Chapter Text
The doors to Devil May Cry had long since been closed to customers, while Dante miserably stared into the half empty whisky glass held in his hand. It had been another one of those days where nothing was worth it and he regretted even getting out of bed this morning. All he’d managed to do today was drag himself downstairs to nap at his desk, and at some point, pour himself a drink. He didn’t remember the last time he’d eaten but he was pretty sure it was somewhere in the past 48 or so hours. Probably. He…actually didn’t know what day it was. He sighed heavily, downing the rest of the whiskey in one shot. He barely noticed the burn in his throat as he already started pouring himself another glass. He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had tonight, but unfortunately, he was only slightly buzzed, so…not enough.
He raised his glass up to his lips again, only to stop when he heard distant footsteps approaching the building. Ugh, god, please keep walking. Dante really didn’t want to deal with some client begging for his help when he barely had it in him to be upright.
The scent of rot and sulfur mixed with the ozone of magic filled the air long before the door was shoved open. The man who walked in reeked to all the hells of bad life choices, demonic involvement, cheap whiskey, and nicotine. All in all, definitely not the kind of guy Dante had the energy to deal with tonight. The man was, by most people’s standards, tall, with short blond hair. His brown trench coat was slightly singed and the white undershirt was stained with what he could only guess was dirt. His black slacks were wrinkled and his black shoes thudded against the floorboards. The guy was soaked from head to toe, and as if on cue, thunder rumbled in the distance as rain pattered heavily against the windows.
Immediately, Dante knew this guy was bad news. No one came to his office looking or smelling like that without there being some kind of demon fuckery going on. He placed his glass down with a clink, staring blankly at him.
The man shook some of the water off, letting it splatter against the floor. He looked around the shop curiously, his blue eyes scanning the mess that had accumulated since the last time Patty had been here. Dante had tried cleaning it up a few days ago, but the very concept of it had left him so drained, he’d ended up taking a nap at his desk and didn’t wake up until the next day.
So…no, he hadn’t cleaned the office in a while, and he wasn’t even going to try.
The man continued to look around, his eyes finally settling on the wall behind him. Dante lazily looked over his shoulder, sitting up straighter when he realized the stranger had his eyes on Devil Sword Sparda. The only damn reason he even left it up was because the last time he’d tried to move it, he’d been forced to remember him and he had only barely managed to make it to the bathroom before he’d thrown up. He still hadn’t fixed the mirror from when he’d shattered it.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man spoke with a thick British accent. “The rumors were true. Sparda’s own son runs a demon hunting business. Who would’ve thought.”
Dante picked up his drink again and slammed it back, finishing the alcohol in a single motion. “I’m not drunk enough to deal with you.” He muttered. He placed the glass back on the desk, opting to drink straight from the bottle instead.
The man didn’t seem to take offense to that statement, barking out a laugh instead. He dug into his pocket, and pulled out a box of slightly soggy cigarettes that had Dante scrunching his nose in disgust. If this asshole tried to light one of those up in here…
He pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth, offering the box to Dante. “Want a smoke?”
Dante scowled. “You’re not doing that shit inside.”
Just because he regularly tried to destroy his liver didn’t mean he wanted lung cancer.
“Suit yourself.” The man shrugged and put the box back in his pocket. Thankfully, he seemed to get the idea and left the cigarette unlit for the time being. “Well, I suppose we should get down to business.”
Dante wanted to tell him where he could shove his business, but kept his mouth shut. That was an inside thought. And unfortunately, he was still too sober to recognize that. He took another swig of his whiskey, impatiently waving the guy on. The sooner he finished talking, the sooner Dante could dump this job off on Trish and go back to bed.
“I got a friend in Gotham City who’s been havin’ a bit of a demon problem lately. Offering a lot of money to anyone willing to deal with it. There’s not a lot of demon hunters in the area, and while normally I’d love to help him out, I have some uh…business to take care of, far away from there. But, that’s when I stumbled onto information about Sparda’s kid running his own business! Figured I’d hand the job off to you and let you do your thing.”
Dante stared at him for a long moment, face a blank mask. “Not interested.” He said.
The guy clicked his tongue in mild annoyance, chewing on the end of the cigarette. “That info broker of yours said you might say that. Which is why I’m here to let you know, if you go to Wayne Manor, you’ll get paid up front. Brucie’s a multibillionaire, he’ll pay however much you want so long as you do the job.”
“And I said: I’m not interested. Now, get lost. Go bother someone else.” Dante leaned back in his seat, throwing his legs onto his desk.
The guy did not, in fact, get lost. Instead, he placed his hands on his hips. “C’mon mate, you’d be doing me a favor.”
“I don’t know you.” Why did the most annoying people have to show up when all Dante wanted was to be alone? He was having empty time, let him be miserable in peace.
“John Constatine. I’m a…detective of sorts. Mostly deal with the occult. You know how it is.” John reached a hand out for a handshake.
Constantine…Constantine…
That name rang a bell for some reason; he swore he’d heard it before. Maybe from Lady…? She knew more hunters than he did.
With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Dante grasped it halfheartedly. “Dante, but you apparently already knew that. Now seriously, scram.”
Thanks dad, now strangers and demons recognized him. There was not enough booze in the world to deal with this.
“C’mon, mate, what’ll it take to convince you to do this for me?”
“Nothing, get out of my shop.”
“I’ll take you out for drinks.”
Dante paused, slowly sitting up. He narrowed his eyes at the man, doubt and disbelief mixing together like the worst cocktail of his life. Still, it was a hard offer to resist. “You’re paying?”
“Sure. We can call it a date and all that if you want,” John said with a smug grin.
Dante heaved himself with a heavy sigh. He unwillingly dropped the bottle unceremoniously on the desk as he started gathering up the necessary equipment. Rebellion was placed in his guitar case, and he shoved Ebony and Ivory into their holsters. His hand hovered over the Sparda uncertainly, the subtle shake was barely noticeable, but Dante still shoved his hand into his pocket. Not today. Instead, he dug around until he found Ifrit, and tossed it into his pocket dimension. He grabbed his jacket from where it was draped over the back of his chair and threw it on.
“Wayne Manor, in Gotham, right?” He asked. He brushed his bangs to the side so they were out of his face. “Damn, that’s a good few hours away. Ugh, and the weather sucks. Why can’t demons show up at a reasonable time?”
Reasonable for him meant 3pm on a random day during the week, but who cared.
A smug grin spread across John’s face as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “I could get you to Gotham faster.”
Dante had to bite back that growl that started to build in his chest. This guy might know about his relationship with Sparda, but that didn’t mean he was gonna give him any more information about being part devil. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”
“Eh, more an ‘if.’ All I want is the answer to one question, then we can go.”
“Fine, whatever.” He wanted to get this over with.
“Whatever happened to Sparda? The bloke vanished off the face of the earth one day and no one’s heard of him since.”
Dante bared his teeth with an enraged hiss, grabbing a fistfull of John’s shirt and lifting him off the floor. He slammed John’s back against the wall with a heavy thud. “Don’t.”
John lifted his hands up in surrender, the cheeky smile never fading. “Touched a nerve, got it. You uh, you do have to put me down though.”
He roughly let go, letting John hit the ground heavily. He straightened out his shirt with a soft sigh, but for the most part seemed unperturbed. Dante glared at the wall behind him.
Get a fucking grip, he told himself. He refused to lose his cool over a deadbeat who just walked off and left them. Sparda wasn’t worth it. People could ask whatever they wanted about him and it would never be worth it. The old man was long gone and Dante had accepted that years ago.
“Right, well, you ever teleported before?” John asked.
Did Trickster count? Probably. Dante was going to say yes. “Yeah.”
"Alright!” John muttered something under his breath, and it took Dante a moment to realize it was an incantation. Not one he recognized, but the way the air crackled around them was a good enough indicator. His hands glowed a bright white as a sigil formed in front of him. Dante scoffed, reaching back for the bottle on his desk. He really preferred to avoid spending time around magicians and sorcerers. Nothing good ever came from being around those guys, and that was coming from him of all people. John completed the spell with a flourish, and a swirling yellow portal appeared in front of them. He gestured towards it, and with a shrug, Dante chugged the remainder of his whiskey, dropping the bottle on the floor before he approached the portal.
“What, not gonna share any with me? I got you this job and a free ride to Gotham!”
“Screw you, I’m only doing this for more booze, I’m not giving mine up.”
“Damn. Fine, whatever. I said I’d buy you a few drinks, can’t back out now.”
“Hey John,” Dante turned to face him. “If you go back on that deal, I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass, you’ll be tasting leather for the next month.”
John sauntered towards the portal without a second thought, sticking his hands in his pockets as he passed. “I don’t doubt that. I’m not stupid enough to go against the guy who sealed away Mundus. That fucker was stirring up plenty of trouble before you got your hands on him, and I, personally, love not being dead. Tried it once, not a fan.”
Dante rolled his eyes and followed the other man through the portal. There was a brilliant, nearly blinding flash of light that had him blink spots out of his vision. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear them, and by the time the spots disappeared, John was already walking away, his coat fluttering behind him. He raised a hand as he wandered off, not even bothering to say another word. Dante scrunched his face up in annoyance. This annoying bastard wandered on into his shop at like eleven at night, dumped a job he didn’t want on him, and then left. Dude, what the hell? He could’ve been sleeping! Or getting plastered. Hell, he could’ve ordered pizza. But nooooo, here he was in another city and his ride home just left.
Think of the free drinks, he told himself.
His shoulders drooped as he turned towards the massive gates in front of him. Sure just walk on up to the rich guy’s house, that hasn’t backfired on him in the past at all. Definitely not.
The huge mansion loomed in front of him, forcing him to crane his neck to look up at it. It was at least three stories, with tall pointed roofing that probably concealed even more floors. There was an outcropping hanging over the front door, with columns running down the sides of it. Windows lined every visible wall, making the building appear even bigger. Past the gates was a long, paved driveway that led up to the front door. There was a lovely garden off to the side, and hedges and flowers lined the outermost section of the building. All in all, it was too much and nostalgic all at once. Far bigger than the mansion he’d grown up in, but reminiscent all the same.
There was a speaker beside the gate, with a small button beneath it. Dante didn’t think twice before he pressed it, waiting impatiently for a response.
It didn’t take long before a calm, British voice asked, “Who is it?”
“Hey uh, heard you were havin’ some demon problems? I was told you were the people to talk to.”
“Ah, right, of course. Give me one moment.” The other person vanished, leaving Dante alone once more.
He stared up at the starless sky. Clouds had blocked out the stars and the moon, and the humidity in the air made his hair cling uncomfortably to his face and neck. It was going to rain here soon. Maybe not as hard as it was in Capulet, but he had a feeling he was still going to get soaked tonight. And not in a fun way.
The gate in front of him creaked open slowly, and Dante slowly went through, watching cautiously as it closed once he passed by. He was quick to make his way up the hill, readjusting the guitar case to make it more steady along his back. He tried his best to avoid thinking about his old home, long since destroyed. He could almost hear his mother humming softly as she cooked dinner, her voice light and cheerful as she told him to wash up after a long day of playing in the dirt. His eye drifted over the flowers, spotting the roses gathered together in the garden out front. That hollowness in his chest spread, and each footstep felt heavier than the last. He slowed to a stop, never taking his eyes off the roses. Roses had been her favorite flowers. He used to play in her garden. She would always yell at him for it, but it was never his idea. It was always—
Dante snapped his attention away from the roses as Eva’s bloodied, half burnt corpse replaced the image of his smiling mother. He stumbled, nausea nearly overwhelming him and almost dropping him to the ground. It took everything in him to avoid throwing up then and there, and he was starting to regret those drinks now. He bent over, placing his hands on his knees as he struggled to regain control of his breathing.
A door creaked open and Dante jolted upwards, eyes wide and wild. Standing in the doorway was a balding old man with gray hair and a gray mustache. He wore a three-piece suit, complete with a black jacket, maroon vest, and a white undershirt. He had a perfectly tied black tie tucked under the vest. He looked like one of those stereotypical butlers in old movies. “Are you alright, sir?” The man asked. It was the same voice as the one who let him in.
“Just great,” he muttered, stomping up the steps. ”Who’re you?”
“I am the humble butler of this estate, Alfred Pennyworth. And you are?”
“Dante.”
The butler hummed, stepping aside to let him in. “Welcome in.”
Hesitantly, Dante stepped inside, keeping his head down and staring at the wooden floor, rather than the rest of the room. He didn’t want another reminder of what he lost.
“Would you like me to take your coat?” Alfred offered.
Dante shook his head, tugging it closer to his body. It was a comfort, in many ways. Made him feel safer, like a weighted blanket. That and it looked cool as hell. Besides, he used his jacket to hide Ebony and Ivory from view. He didn’t think an elusive billionaire would appreciate him walking through his mansion with a pair of pistols and a sword in plain view. Most rich people didn’t appreciate feeling threatened and would usually call the cops the second they thought someone was going to try and rob them. Trust him, he’d had plenty of experience with that. People saw a kid with a sword bigger than he was and called the cops instead of checking on him. Assholes.
Alfred didn’t seem to care about Dante’s refusal, instead, he led him through the massive building, past a comically large kitchen, equipped with every appliance someone could possibly need. They ascended a grand staircase, covered in a plush red carpet. Dante’s chest ached at the distant memory of running up and down the large staircase when he was a child. How he’d get scolded for jumping over the bannister just to see if he could land without getting hurt. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself in the present, sharp teeth cutting through the fragile flesh easily. For a split second, the sharp metallic taste of blood reached his tongue, before the wound closed up.
They passed by far too many rooms, all of the doors closed, but Alfred seemed to have an idea of where they were going. It wasn’t until they stopped in front of another door in the seemingly endless hallway, that Dante finally heard a second heartbeat. The only other one he’d heard the whole time he’d been here. Only two people in this huge mansion. That’s gotta be lonely.
Alfred rapped his knuckles against the door, calling out to whoever was inside. “Master Bruce, you have a visitor.”
“Come in!” A man replied, his voice was deep and slightly gravely.
The door was pushed open quietly, and Alfred gestured for Dante to step inside. “Mr. Dante here has offered to handle the demon problem.”
The man, Bruce Wayne, was sitting at an elegant wooden desk, stacks of papers on either side of the computer open in front of him. Bookshelves lined the left side of the wall, and there was a large TV on the other wall. A huge window directly behind him gave the perfect view of the courtyard below. Bruce stood up, moving around the desk in order to extend a hand towards Dante. He was tall, eye level with him, with short, neat black hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a suit, as if he’d just come from work. There was a charming smile on his face, but the look in his eyes betrayed a level of intelligence hidden away. He was analyzing Dante. He wrapped a gloved hand around the offered hand, with a slight nod. The smell of expensive cologne made Dante’s nose twitch.
“Thanks for coming,” Bruce said. “Bruce Wayne. Please, take a seat. I’m sure you have questions.” He returned to his seat behind the desk, gesturing for Dante to take one on the other side.
“Dante.” He carefully dropped Rebellion’s case on the floor, balancing it against the desk as he sat. “What can you tell me about the demons? Description, location, patterns, anything like that.”
Bruce tapped his fingers against his desk as he thought. “They’ve been spotted all over the city, but mainly near the library. And they almost exclusively attack at night. According to the police, the number of missing persons reports have skyrocketed since these things have taken up residence.”
“Demons who like reading, who would’ve thought?” Dante muttered, unable to stop himself. “Didn’t realize they were nerds.”
Kinda like…
Nope, nope, nope. Cutting that thought off right there.
He cleared his throat. “You got any pictures or anything? If I know what I’m looking for I can deal with them way quicker.”
Bruce dug around the papers scattered around his desk for a few seconds, before producing a couple of pictures with a victorious “ah-ha!” He handed them over, giving Dante a chance to take a closer look. “The police commissioner was willing to hand those over when I offered to pay whoever took the job.”
The first picture showed a group of gray demons, covered in ratty black cloaks, each wielding an enormous scythe. Hell Prides. Weak, irritating at best. There was only one demon in the other picture, phasing halfway through the wall. A cloaked figure with an ominous mask resting where a face should be. A pair of sharpened, rusted scissors clutched in its hands. A Sin Scissor would be a slightly bigger problem, but he’d faced worse. Honestly, this was a combination of enemies that was just annoying. All comically oversized weapons that he’d been impaled with more times than he’d like to admit. But, he knew why this posed a problem for regular civilians who had never even seen a demon before. And local police didn’t stand a chance. Bullets on their own were useless with the weapons there to block each shot.
He placed the pictures back on the desk and crossed his arms. “Easy enough group. I can clear them out no problem.”
Bruce lit up with a smile, but Dante still caught the overanalytical way he stared at him. All that charm hid a much smarter man than he was letting on. “Great! I’ll pay you half upfront, and half after the job is done, if that’s alright with you.”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “I don’t care.”
He figured he’d get maybe a couple thousand at best. Most of his rich clients tended to be stingy and unwilling to negotiate. They paid him the bare minimum they could and tried to find every reason possible to not pay him in the end. Cheap bastards. He always felt bad when people came into his shop offering all the money they had for him to take care of something to the point where, half the time, he wasn’t able to bring himself to take their payment. At least they didn’t complain about having to pay for his services.
Bruce fumbled around in some of the drawers at his desk, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “Alfred, do you know where I put the checkbook?”
“Top right drawer, sir.”
“Right, thank you.” He opened the drawer, and produced a small, black checkbook, placing it on the table. He shot Dante another one of those bright, practiced smiles. The same kind Dante had to drag from the very depths of his soul when he refused to show the world he was falling to pieces. “I’d lose my head if it weren’t for Alfred. The only reason I haven’t starved is because of him.”
Alfred offered a small bow. “Someone has to ensure the kitchen doesn’t catch on fire.”
“It was twice!”
“It has been far more than that, Master Bruce. You know why you’re banned.”
Dante watched the exchange with a small smirk. It was nice to know that some people appreciated the help they paid for. What he wouldn’t give to have someone make him homemade pizza again.
There was an awkward cough as Bruce scribbled on the check. He looked up briefly, hand stilling for a moment. “Sorry, is there a specific name I should make this out to?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but snapped it shut before he could repeat ‘Dante’. Dante Sparda had been legally dead for over 20 years. “Tony Redgrave.”
The curious glance Bruce sent his way didn’t match his cheerful attitude. He didn’t comment, though, instead finished writing and handed him the check. “Like I said, once you’re all done, I’ll get you the other half.”
Taking the check, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw how much he was getting. “Um…not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this can’t be right. Did you mean to write this?”
“Hmm?” Bruce leaned over the desk to take a look as Dante showed him the check again. “No, that’s right. Is that not enough? I can pay more, that’s not a problem.”
“No, no. Two-hundred fifty thousand is more than enough. This is only half?”
When John Constatine had said Bruce was willing to pay however much he wanted, Dante had thought he was exaggerating. Five-hundred thousand was a frankly ridiculous amount of money. What the actual shit?
People just had this kind of money and were willing to throw it around like it was nothing? And Bruce had offered him more?
“Yes?” He tilted his head to the side, blinking owlishly at Dante as if he didn’t understand why he was so shocked. “I figured it was a pretty reasonable amount considering what we’re asking you to do. I mean, Gotham is already pretty dangerous, but demons are a whole different breed than our usual brand of crazy.”
“I guess I can’t argue with that. Just uh, hold onto that for me until I get back. Don’t want it to get ripped up while I’m trying to deal with these creeps.”
“Of course! You can leave anything you need here and pick it up once you’re done,” Bruce offered generously. “Alfred will make sure it’s taken care of.”
Dante reached for his guitar case, pausing as he laid it out on the ground. He felt both of their eyes on him. “You’re not gonna call the cops on me if I pull out a sword, right?”
Bruce laughed, loud and enthusiastic. “No, no, I figured you’d be armed. But a sword in a guitar case is definitely new.”
With a sharp nod, he pushed the case open, pulling Rebellion out reverently. She hummed excitedly in his palm, eager for a fight. She wanted to spill demon blood as much as he did. That hollow ache in his chest lessened slightly at her excitement, washed away with an almost feral energy. He didn’t let himself linger too long on her presence, slinging her over his shoulder after a moment. She pouted at him, sending waves of playful annoyance his way. He slammed the case closed, and hesitantly handed it to Alfred, who took it with a shocking amount of care.
Dante straightened up, giving Bruce a sharp nod. “Right, well, I’ll be back.”
Alfred led him out of the manor, wishing him luck and handing him directions to the library as he stepped back out onto the streets. Dante read, and reread the directions, heading into the city proper. Gotham City was a bleak and depressing place, with towering old buildings with an unnecessary amount of gargoyles perched on the edges of roofs. And he thought Capulet’s aesthetic was all doom and gloom. The remnants of that damn tower were still there, and somehow this place was worse. He wasn’t even surprised that demons had decided to attack people here. It honestly just made sense from what he saw as he passed by people out on the streets. Most of them gave him a wide berth, unapologetically staring at the sword on his back. Normally, he’d care, but considering how he’d felt all day, he was pretty much numb to the stares. All he cared about was killing those demons and getting paid. (Not that he was keeping the money, Grue’s daughters needed it more than he did.)
Sticking to the shadows as he approached the massive library, Dante caught the unmistakable rotting scent of demons roaming around, complete with the familiar buzzing at his very core. He curled his fingers around Ebony and Ivory hidden beneath his coat.
A shrill scream had him throwing caution to the wind and rushing rushing into the alley, guns drawn in a flash. A little boy clung to his mother’s arms as the group of Hell Prides closed in, their scythes raised high above their heads. The woman curled herself around the boy, tucking his head against her chest, her own eyes slamming shut to avoid seeing her impending doom.
Dante wasn’t about to let that happen. He pulled the trigger on Ivory, blowing the head off the nearest Hell Pride in an explosion of blood and gore, its scythe hitting the ground with a loud clang. The rest of the Hell Prides whirled around to face him, their scythes now aimed at his chest instead of the woman.
“Sorry to crash your party,” he said. “Room for one more?”
The Hell Prides rushed towards him. The closest one swung its scythe, the blade coming dangerously close to piercing his skin. For a second, Dante considered letting himself get hit. Not like bleeding would do anything, he’d heal, like he always did, but sometimes he wondered if he didn’t deserve it for every single person he failed.
The woman’s soft sobs brought him back to reality just in time to teleport out of the way, firing Ivory again. The bullet slammed into its skull, giving him an opening to drive a hard kick straight to its chest. Its ribs caved in around his heel, blood splattering against his boot. He yanked his foot back and rapid fire pulled the triggers on both guns until the Hell Pride exploded. He ducked under the next swing, shooting upwards and catching the underside of the demon’s jaw. He aimed Ebony behind him in a smooth motion and fired at the one approaching from behind. He rolled out of the way, quickly putting himself between the demons and the civilians. Four Hell Prides left, and no sign of the Sin Scissor yet, but he was waiting for it to make its appearance. Probably through the floor, knowing his luck. He fired a spray of bullets in front of him, tearing through the remaining Hell Prides with practiced, familiar ease.
Three of them collapsed to the ground, in a puddle of blood and viscera that was quickly turning to ash. The last one rushed towards him with a swing of its scythe. Dante was quick to holster his pistols, the scythe screeching against Rebellion’s blade as he drew her in less than a second. A hint of smirk played at the edge of his lips; he shoved demon back and twirled Rebellion before lunging forwards with a quick stinger, jabbing her into the demon’s chest repeatedly until it fell to the ground motionless.
He turned to the shaking, terrified humans behind him, crouching down so he was eye level with the boy. The end of his coat fanned out behind him on the ground as he carefully planted Rebellion’s tip down beside him. “You two should get out of here while you can. It’s not safe to stay.”
The woman nodded her head jerkily, holding the boy close to her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, just go.”
He didn’t deserve her thanks. He hadn’t wanted to be here. These two would’ve died if John hadn’t bribed him. God, he was pathetic. The famous devil hunter, everyone. Too busy trying to drink himself to death to actually bother helping people.
The woman held the boy’s hand tightly as the two of them rushed out of the alley. Dante didn’t bother standing up, remaining crouched on the ground as a miserably familiar snip of scissors echoed behind him. Dante huffed out a sigh as he waited for the Sin Scissor to get closer. He pretended not to hear it approach, waiting until it was about to strike before he lunged into action. He launched himself to his feet, rotating on his heel in order to deflect the rusted scissors that were about to cut him in half. He rolled to the side and drew Ebony again, firing into the mask of the Sin Scissor as it disappeared through a wall. He kept his guard up, waiting tensely for the laugh that would give away its hiding spot.
Dante jumped just as the scissors pierced through the ground, easily avoiding getting skewered. He teleported through the air, letting loose a volley of bullets that repeatedly hit the mask, leaving it scratched and scuffed.
His feet hit the ground with a heavy thud; he swung Rebellion upwards, a satisfied grin on his face as he blocked the Sin Scissors attack again. His heart pounded in a familiar rhythm, adrenaline pumping through his system as he got into the swing of the fight. He danced out of the way of the demon’s lunge, a quick shot skimming past its face. The all consuming emptiness seemed to fade away for a little while, all of his attention focused on the demon in front of him.
He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, continuing to fire Ebony even as the Sin Scissor darted through the wall. “We playin’ hide and seek? You know I’m supposed to close my eyes and count to ten before you hide, right?”
Rebellion’s blade clanged loudly against the scissors, and Dante found himself face to face with the demon. He shoved Ebony into its mask and pulled the trigger over and over. Bullets buried themselves into the mask, leaving a deep crack through the whole thing. The Sin Scissor pulled back with an enraged screech, soaring above him, far out of reach of his sword.
Heh, sucker.
No one ever accused demons of being smart.
He returned Rebellion to her spot on his back and drew Ivory. He chased the Sin Scissor with a rain of bullets as it flew above him. It dove, scissors brandished dangerously, aimed at his heart. Dante shoved his pistols back into his holsters, settling into a stable stance. He threw his arm up in a quick block as soon as the metal would’ve touched him, drawing on the magic coursing through his veins. Red sigils sparked around his arms as he triggered his Royal Guard. The scissors bounced harmless off of him, stunning the demon long enough for Dante to slam his fist through the mask, shattering it on contact.
Its haunting laughter filled the air as its body vanished, disappearing in a pile of ash.
Dante glanced around the alley, searching for signs that anything else may be lurking in the darkness. Nothing jumped out at him immediately as he sniffed the air. There was no smell of sulfur remaining, but something else caught his attention.
A shadow formed on the wall in front of him, a massive black spot that hadn’t been there moments before. It was hard to spot anything distinct in the body of the shadow, though Dante spotted what looked like horns at the top of its head poking straight up; the only part of the shadow that had a distinguishable shape. He raised an eyebrow as he turned around.
Crouching on the top of the building like one of the many, many gargoyles in this city was a figure watching him intently. Dante stared back at them, brushing some of the ash off his coat. He didn’t hesitate to call out to them.
“Hey! You just gonna lurk up there or do you want something?”
Tall, dark, and brooding stood from their perch and jumped down from the roof, a long cape flaring behind them as they glided down.
Well shit, that was cool. Dante wanted to do that.
Standing in front of him was a tall man in a dark gray, skin tight costume, complete with black gloves, boots, and a cape. A black bat symbol was plastered on his chest. His face was covered by a black cowl. The only splash of color on his entire body was the yellow belt wrapped around his waste.
Damn, and Dante thought he liked red. This guy took it to a whole new level.
“So, can I help you with something or were you just watching the show?” He flashed him a grin, though it felt hollow. As the adrenaline from the fight faded, so did Dante’s energy to put on his usual upbeat mask. He hadn’t been able to muster that up in…a while.
The man narrowed his eyes, his face unreadable as he watched Dante closely.
Reminded Dante of the way he used to stare at him when he was doing something stupid.
He had to swallow past the lump in his throat to avoid the catastrophic breakdown following that train of thought would inevitably cause.
“I was watching you fight those demons,” Mr. Mysterious said, his voice deep and gravelly. There was something familiar about it that had Dante tilting his head to the side. His nose twitched as he caught the scent of an expensive cologne, hidden under thick leather and metal.
“Yeah? That’s not creepy at all.” Dante crossed his arm and tapped his fingers against his bicep.
“I wanted to make sure I didn’t need to jump in and save you. Those demons have been doing a lot of damage lately.”
“Riiiight, and I’m supposed to believe a guy in a…what is that, a bat costume? A guy in a bat costume was gonna save my ass? Dude, no offense, but you don’t seem like hunter material.”
Most hunters wanted recognition, they hardly ever covered their faces. It was how Lady had gained such an impressive reputation throughout their friendship. They had both made themselves known through their repeated hunts. But this guy…Dante definitely would’ve heard about a guy dressing up like this. Word got around fast in hunter circles, and Lady liked to keep him updated on what he needed to know.
“No, I’m not a hunter, but I do have experience fighting my own enemies.”
Dante snorted. “Yeah sure. You got an evil clown running around this city or something?”
“Yes.”
“...what?”
The man didn’t elaborate, much to Dante’s horror. He’d had enough clowns in his lifetime, thank you very much. He didn’t want to encounter another one.
“Still, you did well. We won’t have to worry about them anymore. I’ll make sure word of this gets back to Gordon. The GCPD has been trying to deal with them for days.”
“Can I ask a really dumb question?” Dante asked.
He scanned the man over again, an alarm bell ringing in his head. This guy was definitely trained to fight, given the way he stood coiled like a spring despite the casual conversation they were having. But Dante recognized him. His voice. It was deeper than the last time they’d spoken, but it was hard to forget considering he swore they’d talked less than an hour ago. And that cologne was hell on his senses, way too strong, even now, partially hidden behind layers of clothing and armor.
“What?”
“Is dressing up like a bat a rich guy thing or just a you thing? Between the himbo act and this, I’m a little confused.”
Bruce blinked, his expression never changing from the deep frown that seemed permanently etched into his features, but there was a slight bit of surprise in his posture. “What?”
“Bruce, I’m dumb, not an idiot.”
The frown on his face deepened and he narrowed his eyes further. Tension ran through his body and he took a sharp step forwards, his attention trained solely on Dante. “Not a word of this to anyone else, do you hear me? And don’t call me that.”
“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to call you? Batman?”
“Yes.”
Dante threw his hands above his head in frustration. “I was joking!”
Bruce didn’t seem very amused. Though, this side of him felt more genuine than the charming rich boy Dante had met before. Brooding and overdramatic fit him more naturally. He recognized a mask when he saw one. The mask of fake stupidity and charm to make people believe he was less competent and less suspicious. A way to get attention off of him so he could handle things in his own way. The art of taking matters into your own hands while getting the world off your back.
Yeah, Dante got it.
And he could respect it.
“Whatever, man. Am I still getting paid for this?”
That must’ve caught Bruce off guard, given the subtle way tension faded out of his body. The resemblance to him had Dante gritting his teeth and looking away. Focus on the present. He was long gone and was never coming back.
He really needed another drink.
Hopefully he’d even manage to get drunk enough to forget this whole night even happened. That would be preferable than getting trapped in his own damn head.
Bruce gave him a single sharp nod. “I’m not in the habit of backing out of deals that I’ve made. Besides, you did well. Those people would’ve been dead if it hadn’t been for you.”
More people had died because of him. Saving two people hardly made up for everyone else he’d failed to save. Who’d died just because they had spent time around him.
“Dante,” Bruce said. “If we have another demon problem here, can I call you to handle it?”
”Yeah, sure, why not?” Dante shrugged. Being needed was probably better than sitting in his empty office playing Russian Roulette.
Bruce gestured for Dante to follow as he pulled out what looked like a gun from beneath his cape. He fired it upwards, and a grappling hook wrapped around one of the damn gargoyles, pulling him up onto the roof. Dante backed up a few steps before taking off in a sprint. He kicked off the ground, using a quick air hike to get more height. His boots hit the side of the building and he teleported upwards, grabbing the ledge of the roof as soon as he could and hauled himself up. He flashed a smug smirk at Bruce who shook his head in mild annoyance.
“So, how’d you figure out it was me so quickly?” He asked, scanning the horizon.
“Your cologne. That shit is strong, man.”
Bruce froze, glancing over his shoulder to stare at Dante. “…You have got to be joking.”