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Prime Evil	By : Camaro Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 3509 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Devil May Cry game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
The man referred to as Dante sighed, rolling his eyes as his arms crossed tightly over his chest, long legs stretched far out in front of him as he slumped in his chair.
It was an irritatingly tedious ritual that he was engaged in, 20 or so Devil Hunters surrounding a circular table in an awful white room, discussing the recent attacks occurring in Ireland. Their all-too-human voices sometimes raised in defiance at something another hunter had said, the screeches of their chairs making him wince when they’d jump to their feet at the littlest opposition to their ideas.
To him, they all looked exceedingly fragile, their outbursts no doubt an insecure attempt to hide that blaring fact. Clad in leather and steel, some had wild hair colors, blues and reds and even greens, their insides reflected on the outside. They were the outcasts of their species, though its protectors, unknown and even unaccepted in a world they strove endlessly to save.
As if knowing how detached they were from their own realities, they wore clothing that one could easily spot as “other worldly” decked out with weapons and swords easily visible in the day time.
“Dante” had finally admitted to Hero that he truly hated the color red, slamming the gift she’d given him into her hands and watching with mild satisfaction at the disbelief when she’d stared at the red leather jacket. Instead, he resolved to be positively boring, wearing mostly black leather pants and a tight black turtle neck, well defining his every muscular curve.
He liked the contrast of his white skin and hair, even more so that the dark color gave him even more attention as it seemed so opposite from what someone so positively “angelic” would wear.
Angelic. Ha!
He smirked slightly in his dark thoughts, drowning out the incessant bickering in the background, eyes landing on a new Devil Huntress he hadn’t previously seen, gaze sliding down her arms and neck and chest, covered in green material. Patches of her tan flesh shown at her shoulders, a long Peacock feather braided into her gleaming blonde hair.
Her eyes were a soft, creamy green (very different from Hero’s he noticed) their gaze darting to and from him as he was making her obscenely uncomfortable with his stare. He noticed this instantly, hiding his smile and feeling his fangs grow ever so slightly in his mouth, letting his tongue dart absentmindedly over them.
What WAS he exactly?
He knew from Hero’s explanation that this Dante was part Demon and part Human. Though from her descriptions of him, he had obviously chosen to accept his Human side much more than his Demon half. The man that now bared Dante’s name knew that this was COMPLETELY the opposite for himself.
He knew, for no apparent reason, that what he was doing was wrong. The slightest twinge of a conscience occasionally told him that in a previous life, he probably wouldn’t have indulged in it quite so often. He knew that the humans, without question, believed that how he felt and what he craved was undoubtedly evil yet in that fact, he still relished the occasional murder, happy to feel the strands of his victim’s hair in his clutch.
So he was evil. So the fuck what?
The world already had one proverbial boy scout in their beloved “hero” Dante. He didn’t feel too obligated to totally fill those shoes at the moment.
He stretched his legs out further, yawning openly.
“I’m sorry, are we BORING you Dante?” A rude voice interrupted his thinking, “Dante’s” eyes sliding over to behold a muscular man standing, his chair behind him as he raised to his full height, obviously trying to be intimidating.
“Actually,” “Dante” said slyly, pushing his fingers though his silver hair. “You are.”
The Devil Hunter made a surprised, “humph!” noise, flexing his muscles beneath his tanned, leather vest. The silvery demon observed him for a moment, looking at the dull color of his brown hair, the lines that kissed the sides of his eyes and the full body tan over wrinkling skin that told him this man was far along in his human years yet had (up to this point) survived to tell the tale.
He obviously felt he’d earned respect due to his age and, staring down at the immaculate devil in front of him that appeared about 29 years old, he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.
“These meetings are necessary,” The Demon Hunter, Tazial Scott, informed the younger man angrily. “We have to eradicate the mass amount of demon activity in the area while there’s still an Ireland standing in the ocean.”
“None of this is necessary,” The Demon finally stood, standing now taller than the 6’5 human. “None of YOU are necessary.”

He let his wild gaze fall on the insulted hunters around him, hearing their gasps of disapproval and daring any of them to do anything about it.
“Simply send me alone,” He returned his gaze to Tazial, smiling arrogantly and cocking his head sideways. “And stay out of my way.”
The older man looked shocked, speechless as he fumbled for words.
“Dante,” came Hero’s nearly motherly voice, caution in her words. “Tazial is right. You may be stronger than any of us,” her eyes darted warningly to the human male. “but their numbers are simply too many for one person and your strength is NOT fully returned yet.”
“Dante” felt himself growl deep in his throat at that, not knowing for sure if the humans had heard it or not. Despite the way his muscles gleamed and grew every day, he DID know that he had yet to dip into the vast well that was his complete power. Still, he didn’t appreciate the fact that she’d announced it to these lesser morons, his anger dancing slightly in his chest.
“Fine,” He finally breathed, smirking humorlessly at her. “Then you all try doing it without me.”
He grabbed the black leather coat he’d draped over the back of his chair, nonchalantly cradling it in the crook of his arm before waltzing towards the door.
“That’ll be entertaining to watch.” He added before exiting the building.
He knew Hero was right on his heels, could feel her emotions pulsating from her pores as she came after him.
“You idiot!” She yelled, grabbing his arm to spin him her direction. “Do you ever THINK before you speak?”
“Apparently not.” He answered dryly.
“Don’t you get it Dante?” She searched his eyes, shaking her head. “You CAN’T do that! You CAN’T just crush their hopes and everything they stand and fight for!”
He rolled his eyes, pissed when she grabbed his face, having to tilt on her tip toes in order to reach him.
“Look at me,” She growled. “Hey! Look at me! They don’t HAVE your strength, ok? We get that. They don’t HAVE your abilities and your immaculate heritage and all that other bullshit, ok? And they STILL fight.”

She paused, powerful green eyes searching the cold of his stare for any emotion to register.
“They STILL try even if they know it’s a losing battle. They STILL fight even if they know they will ALL eventually be beaten BECAUSE they don’t have your strength. Isn’t that still something to be respected?”
The man just looked at her, searching her words for their meaning and blandly deciding she had something of a point.
“Wouldn’t you fight for your people if they needed you, even if you were weaker? You cannot dash their efforts Dante. You cannot dash all they’ve lived and loved and lost and died for. You cannot tell them their will and fight is for nothing. Hope is ALL we humans have that keeps us standing. Hope is all that keeps us strong. We don’t have anything else. You knew that once.”
She let go of his face, sighing and continuing to shake her head.
“Try not to forget it ok?” She finally ended, letting her feet slide down off her tip toes.
They’d walked home without another word, the demon crudely snatching whatever delectable meal he’d been served by Montoya and stomping outside to eat alone. He furiously smashed the food into his mouth, chewing viciously as he stared ahead at nothing, letting her words reverberate in his head.
He hated that she was right. He hated how good she was and how much he wanted to tell her how COMPLETELY for nothing it all was. He wanted to shake her shoulders, to laugh at her, to tell her how completely doomed everything seemed.
He wanted to point out how futile those bumbling fools were, dressing like warriors when some of them didn’t even look over the age of 18, trying so desperately to cling to ideas and dreams that weren’t their own. He wanted to tell her how easy it would be to grab up the little pretty Demon Huntress he’d seen, tear the green material from her skin and make her as hallow and shallow and empty as he was.
God he hated when she was right!
“Hey buddy,” came Montoya’s kind voice behind him, a warm hand on his shoulder. “what’s say we go for a walk, eh?”
“No thank you,” The demon replied dryly, still chewing his food with a scowl. “I’ve had enough ‘walking’ for one day.”
“Ahhhh come on,” Montoya insisted, coming to sit next to the devil. “I think you and Hero need a break from one another and I need some exercise,” the tan man smiled, jiggling the pouch that was his belly, making the devil smile despite himself. “Look at this thing,” Montoya continued, grabbing a handfull of his tummy and shaking it. “I better work on this puppy or the ladies will stop knocking on my door at all hours of the day.”
The silver haired man had to let himself laugh a little, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Montoya always had a way about him that, in itself, was pure magic. As the demon felt he himself was completely cold and Hero was a tumbling fire, Montoya’s magic was that he was simply warm. Simply inviting. Simply good without even trying to be so.
He sighed as he pushed himself up, agreeing for a short walk as Montoya’s footsteps pattered through the streets and ally ways, talking about his childhood in Mexico and all of things he seemed determined to show “Dante” someday.
“There are dances in the streets,” He was going on. “dresses of all colors swirling this way and that!”
He placed his hand on his tummy again, letting the other hand dance in the air as he feigned dancing with a partner, making music noises with his mouth.
“And the women, ohhhhh,” He smiled widely. “Some of the women are so beautiful, you can’t take your eyes off em’! And you don’t even speak their language so you won’t have to understand what they’re saying!”
The demon couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face, laughing as the Latino continued, telling everything they would do on their “trip” to Mexico.
“Hero told me you didn’t enjoy the meeting very much tonight,” Montoya suddenly spoke somberly, his eyes darting over towards “Dante”. “Not in the mood eh?”
“I’m never in the mood,” The demon dryly answered. “Did Hero send you on this little venture to “keep me in line”?”
“Hell no.” Montoya answered, waving him away. “Hero doesn’t even know I left the house.”
“Hm.” Was all the other man replied, walking through the darkest of allies with no fear whatsoever.
“She doesn’t know you leave it every night either,” Montoya suddenly added, the demon’s footsteps stopping suddenly as he peered down at the other man. “Yeah, that’s right. I know. I know what you do when you leave too.”
The half devil let this information sink in, minutes ticking by like hours as he realized Montoya must have followed behind him without his knowledge, seeing and knowing everything he’d tried to keep secret. They stood silent in a dark alley way, the closest light far away and casting shadows over the taller man’s face.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” The demon wondered aloud. “Why didn’t you try to stop me?”
“Stop you?” Montoya’s eyes were wide. “With WHO? With WHAT?”
The silver haired man smiled at this, nodding.
“I was just reading in the paper the other day and got curious if the ‘white haired bastard’ was you. And wipe that smirk off your face. This isn’t a joke.”
The demon’s smile fell, replaced with an impatient scowl.
“Look I don’t know why you do it anymore than I can stop you from doing it. I get that.” Montoya told him. “But if this is your means of trying to understand who you are, it’s wrong. It’s wrong Dante and I think deep down, if you search hard enough, you believe that too.
“People don’t need to die for you to mesh out your confusion. I don’t know what you ever told Hero or what you’ve ever told other people. I can only tell you what you once, long ago, told me. And that’s that when you were a teenager, you went through a lot of shit and made some seriously bad mistakes. You hurt people and you killed people. But it’s going to happen. You’re two different species pushed into one body. Demons don’t understand your motives anymore than humans can understand them.
“You’re going to fuck up. You’re going to run on emotions you don’t understand with no memory to control them. We learn morals through time and we learn how to control our impulses through growing and experience. You don’t have any of that. You’re a demon in a human male body with no memory of a past. But other people shouldn’t have to pay for it and I know you agree.
“People don’t need to die for you to understand that you belong here. Girls don’t need to die for you to realize that you are a man, not a monster.”
The demon just looked at him, weighing the logic behind his words.
He silently nodded, surprised and confused that, after all he’d done, for no apparent reason, Montoya was still on his side. Not that there would have been anything anyone could do to the contrary, that was true. But still.
“Will you promise me one thing though?” Montoya asked, laying his hand on the other’s shoulder.
“What?” “Dante” asked, face serious as he felt the warmth from the human’s flesh sink through the material of his shirt.
“Stop.” The shorter man said. “Stop doing this. I know you don’t always understand now, but you will someday. I don’t want you to always live with the regret you dealt with the first time around. This is a second chance for you man. Not everyone gets those.”

A/N Just wanted to say thank you to LoveFoxx for reviewing! It is always MUCH appreciated!
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Prime Evil