Edge
Carver of Demons
((This fic will take place exactly one year before DMC3. You will note in the game that Dante said it had been a year since he'd seen Vergil..well, here you go. Enjoy.))
Throughout the city streets, there was calm. One could note the small lengths of silence, broken only slightly by the distant sound of a vehicle horn, or the barking of a dog. After awhile, as the midnight hour drew nearer, even those sounds ended, and the night time world was bathed in silence.
That night, there was only one man who would bare witness to that silence, striding through the lamp-lit streets. His size was difficult to tell, as he was garbed in a blue long coat, underneath which was a black leather vest and long black pants: his clothing hid nearly all detail of his musculature, hiding any trace of his hidden strengths. His hair long, although thrown backward and spiked high above his head. Piercing blue eyes scanned the dark streets.
At his side was a katana, long straps meant to tie the formiddable blade to ones belt flapping in a brief breeze. He held this katana tightly in his left hand by the sheath, looking as if he were ready to unsheathe this blade at any moment.
The only sounds in the night were those of his footsteps as his booted feet clacked off of the asphalt, as well as the sound of very slow, calm breathing as he moved effortlessly through the lamp-lit, silent city.
~~~~
Elsewhere, there was another man. Inside the Bull's Eye tavern (I believe that is what the sign says over the bar in mission 3 of DMC 3, but I may be wrong), Dante stood in front of the jukebox, garbed in his long red trenchcoat. Due the law that was, unfortunately, in place, he did not carry his sword, although he had Ebony and Ivory, his handguns, strapped to his body underneath his coat. Today he had chosen to wear a black, short-sleeved t-shirt and blue-jeans - he was dressed casually, not expecting anything. The city had been quiet lately.
He pushed the scan button on the jukebox over and over again, his face screwed up in frustration as the album pictures wouldn't flip. "Damn jukebox..." he muttered to himself. Lightly, he kicked the bottom of the jukebox, and stepped away. "Stupid thing. Ate my quarter and won't even play a damn song!" He shook his head and wandered over to the bar. There was only one other person in the bar other than himself, and that was, of course, the barkeeper. The time was currently 11:57, as told by the cheesiest clock that Dante had ever seen, hanging over the door.
"Yo. Charlie. Get me a triple martini. Put it on my tab."
The barkeep, now tagged as Charlie, raised an eyebrow. "You've been promising to pay that tab for three weeks. You owe me over three-hundred bucks. You're sure you want me to put it on your tab?"
"Just do it. I'm lookin' to open my shop here, soon. Talked to a contractor the other day, and I'm gonna start rent soon. As soon as my business starts, you'll have your tab paid, and we won't have to have these talks anymore."
Charlie shook his head. "Exactly what is your business, Dante?"
"My business...is my business. Don't worry about it. Just gimme my drink." Dante took a seat on one of the bar stools, laying his arms on the bar in front of him and leaning on his elbows as Charlie mixed his drink.
When the drink arrived, he drunk most of it in a huge gulp.
((More to come.))
CHAPTER 1
Throughout the city streets, there was calm. One could note the small lengths of silence, broken only slightly by the distant sound of a vehicle horn, or the barking of a dog. After awhile, as the midnight hour drew nearer, even those sounds ended, and the night time world was bathed in silence.
That night, there was only one man who would bare witness to that silence, striding through the lamp-lit streets. His size was difficult to tell, as he was garbed in a blue long coat, underneath which was a black leather vest and long black pants: his clothing hid nearly all detail of his musculature, hiding any trace of his hidden strengths. His hair long, although thrown backward and spiked high above his head. Piercing blue eyes scanned the dark streets.
At his side was a katana, long straps meant to tie the formiddable blade to ones belt flapping in a brief breeze. He held this katana tightly in his left hand by the sheath, looking as if he were ready to unsheathe this blade at any moment.
The only sounds in the night were those of his footsteps as his booted feet clacked off of the asphalt, as well as the sound of very slow, calm breathing as he moved effortlessly through the lamp-lit, silent city.
~~~~
Elsewhere, there was another man. Inside the Bull's Eye tavern (I believe that is what the sign says over the bar in mission 3 of DMC 3, but I may be wrong), Dante stood in front of the jukebox, garbed in his long red trenchcoat. Due the law that was, unfortunately, in place, he did not carry his sword, although he had Ebony and Ivory, his handguns, strapped to his body underneath his coat. Today he had chosen to wear a black, short-sleeved t-shirt and blue-jeans - he was dressed casually, not expecting anything. The city had been quiet lately.
He pushed the scan button on the jukebox over and over again, his face screwed up in frustration as the album pictures wouldn't flip. "Damn jukebox..." he muttered to himself. Lightly, he kicked the bottom of the jukebox, and stepped away. "Stupid thing. Ate my quarter and won't even play a damn song!" He shook his head and wandered over to the bar. There was only one other person in the bar other than himself, and that was, of course, the barkeeper. The time was currently 11:57, as told by the cheesiest clock that Dante had ever seen, hanging over the door.
"Yo. Charlie. Get me a triple martini. Put it on my tab."
The barkeep, now tagged as Charlie, raised an eyebrow. "You've been promising to pay that tab for three weeks. You owe me over three-hundred bucks. You're sure you want me to put it on your tab?"
"Just do it. I'm lookin' to open my shop here, soon. Talked to a contractor the other day, and I'm gonna start rent soon. As soon as my business starts, you'll have your tab paid, and we won't have to have these talks anymore."
Charlie shook his head. "Exactly what is your business, Dante?"
"My business...is my business. Don't worry about it. Just gimme my drink." Dante took a seat on one of the bar stools, laying his arms on the bar in front of him and leaning on his elbows as Charlie mixed his drink.
When the drink arrived, he drunk most of it in a huge gulp.
((More to come.))
