Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

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
- 25
- 26
- 27
Chapter 26: The Heart of Trouble
The remixed version of Scott kept him on his toes; ducking, dodging, and flipping as it switched between its clamp and the Venus-flytrap. When the veteran was close enough he delivered a fist full of punches, keeping the creature off-balance, tactical thoughts springing forward to defeat him. Scott swayed and feigned as he neared the elder, Dante pulling out his weapons when the opportunity presented itself.
Calling forth the efforts of Agni and Rudra, the serrated swords appeared in his hands, big goofy smiles plastered on their faces because their owner required their services. He twirled them once, stabbing them into the ground. A great bale of fire and a strong gust of wind formed; traveling in a straight line to hit the ex-officer. What Dante presumed to hurt the thing seemed to daze it mildly; the monster advancing undeterred as ever.
“Hmph. Option A didn't work.”
“Wait, master! Let me have a go at him!” Agni interjected, feeling his existence molding back into his landlord's body.
“Yes master. I command you to give me permission to finish this threat!” chided Rudra.
“Hey! Those are my words!”
“You said 'have a go at him' not finish him-”
“It is the same thing-”
“No it is not-”
“WAIT MAS-”
Dante exhaled with curt annoyance, viewing the ineffective move and the broken tactic implemented by the demonic warriors. Scott walked out of that attack practically unscathed.
The tofana scissors he decimated the scorpion booby lady with reappeared on his hands, squatting his legs to assume the light position for attacking. Beyond him he spied the crowd of onlookers creeping nearby, each civilian holding a device to remember this priceless scene of action.
The ex-officer must have been camera shy because he caught the audience encircling him, his head swiveling to their acrid-scented fears. His arm opened to reveal the explosive barb, aiming for a direct hit at the spectators.
They seemed forgetful, or rather idiotic, of its ability to shoot exploding projectiles. Instead of fearing the mystic fiend the humans were enthralled with it, captured by the image of a monster believed to be real in mythological stories. Damn near oblivious that that thing focused to kill them.
“Shit! Rudra, form a ring of fire around us!”
“Yes, master!”
Dante materialized the red sword in his hand, twirling it twice before he thrust the demonic blade towards the people. Rudra planted himself before the watchers, screams and gasps erupting before a ring of fire blazed in front of them. He blocked their view from the scene and from Scott igniting them to ashes. The crowd scuttled back several feet, blinded from the surging heat scorching their bodies.
“Oh no! Somebody help him!” cried Rachel, grabbing onto Amber, blue-greens searching for a male who appeared competent enough to risk their life to save him.
“Someone help, please!” Amber screamed into the crowd, eyes wide with fright for that marvel of a specimen fought inside that raging inferno. Just beyond her she heard the foul beast roar and rampage, guttural growls mixing in with the unmistakable grunt of her suave bad-boy. “Please hurry!” Oh what torture and agony he must be going through; enclosed off from any route of escape.
“This is so unfair,” she nearly wailed.
“That was so fucking unfair.”
Since when are demons flameproof by their own kin? Sure, there may have been a few elemental denizens that thwarted other attacks from their brethren, but to harbor no damage whatsoever puzzled him. Even he wasn't safe from harm from his half-kind, but he knew to dodge when the time came.
The abandoned cars and trucks couldn’t stand the flare up engulfing them, igniting and skyrocketing into the air to give an extra oomph to the viewer's devices. Also engulfed in a bale of molten embers―the once talking cue ball. It squirmed and squelched, howling in pain from the flames licking and searing the gray matter away from its bone.
Dante noted that regular gasoline left more than first degree burns, so he took some joy in escalating the marks to third degree blisters. After a humorous two minutes the ex-officer sizzled into a cast of ashes, the black gem burrowed on its rib cage standing glorious and bright in the sun.
The ring of fire still roared and raged, secluded from any spectators wanting another interview or babes eager to climb on him. Sad as it was to let the ladies go, he needed to focus on important matters, like trying to figure how Scott turned out this way.
The afternoon breeze whipped through his hair, light whispers of wind blew his white locks over his head, hauling ass to his next destination.
This is bad.
His feet picked up in speed to carry his fit form across a narrow ledge, seeing the aftermath of traffic backed up nearly a mile. He jumped from one structure to another, deciding to take the high road to avoid any questioning eyes.
All this happened right under my nose.
He side-flipped over a wall, using the extra momentum to roll on the ground, resuming his barefoot sprint pressing into the hardened, loose gravel. Small jolts of discomfort registered in his memory, but he can't stop now, nor do much about his torn clothing. What he wish he could do is call the office and tell someone to bring his standard arsenal.
He went into this situation with the mindset to put a noticeable dent in Ramona's operation. He just didn't realize the impression he made didn't leave that big of a mark... yet. What he did with Scott shouldn't have taken that long, and a heavy confrontation seemed imminent if anyone else possessed a modified heart.
It's impossible that everyone is dead.
Energy gathered beneath his feet, Dante pushing off another ledge as he soared through the sky, images of city life nothing but blurry lines continuing on his trek.
Someone had to have seen something.
The next leap he took made him use the fire escape, built arms and sculpted legs easily climbing the structure with grace, running up the wall the last few meters to keep to the schedule.
Hearts turning people into demons. These assholes went too far this time.
It's bad enough his town didn't maintain deputies to patrol every inch for normal disturbances, but any converted policemen spelled trouble that would take him a while to detect their presence. In other words they acted as gateway overseers, allowing heinous acts to commence under their misleading guise.
Furthermore, how were the officers' families acting? Surely they noticed the irregular-like behavior not befitting of their standard ways. The altered lawmen and women would perk up at the death of an innocent rather than withdrawing from the world. They would instead divulge in the details about a grisly murder; intent on revealing every last color, position, and expression on the victim's face. He held no doubt they practiced on the loved ones as well, if they hadn't already.
A bar-like trapeze hung high in the air, Dante hopping to clutch a firm grip on the iron, swinging around like a trained gymnast.
The world viewed as an upside down landscape when he rotated above it, where the sun rested at the bottom and a pile of polluted shit sat triumphant on top; similar to the problem at hand. Unnecessary deaths, rouge devils, flesh-wearing humans, and neophytes poisoned the surface; reigning with cunning tactics and sly leaders while the solar star kept carefree happiness under lock and key.
When Dante was below the bar did the scenario play out right for him; the sun raised and proud in the sky while the scum scrambled far below him. Externally, all seemed calm and normal, but he needed to fix the internal problems within the city to be whole again.
On his final swing he let go of the pole, flipping three times in the sky before he landed on a building a few blocks away from the police station. His cautious movements surveyed his surroundings, considering on how best to approach his attack. He leapt across the small spaces until he stopped on the roof of an old mom and pops store, crouching low behind a vent to have a VIP seat to these newfound “celebrities.”
“Grell is going to kill everyone as soon as he even suspects someone is plotting his downfall.”
Joanna Aguilar was a Mexican police officer; one of the two seasoned officers, besides Foster, who knew what he did for a living.
“What is that asshole going to do to me that I will do to him?” Dante said in a snide remark, on their way inside the precinct with another set of handcuffs keeping him in place―although willingly this time.
“He's in charge of this place now. He's got eyes and ears everywhere,” she whispered in a harsh tone, sticking close to him as possible as they approached the building.
“We'll see how long he lasts until he reaches unemployment.”
“Don't go doing anything stupid now; the rest of us are in danger still.”
“You just make sure you round everybody up, and leave those assholes to me.”
“All right.”
While on top of the ledge he scanned the area, looking to the far end of the station's lot to see a patrol car pulling in. He gazed upon red-brown hair pulled back into a sleek bun, stepping out the car a little later.
Immediately he recognized the person, intent on reaching her to question the odd events surrounding the police force's interior. When he reached the woman, by jumping down the building, using parked cars as cover, and climbing over the fence to face her, did he receive the Intel he needed to know.
The story goes that the blond convert who tried to run him and Nero over kidnapped Foster, weakening the task force to allow Ramona’s goons to take control. Six converts held power over fifty officers, threatening and physically damaging them and their families to stay quiet.
At least some good news blossomed out of this shit storm; there survived a chance she could get all the policeman to safety while he cleaned house. Men and women of the law were constrained to change their biological nature; accommodating the lack of guards bullying the human ones to keep them in line.
Those vascular muscles serving as the bane of his current state of mind sought safe refuge in the department's basement. A well-stacked supply lined the shelves, Joanna explained the changes under new management.
Any reports pertaining to the area Ramona's base of operations settled received thorough detail. And circumstances where odd occurrences of strange figures attacking the public hardly received acknowledgment on purpose.
“How soon do you think you can round everyone up?”
“How soon can you create a distraction?” she whispered, anxious to escape the convert's clutches.
“Shove me in a jail, tell those four I'm here, and that's it.”
“Just that easy, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Is that a plan or you thought it up right now?”
“Improv, my lady.”
“Uh-huh. Was it also improv for you to lose half your clothes on the way over here too?” Her 5'6 stature dwarfed under his tall frame, but she scoured his state of dress without fear, mindful to keep her poker face on approaching the processing area.
Many of her human co-workers gawked at her with questioning glances, but she didn't dare give them any answer. Her hazel sight searched for any of the four figures keeping her and her people's lives in their hands.
“Oh no, I had a shirt and slippers to go with it. You can thank Chief Scott for my toplessness,” he said in a smug tone, currently standing inside an empty holding cell. Then added as an afterthought. “I guess that makes five left then.”
In an instant her eyes widened from caution to disbelief, breath barely escaping her mouth with the weight of his words settling in strong merit. He saw the heavy alarm plunge into her features, trying to formulate questions needing elaboration but nothing developed.
“What'chu got there, wretch?” A big, booming shout called off behind her, Joanna visibly blanching with an acerbic scent rising in volume as Dante inhaled her essence. He remembered that aggravated voice over the radio, sounding irritated that Scott radioed him about the devil hunter's unwillingness to cooperate. Now Dante viewed the pudgy face to match, staring in their direction with surprised elation.
“He was detained for... jaywalking―”
“Public Indecency.” Dante spoke over her, Joanna switching her head from the two males in perplexion, eyes resting on her captive after his sudden outburst. He advanced out the cell but she held up her hand, thinking he'd initiate the confrontation while others were still exposed to harm. Before she reached to close the jail another two officers appeared on either side of her, engulfing her petite frame with mounds of intimidation.
“Indecency, you say.” The obese captain waddled over to her, rubbing her bronzed cheek with a green-tinted, swollen hand. Jo moved her face from his touch, shooting Dante a nervous glance prior to walking out the way they came in. Short yet muscular legs almost bent to the floor after that same pudgy palm gave her an open-handed smack to her derriere, crude, thin lips licking in desire after she hastened an exit.
“I trust that Chief Scott made the ride over convenient, did he not?” The one in charge spoke, shifting his eyes to the hybrid.
“As much as he could stand, as shitty as it was.” Right before he turned into embers.
Those must have been the magic words for one of the officers grabbed him, roughly forcing him out of the cell as the chunky one and his soon to be twin led the way through a different passageway.

Dante glanced over to where Jo stood by the entryway, hard orbs in a silent plea for him to get her and the other members out of this mess before it was too late. In response, a bold wink aimed indiscreetly in her direction.

A nervous smile reached her eyes before the door closed, leaving her only a narrow amount of time to move everyone to safety prior to those three finding out what they planned.
The minute the deputy heads escorted their prisoner to the basement they attacked, bludgeoning him with hard blows from the batons. Ferocious, unrelenting assaults brought the hybrid down to one knee, audible cracks filling up the mute silence.
The clubs carried out the neophyte's malicious hatred with each stroke to his skull, each slam to his ribs, each hammer to his legs. With their modified strength they blew tendrils of blood from his wounds, defaming his heritage and how the impurity of his human bloodline weakened him.
In his younger years Dante would have retaliated in an instant, giving the antagonist blow upon blow of raining fists as a suitable apology. Each sanguine drop tasted awakened the sinister side of his hexed bloodline, thirsting for the taboo nourishment to unleash the beast inside. Such low-life denizens did not require an effort to be wasted on them. And while he held on to his caged animal, there were still humans loitering around.
“Why don't we show him the way to salvation, boys?” the chunky one proclaimed, ordering one of his henchmen to grab something off the shelf. The familiar clinking of glass placed a smile on the hybrid, having a front-row seat to the effects the vascular organ intended to unfold.
“The hell are you laughing at?” the same man connected several kicks to Dante's ribs, punting him harder with every sharp bite of laughter. A runt of his tossed him a jar, nearly ripping off the lid as the hunter's chortles grew louder in depth and volume. His powder-blue eyes stood emblazoned with a fiery ring encircling the iris, lips pulled upwards to reveal enlarged canines as his sniggers echoed.
“I'm just excited there are still idiots to slap around, that's all,” Dante mused, humored to no end by their overconfident air.
Upon closer observation of their rudimentary intellect, it was doomed to be a complete failure if he let his damned side out to play. The current equipment on the playground set out before him wouldn't uphold to his “roughhousing.”
“We'll see who's still excited after your ass is kicked, bitch.”
Maybe he'll lease him out for ten minutes.
Bones crunched and grounded on cemented floor. Body parts detached and swung from shattered sockets. Blood poured thick and free from torn wounds. Knuckles revealed blisters and bruises after connecting with mangled faces. Eyes enlarged with saturated rage boiled into scum undeserving of a fate crueler than death. Hands that were once clean and docile stained red with heated vengeance, mentally calming and relaxing the black taloned scales fighting for control, desperate to unleash its pent-up anger.
Dirty feet stepped over rotten corpses, faces contorted into a series of anguished howls as heavy scars tore deep into decayed flesh. A pallid neck rotated from left to right, working out the built-up stress eager to rest on top of him. Ice-chipped eyes scoured over the three ex-officers, taking in their ashen-gray skin tone and the holes where the demonic gems once rested.
He stood there in silence, letting his mind wander to the information he memorized on his second trip to Whetstone to reclaim his logic. Strong inhales calmed his twitchy nerves, remembering the deserted, bloody town.
Among the abandoned buildings, blood-stained streets, and infested demons was a post office, housing as the base of congregation for the scum of Hell. Sifting through the rubble, he found documents and photos with the Fortuna emblem, pertaining to the hearts and their reconstructive properties.
When the victims of senseless demon attacks (orchestrated by the converts) died, the sick fucks ripped their hearts out. They placed the organs in a magical preserving liquid created by a member of The Order. To complement the mystical fluid, a specific gem had completed the vascular muscle's transformation.
The positive, physical properties of the green Aventurine jewel was poisoned, turning the precious stone black with its negative characteristics, then embedded into the beating object. This “embalming” juice morphed an individual into this grotesque, humanoid savage. When the disfigured heart was consumed, the other-worldly beast it changed into carried this virus capable of reproducing, if it bit another human after it tasted fresh flesh.
The Venus fly-trap and the bootleg hook it had for arms were harmful side effects, if it was swallowed by converted humans. Remembering the description of the rock brought to mind the book of enchanted remedies he read a while back... and the lazy skimming he did through the text.
Pausing him from his assessment, a faint trace of cinnamon roamed through his nose, alerting him to a presence quietly tip-toeing towards the door. Prior to the person eavesdropping he opened the entrance, a small bundle of flesh falling straight into his build.
She jumped as if scalded by his touch, yet soon realized that the hunter stood before her. The visibility diminished the further she came down the stairs, straining to see into the darkened basement. Though happy that Dante retained life, she grew concerned of the red stench covering his body and the color staining his hair.
Her tapping feet told of her worry, wondering if those marks on his frame belonged to him or those petty monsters. With tentative steps, she extended her hand to rub a clotted mass of tissue, gasping in light breath when he grasped her wrist.
“Dante, what happened?” she peered at his hold, instinct telling her to pull away considering his tight grip. She heard a multitude of rumors pertaining to this white-haired enigma.
More than a few questioned the fragility of his psyche to hunt the damned, while others said that he shared the evil blood with them. Joanna didn't care for the finer details of his life, but she knew of extraordinary incidents decreasing due to his efforts. In the end that's all she cared about; keeping the city in stasis from psychos and the depraved.
He maintained his clutch on her advancing from the opaque cellar, the officer ready to reach for her gun; she thought to have recognized a monster coming out of the shadows. It's just that this monstrosity... viewed as a mask on Dante's face? Or maybe it was the fault of the dimmed light, making it emerge as a black eye veil embroidered with red scales dissolving from his profile.
When he stepped out the basement the white incandescence revealed a chiseled, yet bloody visage. She shot a glare to the faulty illumination, fooling her with images belonging to abominations like those in the room.
“Are they dead?” she inquired as he led her up the stairs, trying to look into the murky space.
“As dead as dead can be.”
“You're injured...?”
“It's nothing.”
“So... are we safe?”
“Yup, for the moment.” His face kept the facial twitches to a minimum climbing to the top of the stairs. He let go of her hand; Joanna immediate to cradle her wrist, now sprinkled with becoming bruises. She wondered what that was about; his detached disposition ever since he opened the door. The officer assumed he wallowed in a pit of dejected remorse after he sacrificed his humanity to kill those once-humans.
It wasn't easy to take a life, the sorrow and grief mounting as the weight of ending an existence tolled heavy on the persecutor. Questions would plague the detective, wondering if there lied another option available to an alternative choice that didn't equate to death. The investigator would often try and get into the meddler's mind; to see what factors traumatized the individual to where they needed to be neutralized to benefit society. She guessed Dante withdrew himself to cope with murdering. What else could the reason be with his unconcerned temperament?
At one point in life, those men were average human males.
“Is everyone gone?” Dante's voice cut through the silence, walking into to a more productive area.
“Almost. It's about five others left gathering reports and transporting the prisoners,” she answered in absent focus, admiring how a man of his size moved with such fluidity. It's as if his aura oozed this graceful masculinity that bordered on brute savagery; the two concepts able to blend to produce this specimen.
“Speaking of documents, where's a phone to use? I need to read up on cleaning this... infestation you have, and I gotta get my instruction manual.”
“There's a number you can call... hang on, your place right?”
He nodded once approaching the female locker room, ever so discreet to notice a few pieces of negligee hanging out some of the lockers. Aromas of ripe peaches, mulberry blossom, and sweet-smelling hairspray redirected his antagonistic self-control to a more “happy” disposition. He didn't know what breed of women the police force had, but if the intimates hanging on the metal closet were able to contain the measurements they said it could...
Shoving his disgruntled heritage deeper into its half-broken cage, he asked her where the phone was again. His mood lightened a little, determined to see this situation to the end prior to anyone getting a hold of the accursed hearts.
And maybe get the digits to the owner of the 36C bra size.
After giving specific instructions to that hormonal twat of a teenager, he stood in the main office area. The dusky blue sky blanketed the afternoon, overshadowing the sunlit landscape with dense shadows seeping through the city cracks. The bright, gray crescent in the atmosphere hid behind thickened, white pillows, adding frail perceptibility to the land.
Dante stared out the window, watching as he saw a bevy of workers of the law leaving. Some carpooled together, the maximum seats it held occupied by the officers... of the slender variety. Those packing a little more muscle and “meat” piled up into S.W.A.T trucks, lifting boxes of files to the cargo. Another truck loaded on prisoners, wrists and ankles shackled tight while filling the occupancy.
This is what the task force should be doing, cleaning up the city streets from unruly delinquents disturbing the peace. Not shitting their pants from demons breathing down their necks; abusing their loved ones as collateral to make them obedient.
As dire of a case this presented, he had to give props to Ramona and her schemes. Converts infected the police corps, using its various exposed entrances to spread its infectious “germs” until it replicated. The microbes intended to corrode this place into uselessness, then sending out its messengers to pollute others to repeat the cycle. Lucky for the cells holding the nucleus in tact a stronger, more potent defense came through to eradicate the bacteria.
And speaking further on the unprotected, what did Joanna plan on doing by sneaking down to the basement?
“Don't you think that was naïve to come down to the basement?” he asked in pinched cynicism, rubbing the gunk off his naked torso in swift wipes with a borrowed towel.
The bustle in the office stilled, silence stretching on as the few men quieted their motions. The hunter knew he caught Joanna in embarrassment, hearing the delicate clacking of teeth as shock simmered inside her.
“D-... do you mean me?” she voiced her question in small words.
“You were the only one down there.”
Uneven footsteps drew closer to him, along with the increased heart beat giving away her surprise.
“I heard a noise and... and I n-needed to―”
“If there was someone standing outside that door on watch, you'd be dead right now.”
He didn't assume she'd be that thick in the skull after she told him there were only six freaks running the show, originally. He presumed her to fill her limited time rounding everyone up and escaping. What sense did she have, or lack thereof, to come down there and see whatever it is that she wanted to investigate? If one of those ignorant disciples kept watch while the other two fought him, she would be in trouble.
Did she doubt his abilities with his restricted hardware? Did she believe him to be dead and those dopey dumb-fucks were coming up to the main office to finish the job? If she moved for the latter it was a noble cause to defend herself, (without substantial weapons) but those three would overpower her within seconds.
“I'm not a child Dante-”
“That was a childish move.”
“I thought you were dead. Those noises I heard wasn't exactly human, you know.” A sudden forthcoming anger brought her back to her senses, feeling the need to explain to him that she supposed the inevitable happened, and she needed to defend herself or create a distraction to go get help.
Should she not come outside to leave with the group in ten minutes she appointed an officer to take charge, calling down to Devil May Cry to sort this shit out, if possible.
“You should have trusted me-”
“Trust you?” The pitch in her tone revealed her incredulity. “I don't know you like that or what you're capable of. If you failed, I had to make sure I got the rest of my troupe out of here and to safety! Who knows how long it would have taken them to figure out everyone left. It probably was a stupid idea to tread to the basement, but I needed to prepare myself for the worst.”
To open your legs and let them fuck you in a foursome? If he didn't bite his tongue, those words were primed to shoot out his cavity quicker than he could stop them. And if the statement did, she’d probably wallow in a state of disbelief previous to owning up to it in defiance.
There weren't many options available regarding sacrificing herself for her colleagues. The options lied to join the converts, relinquish her body to satiate their pleasures, or strap herself with a bomb kamikaze style. At least she had the gusto and bravery to stand for the team.
Mistaking his silence as an understanding instead of focused drive she told her men to quicken their pace, sighing deeply after she walked away to help her co-workers. Her head hung a bit in dismay, a light pressure of a headache forming as the rage subsided into sensitive tranquility.
She didn't mean to snap at him like that, but he hadn't a clue the demeaning things forced onto her just to keep one of those sick fucks from killing off a member of her peers as their personal amusement. This man made them all a little safer, and she owed him something invaluable, she would do anything to pay him back.
“You don't know how much this means to all of us, Dante,” she started, crossing her arms and taking in the once prideful office. “My comrades and I wouldn't last another week. Our every move was monitored obsessively. If we even breathed wrong, we faced certain death. I owe you my life.”
“Where are you moving everyone?” Dante watched as a patrol car sped off into the street, swerving a little to avoid running into a stop sign.
Taking this as a signal of his hurt ego after her outburst, she answered without pining for forgiveness. “There's an abandoned building closer to the fire department, so we'll be locating there temporarily.
The area she specified marked as the metropolitan downtown, where businesses and consumers laid the foundation to sustain a thriving culture. Likewise, the location served as a hot spot for night clubs and diners, drawing tourists and sightseers to acquaint themselves with new hospitality. The district included a place he intended to visit soon, where those of a newly reformed religion congregated.
Men and women of the badge would operate in Desmond's territory.
“Aw, fucking hell,” he drawled, hands coming up to run down his face.
Joanna picked up on his distress. “What is it?”
He didn't answer, hands resting right under his nose, staring straight ahead.
“Dante, what's wrong?”
“Have you ever heard gossip of a 'Desmond' or something along the lines of that?”
“Yeah. Scott mentioned it a few times. Rumor has it he isn't anything nice and his club is home to the crooks of the town.
“Well he, in fact, owns a club in the city...”
“... And?”
“Your temporary residence is very close to his place of business.”
“... Oh my God,” she muttered in a short breath. She thought nothing else of this nature transpired elsewhere, but she practically sent her allies to their undeserving deaths. Since Foster's disappearance, she lead the team to their survival. If she didn't act on this information, she stood to lose her entire organization.
“Qué tengo que hacer. Ah, qué tengo que hacer![1]” Joanna paced back and forth, ideas springing to her next plan of attack. Two officers ran in to grab the last of the boxes, the woman running to her colleagues to tell them of their desperate situation.
Dante tuned out to her becoming, frantic nature, hearing groans of the decayed kind originating from the area they just left.
“Ah, what now?” Cautious steps trailed towards the door, listening to a terrible wheeze echoing behind it. Sorely pining for his weapons he yanked the entry open, falling to the floor in immediate reaction to another freak grabbing a hold of him.
Somewhere in the middle of widening the door and colliding to the ground, the beast bit him on the throat. Needle-like teeth tore into his flesh, seeming to secure a solid grip before it dug in further. To be honest, the hunter was startled at its ferocity, the creature conveying the desire to have his head severed from his body.
After his initial grunt he impaled the thing with hard blows, the savage determined to keep its pointy stubs embedded beneath his skin. With a final strike the monster flew away, taking a chunk of his neck along with him. By the time the three cops came over, the humanoid geared up for another round.
“What the hell is that thing!” a young, dark-skinned male called out to him, all three armed with pistols that wouldn't do squat to help. Jo reached the shirtless man, stopping short on her journey to view the space where a piece of his throat should have been.
Her muscles locked up, unable to react to anything except the scarlet waterfall pouring from his trachea. The firing gunshots startled her out of a shocked stupor, mind recalling the first-aid procedures in case a bystander needed treatment.
Or if the injured wanted it.
“That's not helping,” Dante spoke the words in a wet ,scratchy voice, standing tall and strong from his downed position. The woman stood there unsure of the severity of his injury. She didn't know if the blood smeared over his neck to give the appearance of a waterfall or if he truly bled that much.
“Those guns won't do shit,” the hunter walked closer to the inhuman fiend, tendrils of a dark liquid dripping down his chest.
“How... what... can you fight...” Her words came out clipped and unsure, seeing the beast rise well over her height. Her finger squeezed the trigger, bullet after bullet piercing into the dingy flesh, yet doing nothing to harm the foe. The other two men pulled out fresh clips, frustrated that the enemy seemed to have swallowed the slugs.
Her heart raced, faced with a new challenge no amount of training would ever prepare her for―mentally at least. With fingers trembling she shot the last shell of her glock, quakes routing through her form as the creature raised its arm to strike. Something flew past her peripheral vision, a glimmer of a silver object chucked right into the beast's neck.
It shrieked with foul rage, emitting a deafening shrill, forcing the officers to cover their ears. The windows rattled behind them, giving the imprint to shatter the longer the freak howled its misery. Dante eased their ear-splitting aches by silencing its cries―assisted by scissors slicing to the other side of its jugular.
Dark liquid flowed from the torn wound with strong steams flowing down its deformed mouth. It still twitched and waved its gangly arms, trying to claw the shears out from its insertion. The shirtless slayer moved to finish the creature's existence, ripping the blade from its neck to stab blunt holes around the gem. He ignored the talons digging into his stomach, pulling on the black jewel until it gave way.
The commotion brought three more deputies to the scene, all gun-toting wielders encircled the downed opponent, nervous shivers wracking their forms from this unknown enemy lying on the floor.
Panic-induced chatter erupted among the six members while the hunter focused on the organ, scrunching his nose after a mildewy, shit-like smell rose to the surface. As the frightened excitement wore on, the muscle shriveled up in his palm with the beast undergoing a similar transformation.
The hybrid moved to the window, opening the glass and chucking the dwindled thing away from his touch. Screeches flowed from the opened door, alerting him to the uprising trouble bound to escalate to casualties... of the human kind.
“Jo, hurry and get everyone out of here.”
“But what about you-”
“Don't worry about me, just go!” The hunter traveled to the noise, shutting the door soon afterwards.
Is there a chance a few neophytes slipped past him and they trailed towards the basement? What if a few hid in the shadows on purpose, then waited on an opportunity to strike? It's unlikely those three he decimated returned from the dead, so there were more snakes creeping around this lot, striking out in sneak attacks to infect others.
After this enigma's brave command she cursed, mind running rampant to the decisions she needed to produce to save her team. If there survived any informants to the demons, her troop was as good as dead since they temporarily relocated closer to the converts' territory.
And how would they continue to operate if the four of the six main antagonists are dead? Dante seemed to know more on this situation than he cared to lead on. For the best she didn't need the details, yet the lives of her and her comrades rested in his hands. Perhaps she should tell everyone to head on home, round up their families, and leave until it was safe to come here again.
However, guilt would gnaw her insides if she left ordinary citizens unprotected from everyday assaults and incidents. Problems would escalate to unresolved containment. She only had a limited time to execute her plan of attack.
“Hijo de puta![2]” she whispered. Her countdown started to begin. “All right everyone, let's go!”
Following her orders the remaining delegates scrambled to the desk, eyes wide and frantic as they gathered the scattered files.
Two of the men pretended to gather documents, waiting on their associates to leave before drawing nearer to the giant freak. They stood spellbound by its unbelievable presence, a heavy feeling pitted in their stomachs that a surreal, monstrous being lied right in front of them.
For weeks now, they've glimpsed at darkened critters prowling the area, but never ventured close enough to take in their full analysis. Scott and Grell invited peculiar individuals to trance around the office, just not to this extent. With curiosities quelled the officers headed towards the table, never seeing the re-animated corpse heading in their direction...

A/N: [1] “What do I do, oh what do I do”

[2] “Son of a bitch” :D
I hope I got the Spanish okay, I'm very rusty from my high school classes.
And I am seriously tempted to do a Dark Dante story down the line. Ya know, just have the dude terrorizing people and giving pure shock value. I also think that Dante isn't “right” in the head when he uses his DT, like he's a bit more pessimistic and blunt with his actions after he comes out of it in a sense and the more he uses it the longer he takes to get back to “being Dante.”
I felt this chapter was needed to be told in a choppy format since Dante did quite a bit in here, and if I went ahead with the next chapter without saying this there might have been some confusion. Oh, and if you guys are confused about anything just let me know :D
I also wanted to showcase Dante fighting without his weapons for once just to get a feel for how he might handle stuff. Though he's packing his goodies inside his soul? I wanted him with a little more hand to hand combat, if you know what I mean. I was going to do an ode to the cop scene in the anime, but it came out weird so, sorry peeps!
- 25
- 26
- 27
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Dreams Will Be Made Of These