered the youth attacking him after he presumed his little what's-her-name had been attacked. That part of the teen carried out okay. His critical thinking skills however, lacked. Period.

Dante was the 'kill now, never ponder on it until much later' type of guy. But he knew better than to jump into things without having some cautionary scope.

Throughout his life, specifically about his battles hard fought, he realized that strategies applied mostly to the combat of new enemies and threats. When their stupidity err... weaknesses opened, then cognitive reasoning no longer needed to be utilized and he obliterated his foes.

Nero, however, thought more along the lines of his involvement rather than the situation he dealt with as a whole. In other words, he cared less about what currently happened, but grew concerned about his role; in what part did he have significance in than the bigger picture. It stood to be dangerous to think that way when odd events occurred on the norm.

In a way to open the youth's eyes to the broader spectrum at home, he held back on defending his own house from the “police.” Initially, he needed to gauge identities of these men, and what balls they had to crash down the locks on his door; which they would pay in full because no warrant provided proof of his arrest. He assumed they tracked him down after Grace or that blond ass phoned in, and after they arrived did he ponder what to do in retaliation.

Of course he should have gone down there and interrogated them, however at any point they could tell him lies, sending him on a chase should he follow their confession. Then he would have to hunt them down and show them what happens when they lie to him.

Besides, he liked being a 'hands on' guy anyway, would be better to scope out their lair of oblivion and make his move from there. Withal, he can't really trot off and take a gander around if Nero had his mind elsewhere.

Granted, it signified he locked the youth's inattention on a particular distraction ever since he surprised him with that little peck.

“Poor reflexes will be the death of you, kid,” he mused to himself.

Having a plan didn't give him the full exciting rush coupled with the option to go with the flow.” Part of the time it lacked the adrenaline to get the job done, often leaving him bored or disappointed from the anticipating desire.

In order to stop that runt from nagging, he leaned forward and silenced him through their connecting lips, doubt growing at the last second, expecting a violent reaction. The episode kinda just... happened, serving on the 'spur of the moment' principle.

He didn't want to injure Nero more on his person, and talking to him proved to be uneventful; when Dante tried to answer him his words went unnoticed. Rendering the punk speechless waged his best bet, all though it seems like the move may have rendered him without a voice permanently.

“Well, at least in talking to me for a bit,” he said in silence.

Coming from his POV the kiss was a kiss and nothing more, with no meaning or weighty significance behind it. Surely once the brat realized this tidbit, he'd be back to himself. Their relationship may or may not be a little altered because of the small... mishap, but the kid would understand the situation if any more clarification needed further elaboration.

After all, he didn't particularly take a liking to men. Sure, a few snuck a tickle to his fancy, but his admiration observed them from a distance.

In his line of work, romantic relationships didn't last; the risk far outweighed the certainty of his lover's life. People came and went, birthed and died, stayed and left him in a constant state of flux. It's so much easier to have a few trysts to keep him sane than from going insane for being in a domestic partnership.

Moreover, he didn't think the teen would be the type to pursue somebody of his caliber, even though if Dante had his way with the male breed, someone like Nero had to charm his buttons. Someone with an uncontrollable amount of vivacity and raw talent, bravado and wits about him can make him consider walking on the wild side.

Well a man can fantasize and drift away in his own perverted mind, right?

Now, if he can explain that very detailed vision with Nero that popped up out of nowhere from yesterday, then he could get back on track.

Women flooded his thoughts daily; the too-casual approach certain females spoke to him and the way his blue eyes twinkled when they do so, and how theirs burned with lust when he smiled. A magnetic attraction made him to gravitate towards that. The chemistry a dangerous flame only to be tamed by a luscious liquid to cool it down; he ignited the fire, and a sexy little thang came along and quelled the fiery passion.

Perhaps since he hadn't had a good lay in a minute, his sex-starved mind interjected Nero in a woman's place, and the notion is what his psyche placed being comfortable, or insane, displaying. Why it chose the youth instead of the girls he didn't have an answer.

Maybe his increased time with the youngster fighting, bonding, playing... fighting warped his subconscious. Logically, it reasoned a sound conclusion; it made sense and likely nothing to fret over. A trip to his favorite dancing palace would have him right again soon.

Only the teenager indirectly hinted his anxious feelings too. His resolution called to dive in between those legs of Kaylee and satiate his nerves that way... or play footsie with her because Dante knew the kid wasn't sexual.

Though he possessed a walk that, to the layman, proved otherwise. Same thing goes for his combative style. Kid hacked and slashed away with a finesse all his own, but those moves couldn't be conveyed in the bedroom.

Dante let his mind drift again, absently remembering left and right turns the patrol car headed in, his musings swaying on Nero; howbeit drifting into more "freelance" territory.

On the chance of matters presenting itself, in a long shot, of Dante and Nero getting "together", somehow, he would... be open to show the punk a few moves in the sack; the fitting touches to comfort a lover enough to melt away all lingering inhibitions.

He perfected the ways around the sensitive points on an anatomy and which areas produced a soft moan or a sharp gasp; eliciting him to press against those hot spots to further deteriorate their sanity. Oh, the things he would do to that little body of his.

But the probability of a matter such as that happening were slim to none. The teen had his perky girlfriend to ravish, soon as he stopped being afraid of not being a virgin, and he had his sideline h-... cheerleaders who knew all the tantalizing strokes to initiate his cheering.

Still, that didn't prevent him from reminiscing about the dream playing in his head. Just for kicks, he should tease the kid, give him the juicy details, predicting the teenager to gape in surprise like a fish. Yeah, that'll be entertaining.

He could imagine himself boasting about the way he caressed Nero's exhausted body until it wearily responded to his touch, with increasing willingness, and finally with a passionate abandon he had not perceived possible, spent as he was from a good sparring. And the 'dream' took on a lustful trip from there... until the brat's big raging bitch face came through and woke him up yesterday.

Labiums stretched over closed teeth, a sly tongue venturing out to lick the corner of a mouth, ivories soon sticking in his bottom lip to gnaw on it before a smile appeared. That typified an event on his list once all the hoopla died down.

"What're smiling for?" Officer Scott peered in his rear view mirror to check on his prisoner, taking in his disturbing display of sudden happiness.

Nothing surrounding him warranted such an emotion, or perhaps he experienced an amusing revelation at the situation he gotten himself into. Is he trying to comfort himself? Only someone without wits would laugh en route to jail.

How disappointing.

From the stories and rumors he'd heard about this legendary force, he felt let down at the possibility it emerged as hyped up bullshit to scare the local denizens of the Underworld. Where's the supposed devil hunter feared by those far and wide? Where's the man who killed thousands in an instant when his blade connected with his hand? Where's the man of the son who took on Hell itself… and won?

It couldn't be this dump sitting in the back seat? If nothing else, he looked like a frat boy who dropped out of college, still trying to hold on to his partying ways; tired and sloppy and gruff-looking. Seriously, many informed to be scared of him?

"Where you're going, smiles aren't welcome in that place."

"Oh, now you want to talk?"

"I'm not saying anything to you about your arrest, that's for the Commissioner-"

"How's old Foster anyway..."

"-which I am promoted to, so wait til' we get there to ask anything."

Oh really? Well, what a surprise.

Commissioner Foster grew to be a gentle old man, proud and stern over the years he led the charge against crime. He knew that strange occurrences took place around the city, and that a certain white-haired individual came up and solved the majority of these incidents before the hysteria reached the public. In turn, these happenings turned out as rumors to the masses; Foster forming a loose relationship with the hunter to throw supernatural cases in his direction.

News of his death or retirement would travel its way to him. Someone would have had the decency to call and tell him of the message. But if what this punk said proved to be true, then the Captain might be dead. Could these lechers have taken over territories right under his nose? Perchance this went longer than he expected; the rogues probably sent out those waves of pawns to distract them while they issued tasks for others to set.

Son of a bitch. This didn't make any sense. Someone had to be pulling the strings other than Ramona; this turned out to be something too precise to be planned by a lone organization... and properly executed.

Why, of all the things possible in this world, did the brutes go around messing with the balance of shit? It's one thing to trespass onto human territories and create a plethora of fear, yet it's a whole different ball game when the enemies encroach to... persuade... those people to strike terror into their own kind.

Usually it's done to bribe humans to come into the darkness, as the case with Scotty boy here, so they can wreak lives on their own. Dante's stance stayed the same, however. He remained neutral in the silent war between humanity and Hell, but when one group gained leverage, unfairly, over the other side preceding stupid purposes, he felt the need to neutralize the situation all together.

"Don't fret over old man Foster, he's taking a long vacation-"

"Vacation where?" Dante's skin prickled, goose bumps spotting his arm. A sudden urge to snap submerged his logic. Senses sharpened a degree higher, pupils dilating because his cognizance acutely tuned in to his surroundings.

Outside the car environmental sounds awakened; tires crunched against loose gravel, engines hummed a quiet roar cruising down the street. A thousand footsteps echoed in his ears, pounding against the pavement in unrelenting force.

Out his side of the window, dozens of colors melted into a vibrant concoction of life. Dark green leaves stood out against pale-colored buildings, adorned with bright words to advertise the store's significance. Clothes decorated with bold prints, dots, stripes, and plaid battled for attention against their solid-toned counterparts.

Brunettes, redheads, blonds and everything in between mingled and marched across the expanse of the streets, traveling to and from places to get to their next destination. Fresh breads and sweet aromas danced along his nostrils, stomach starting to awaken with a precious purr in expectance of an upcoming meal; mouth salivating to savor the feast to come.

Elevated senses brought a snivel of his hexed powers out, just enough to sort out who were off limits in the circumstance of him lashing out, and still in complete control of his mind. Albeit, his devil needed some kinks worked out, and not yet all together figured out yet.

Releasing his Hell-half posed a high risk around civilians, they becoming ensnared in his hatred meant for his foes. And if Scott had to have done something fiddling with the demonic, well...

Scott's heart beat with a strong and steady pulse, remaining calm in spite of the apparent tone Dante took with him. "You sound testy." The deputy sounded a little bold when he spoke, flicking back and forth between his rear view mirror and the road. His prisoner had a smug smirk gracing his features, eyes flashing brighter than their original color, the effect of his heritage no doubt.

Despite him knowing the hunter is impure from his human bloodline, Ramona told him not to lead him on to what they knew he is in full. A select few members of the veteran law force knew about Dante and his special abilities, but one of those individuals stayed on a "permanent" vacation.

"You can at least answer my question about Foster." The hybrid ground his teeth back and forth, feeling his canines lengthening, an urge to enact harm to this punk building inside his core. If he wanted to fool around with information, then Dante could play around with his life until he flared up.

He imagined the innocent people going about their day, existences changed because an unruly bunch of fucks wreaked havoc, only concerned about their unimportant agendas. These assholes created a satisfying pleasure in halting their aspirations and goals right before their deaths. Dante reminded them of the way they treated their victims, having the same actions repeated on them in return.

"He's on vacation, and that's all you need to know."

"It's a shame old man Foster's away at the moment. I thought he would have shown you how to detain someone properly."

The officer stopped driving, slamming on his brakes in the middle of traffic, cars honking because the stoplight signal showed green. Scott gave his full attention to Dante this time, a perplexed display staying on his face as the words sunk in.

Slowly, the detainee raised a single arm from behind his back, bringing forth the other one that had the handcuffs hanging loosely off of his wrist. The cuffs stayed connected in the central link, but broke in the area where the wrists are restrained. "You kinda suck at your job, buddy. A five year old could have done this."

A heart rate leapt from its calm pace, eyes bulging wider from their normal stance. Mind raced with endless possibilities how it happened, and how this threat needed to be combated. He can't break out of those unless he had a bobby pin hidden somewhere.

And he heard the restrainers click into place on those thick wrists of his. How did he unlock them? Maybe this was some of his devil powers at play? He wasn't exactly privy to the extent of his abilities, but it sure seemed he could do more than fighting Hell-spawn.

"This is 3B-14 requesting backup on... Blige and South. I got the suspect resisting arrest. He broke out of his handcuffs, over." He waited for a response through the radio, running a hand down his face after he called the situation in to HQ.

The ego-boosting barrier he set up for himself crumbled with the sight of his captor out of his confinement, filling his resolve with uncertainty, looking like a fool in doing so for the fool clowned him.

"What do you mean?" A gruff, scratchy voice shouted through the speakers, sounding tight-spoken over the information he just received.

"Just what I said, he's out of his handcuffs I put on him and... hey. Hey! What are you doing?!"

Tampering with the locks diverted his attention from his colleague, almost popping his lid off when the back door flew open. Scott jumped out of his seat, a truck swerving to avoid hitting him.

Dante casually strolled to the sidewalk, a multitude of eyes falling on his form to see this man break out of a police car. Some backed away in fear while some, notably the women, stayed rooted in their spots. A sedan parked alongside the curb served as a post he leaned against, crossing his arms to the crowd, biceps large and bulging to the ladies.

Two blonds stood before him, one in a backless blue summer dress and the other in a bathing suit top and short shorts, gazing at him with eyes cast downward and sensual. The dressy chick played with the ends of her curly hair, biting on her lower lip swaying her body. The other woman appeared as if she wanted to pounce on him right then. Sights such as these he chanced upon often, and currently, needed to get his mind off of other things and a person.

"Stop where you are and put your hands up!" Scott directed, aiming a standard .45 pistol at Dante.

He, in turn, glanced over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised, emerging calm and uninterested at the gun pointed at him. More bystanders crowded around this time, cameras and phones ready to capture something going down.

As much as he craved to show out a little, people hovered at risk of getting a bullet lodged in some part of their fragile shell. It would be their fault for standing so close to him, but he had to prevent the usage of violence if he could help it, unless if he caused it.

"Stop right where?" Dante gave him a perplexed view, rotating his head this way and that to emphasize his point.

"Right where you are!"

"I never moved from this spot." Dante shrugged, turning his attention back to the two blonds. Traffic passed by slowly, drivers eager and nosy to see the situation unfold in front of them.

"All right, put your hands up!"

Geez, the police academy had some of the most cringe-worthy expressions when it came to apprehending a suspect.

The hybrid did as told, raising his hands above his head before dropping them a second later, the girls giggling at his obvious defiance.

"Dammit, stop playing and put them up to where I can see them!" Scott grew annoyed at the man's showcase, mindful to keep a lid on his temper given how many civilians gathered around. Personally, he wanted to fire some shots at the citizens to make them to scram, however he had to uphold that shitty motto policeman swore to go by.

He needed to remain professional to prevent blowing his operation's cover, all those videos and cameras provided unnecessary exposure. They practiced caution about keeping people away from HQ; didn't need rumors that the original line-up took some time off voluntarily.

"Ooh, someone's getting angry. Tsk, tsk. That's very unprofessional of you." Dante shook his head in mock disbelief, amusement growing at how easy it is to piss the officer off. "Don't get mad at me because your directions aren't clear."

About a good thirty people crowded around the scene, half of them with electronic devices out and the rest gawking with interest. Maybe this will catch Ramona's thugs' attention to come down here and try to detain the problem.

He can handle the lot of them, though it may be a little hard to walk out of the situation with the same clothes intact. Leather upheld greater damage because the material didn't tear that easily and it's highly durable for fighting. A cotton tank top and cotton-spandex sweatpants wouldn't hold out for long if fists came to faces. Now he pondered about it, he felt slightly exposed without his usual garb.

Scott had taken two steps nearer to him, this time cocking the pistol to prove his serious nature. A brief but surprised shout cut through the air, followed by a commotion of murmured excitement.

The half-human would be lying to himself if he didn't think this situation excited him, giving him a slow rush of adrenaline sure to escalate above what it currently held. But he couldn't get too carried away. Last time he checked, humans aren't impervious to bullet wounds. He hoped Scott would be smart enough not to use the .45 in such a close area, but oh how he'd been wrong.

"This is your final warning."

"Why you got ya gun cocked?"

"Don't test me, Dante."

"I'm asking you a question, Scotty."

"You're asking for it-"

"What exactly am I asking for 'cause I didn't ask you for anything yet."

Apparently the crowd wanted in on the action too, several men heckling the officer at being told off by his suspect.

"Dang, and I thought the person in uniform supposed to be the law!" A group of three young males high-fived it's likely leader, dressed in a green screen tee and khaki pants, sporting a tanned complexion with a short buzz cut. People caught drift of the joke and tittered with little fits of laughter, glancing back to the escaped detainee, a silent request to keep the excitement going.

Scott had taken a brief glimpse around the area, glaring at a few of the spectators in their ignorance. The proud souls drawn to the confrontation didn't know better; lacking common sense to realize he could shoot them if he felt so inclined. His conscious wouldn't be bothered when a slug penetrated into their weak, fleshy forms, reveling in the sight of horror once the blood started to flow from the wound.

The punk opened his mouth to spew out more verbal insults when the bald man spoke, arrogance laced in his tone. "We'll see who's laughing when a bullet passes through your heart, how 'bout that?"

Nearly instantaneous the area welcomed silence, shocked and feared visages appearing on faces once holding bemused and eager traits. A few bystanders grew frightened, departing the scene in case he followed through. Others pocketed their devices, backing from the young group to expose them in full.

Fear reached in the teen's eyes at first, gradually melting into resolution, almost in a dare to challenge those words. His buddies however, started tugging him away in which he shouldered them off. It only worked when a petite brunette shoved through his friends, grabbing his shirt and yanked him from the action. A triumphant smile pulled at the corners of Scott's lips, confidence soaring in gaining the upper hand again. Now to get the hybrid back under control.

He resumed his position of aiming the gun at the half-breed, down-turned lips, revealing his sentiments. Those unnatural blues trained harshly on him, looking full of contempt and malice. Oh yes, how could he have forgotten? Dante's purpose in life belonged to protecting these hapless minions from the everyday terrors plaguing their existence. But something caught him off guard with that though.

When mortals crossed over into accursed territory, here comes Dante to vanquish them soon after they gained it. Yet when a demon wants to live its days out as a human, then it's okay?

To put the icing on the cake, humans are often ten times worse than the average Hellion; killing, murdering, raping, controlling, fighting ,and deceiving their own for selfish, twisted purposes. Really now, demons used humans for their natural talents. Evidently, the legendary devil hunter had his priorities mixed up. Still, they served as an amusing piece of entertainment resulting from the sheer stupidity of their actions.

Plus, their large volume made them expendable.

"For the final time, put your fucking hands in the air!"

Dante moved from the car, turning his back to him while putting his palms on top of his head. Scott shifted over to him, keeping his finger on the trigger in case he made any sudden movement. This time, for real, he would make sure he secured the restraints, much tighter than their previous hold.

He pulled a spare set of handcuffs out, grabbing Dante's left arm to test his stance. When all appeared calm, he brought the same hand down and behind Dante's back, ready to snap the cuffs into place when thick fingers grabbed his own, too slow to react to the oncoming fist connecting squarely to his nose.

A crimson stream gushed out, eyes staring into the blue sky of the afternoon before blackness overcame his vision. Something hard smacked into his skull, pain throbbing emanating where it made contact with the pavement.

A mixture of gasps, surprised quips, encouraging words, and scattered applause met the hunter's ears, moving towards the cop to reach for his firearm, ejecting the clip and tossing the gun under the cop car.

Dante gazed around to see even more electronic objects facing him, feeling awkward as if the crowd expected him to do something else other than what he did. The attention didn't deter him any, it seemed weird because he did nothing spectacular to deserve it. He punched the shit outta that guy yeah, but they must have assumed it to be the best thing ever. He pocketed the bullet casing in case anyone got any bright ideas.

Some young man, leaning on the skinny side, nearly collided into him with his cell phone, eager to interview him.

"Dude! That was some epic, awesomeness shit! What―why did he serve you the momentum to do what you did?"

The boy held a slight country accent, a bit nasal as an undertone. Black hair scattered around the top of his head in some stylish cut, lip piercing placed on the underside of his left lip. A black v-neck shirt, gray skinny jeans and black combat boots didn't help his waifish, olive-flushed skin either, but Dante provided his input.

"Well-" He looked over to the patrolman trying to gather himself. "A buddy of mine back home got unfairly... treated so-"

"By that guy?" The teen pointed to the officer, steadying the camera to where Scott approached his car with blood running down his nose. The phone focused on him again.

"Yup."

"Aw man, did you break his pride?" The phone moved around him once more, taping the officer groping for something under the seat. Meanwhile, its cameraman targeted Dante's white hair, staring with curiosity as if it embodied a force of an ethereal value. And like most people who gazed at it, Dante already felt the question forming in their head.

3... 2... 1...

"Is―"

"Yes..." The hunter said before his interviewer could spill out the words.

Just as the cameraman occupied himself with filming the officer, the two blonds busied themselves filming him with their eyes. He threw them one of his trademark smirks, they in turn taking that as an invitation to approach him. The teen decided to focus back on his defiant starlet, presently accompanied by a couple of svelte creatures. "… my hair color is all natural."

"Oh, so what now? Punch a po-po and babes appear on your arms?"

The two women exchanged faces briefly, smiling wide to the other as they finished scurrying on each side of Dante, feeling a strong arm wrap around their waist in return. They smiled again, giggling like little school girls finally being attended to by their schoolboy crush.

Dante sensed his ego soaring. Plush bodies leaned against his own, pheromones elevating higher as their own natural scents mingled with the exotic perfumes they wore. The wind further helped those aromas sink into his sensory memory, remembering who they were in case he, somehow, had to leave their presence.

The one with the dress exhibited a much softer form, breast wise, than her friend. But the bathing suit beauty had a killer body under the silhouette of clothes, or lack of them. Either chickadee looked do-able, so it all wounded down to a matter of time and location to have a closer observation of them...

"You ladies hanging onto the grand prize or what?"

"Who wouldn't! I'm Rachel by the way."

"And I'm Amber!" The women bounced in small movements while telling their names, playing with the ends of their locks, acting like innocent dames. Rachel, in the bathing suit top, brushed her straight hair behind her shoulder before nonchalantly placing her hand on Dante's abs, keeping it there while her aura focused into the camera.

"Whoa! I can see you're not letting him go! You look awesome by the way," said the interviewer.

"Oh, thank you!" She bathed in the comment, moving to palm her hip and giving a flirty shimmy, then replacing the same hand back on his stomach.

Out the corner of his eye, Dante saw the other girl bristle, obvious to dislike being ignored, especially if the friend received all the fame. Amber gave a subtle flick of her seductive waves, leaning into him while a pink tongue ran alongside an upper lip, eyes boring into his own with a desire dared to be met. Her perfume held blends of fruity, scented concoctions, matching her playful appearance but heavily undermining the horny pheromones damn near desperate to smother him.

Sensing the main source of recognition leaving her, the straight-haired blond gently grasped his chin, giggling with a squeal meant to convey her sexiness. With the prize reclaimed at the moment, her attention returned to the camera, irises expectant for the boy to continue interviewing and asking questions about her.

Amber, not one to be done up by her companion, fingered with the shirt's hem, pulling it upwards to glance at his killer abs, if his cut up arms gave any sign.

Rachel wasn't ready to shift away just yet, pressing ever so slightly against his tank top to prevent it from lifting without her permission.

And Amber, undeterred by the blockade, shifted her hand to the bottom right side of his shirt, lifting it up that way to make Rachel move her hand.

"Oh, looks like the lil' lady 's tryna see what's hiding under there." The boy zoomed in on the bit of skin showing, forgetting about the other blond since the curly one wanted to spice things up a little.

Feeling the competition rising, Rachel lifted her side of his shirt first, giving a long whistle at the thick, taut abs showcasing on display. She stood still moment, taking in the view of this... this hunkified specimen that appeared out of nowhere, resolve coming forward to know what this man is about... to claim this man...

Well, shit. To have this man.

Dante didn't mind the subtle way the women argued over him. He didn't dare interfere when the storm started to brew into a damn hurricane, except with his co-workers.

Lady and Trish were... frenemies at best. Trish had this 'I'm-A-Diva-Demon' thing going on and it sometimes clashed with Lady's 'I'm-An-Undercover-Diva-Human-Hunter' shtick. Given the "iffy" war between devils and humans and those two belonging to the other species, a slice of tension lingered and it amused him―for the length of about four seconds.

It remained crucial to diffuse any beef the duo would cook up, bound to drag him into it to eat at their table. He remembered, on a couple different occasions, when he sided with one of the girls, enduring the silent wrath of the other all the while. A memorable lesson to keep in mind; he wouldn't be doing that shit anymore. But these beauties could kill each other softly, that he found amusement in.

"What in the―whoa man! What is that?" The cameraman zoomed in to his torso, slightly gawking at his built stature, and maybe envious, compared to his frail physique. "You must be like a gym junkie, right? How many hours do you spend at the gym?"

Dante brought his fingers together to form a circle, holding it out and away from him so the guy could have a clear indication of his "gym junkie" routine. Really, who had time to do crap like that when the body conditioned better while moving, as in not standing on a confined machine until that part of the frame grew weary.

His basement contained a few pieces of workout equipment, but they served as a mere distraction if boredom reached its peak. Nero fiddled with the contraptions here and there, but he ignored them... until he lost at one of their friendly wagers. Then he spent about a good three hours down there.

"Oh yeah right, that's impossible. So what do you do to keep your bod in shape, man?"

"Pizza."

A dark eyebrow raised in suspicion, disbelief registering on his features before a broad smile showed up, thinking to go along with the joke. Of course the guy joked about his regimen, perhaps wanting to keep it a mystery or maintain the good vibe. But he still wanted to know how his stature came to be; a single bite from a pizza would send that physique crashing down.

"Naw really, dude. What's your secret? Surely there's some bench presses, maybe a few arm curls, squats and lunges in there?" The two girls resumed their fascination with him, running manicured hands over any exposed skin they could find.

Amber appeared to take it a step forward, rubbing her hand across Dante's torso, stopping every so often to apply slight pressure to that spot, then repeating the action. Needless to say the mini-massage loosened his grip on Rachel and tightened on Amber. However the bathing suit blond noticed this change of pace and upped the ante.

"Nothing like that, just smack the taste outta dumbasses like this one―whoa!... and move on."

Rachel hopped onto his hip, holding her legs straight out on either side of him, her limbs touching her friend to where she had to move, afraid to dirty her dress from the shoe prints. Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck, reeling in her stilts once her companion scooted away, pressing her cheek into Dante's while giving a wide grin to the camera. Dante cradled her back so she wouldn't fall, not even daring to instigate any social interactions lest he wanted to be caught in a scuffle; if these two fought, then fine as long as they kept him out the middle.

But he was a prisoner in the center of this silent fight, so that defeated the purpose of what he intended to avoid.

"She seems ready to have fun with you right now." The cameraman took a brief glance at the curly-haired woman, taking in obvious irritation through a carefully hidden smile. Apparently these two competed for attention, one always trying to outdo the other whatever the circumstances presented.

The annoyed blond moved behind the infamous hero, roaming her hands from his chest. Her arm snaked between the snug bodies, down past his navel, lifting the shirt up to run her nails across the washboard abs then repeating. Her friend caught wind of this, reaching a hand up to massage through his white locks, swinging her front leg out.

"Enjoying yourself?" The teen commented, evidently amused.

"No complaints here!" Dante snuck a quick peek at either beauty, exhilarated to be climbed all over and just as afraid; memories resurfacing of a time where his co-workers expected him to choose a side in their argument. If that happened between Raquel and Annie, as hot as they were, he would have to run away. When females bickered, his vexation grew into a headache. Sure, it created a sexy display, but it egged on his nerves when it involved him. Despite their soundless war, one thing out of this entertaining piece became clear.

He didn't think about Nero. Not even once.

The dream he had about him ruled the way he viewed the twerp, raising concern over its meaning. Turns out, it seems, he grew horny at the lack of knocking pumps and it said... well he didn't know what the fuck his mind conveyed to him, but it said that he needed to slip fun in in-between adventures.

Why his brain induced the teen as the object to have an escapade with he didn't have a reason, but it all steered right again. Two beauties had the potential to temporarily satiate his lust, and he'll achieve the moves he did with the brat to them and... err... he can do things to them that he didn't with Nero―shit.

He could fuck them, okay. He could fuck him and―them. He could screw them and be done in him―the girls! He and babes and sex and―yes.

Well... how useless. Hmph, two hot ladies on either side of him made him think about boinking another dude.

A vacation he would take soon if this condition worsened.

"You sure know how to make..." The teen's words trailed off as an uproar started, Annie and Rochelle stepping away from him, rivalry forgotten to clutch to each other, backing away in fright. The boy also sought distance, along with the watchful crowd opening to reveal him all on his lonesome.

Cars screeched to a stop, tires scratching against the pavement to drive in the opposite direction. Some even ditched their rides, running and screaming far and fast from where he stood.

Dante, confused at the terror-induced residents, and relieved that they distanced themselves (howbeit sad the chickadees left) turned around to glance at what the ruckus stemmed from, imagining Scott attaching a horde of C4 to himself. What he did not expect to see of the officer presented a gray-skinned, blue and orange-veined humanoid standing in his place.

Eyes and nose disappeared from Scott's face, mouth enlarging to the length of small butcher knives, creating a ghastly under bite no amount of dentist work can fix. His height grew to well over eight feet, its shadow looming over Dante's form. Instead of a hand, he had this Venus fly trap-like appendage on his right arm, the left one possessing an over-sized clamp similarly used to grab stuffed animals out of vending machines, but this thing had sharp claws.

A weird secretion covered his body, shining like baby oil before stepping out into the sun. An armored-like rib cage protruded through his torso, guarding its heart from direct attacks. Scattered pieces of the officer's clothing surrounded the creature.

Screams and clacking shoes echoed through his ears, all previous, happy thoughts melting away before a stern, focused face shone through. What new species of demon is this? Are these creeps strong enough to challenge him or is he over-thinking their abilities? It could be an easy opponent and it bluffed its appearance.

Those still lingering exposed themselves to injuries, especially with fiends relying on their senses to strike. The excited commotion from the group left him the choice to keep the monster, its physical assaults, and projectiles (if he had them) concentrated on him as much as possible. The smart ones fled the scene, replaced by an audience twice the original size to see these outcomes unfold. A clearing showed itself around him, but the spectators enveloped him in a spaced out circle, leaving him with a limited option of attacks to implement.

Shit. This wouldn't work.

"Everyone get out of here!" Dante turned around and barked the command, flipping out of the way a couple feet as "Scott" thrusted forward, the right arm closing up from its rapid opening. The crowd scattered back, surprised at how quickly the beast struck out.

Dante heard a 'thunk' on a nearby car, looking to see a silver barb sticking out the side of a door, glowing a neon orange before an explosive blast catapulted him through a store window, mannequins flying apart from the impact.

He exhaled sharply, underestimating the dart as a lame projectile and not a volatile rig. A piercing ring tuned out his hearing, taking a second to compose himself before he recovered, assessing the damage to his body.

Ash and sulfur filled his lungs, hurting to breathe in, slowly turning over on his flank because the elements stung his insides. Shards of glass embedded into his back; skin blistering with debris particles rubbing against him. His demonic abilities sensed injury to his person, coming along to aid in his speedy recovery, pushing the fragments out to heal him.

Wails and shouts grew in volume as his auditory range reverted to normal, panic filling the streets of its citizens scurrying. Breathy shrills of the unholy kind ventured closer to him, Dante slow to stand on his feet after the detonation had him dizzy.

He took a once-over down the length of his torso, burnt hole marks littering the shirt to be damn near useless. Fighting shirtless would have to do but he can hold out a little longer; the ladies might come rushing to him and he couldn't bear to watch them get hurt.

He stood up to his full height, popping the muscles in his back to coordinate themselves into alignment, dusting off what he could before he sparred with this abomination. His primary weapons stayed at the office because he didn't think this situation might escalate to this problem so soon, assuming he'd be home after a little snooping; such a rookie mistake.

Outside the store flourished a bevy of blurs, people running to and fro in escaping the monster. The car which catapulted him blazed a roaring fire, licking around the space it set in to ensnare everything else into its trap. Scott the beast drew more attention to himself, barbs shooting out to blow up anything in its immediate vicinity. At least the audience, logically this time, fled from this Hell-terror before they died for being mere bystanders. At last the area was clear, just that...

The blame would be put on him to pay the property damage in the debacle; he knew it would.

They didn't seem to know his identity, and there was another white-haired denizen floating around here. However, like a dummy, he remembered the talking cue ball saying his name.

Dirtied fingers touched his lips. An ear splitting whistle reverberated off the walls surrounding them, the mutated officer turning around to tune into the source of the noise.

Dante stepped out of the store window to face him, noticing a glimmer underneath the armored rib cage in the shape of a black square. His vision squinted to zone in on the object glimmering beneath the bony frame, immediately enlarging afterward. Dante recognized the symbol; the same gem set inside that heart he placed on Nero's own.

So... if Scott got a hold of the organ and it turned him into that thing, did it mean anyone can come into contact with it and change into this monstrosity? Or is this an exclusive trophy to those ass-wipe converts?

"Aw, fuck me." He scrunched his eyes closed, breathing in a heavy sigh positioning into a battle stance, wishing Nero could be right here to combat this threat, would have left him a lot more time to play the damsel in distress role with Randi and Ariel.

A/N: I know some of you want them to get it on and whatnot right now, but the way that it's written would throw the story out of whack, and I just can't give you guys just anything to read, now can I? You can't rush love, my dearies :P

I thank you readers for still leaving me reviews, watches and the like, it makes me happy!
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Dreams Will Be Made Of These