The diner bell jingled behind him as Dante stepped out into the night, a half-eaten slice of pizza hanging from his mouth. Grease dripped onto his crimson coat, but he didn't care.
"Nothing like New York pizza," he muttered around the crust. "Closest thing this city's got to religion."
He was halfway down the block when a noise cut through the hum of traffic — the scrape of steel, a woman's grunt, the muffled cry of pain. It came from the alley behind the diner.
Dante's grin faded into a spark of interest. He took another bite of pizza, chewed slowly, then strolled toward the noise like a man with nowhere better to be.
The alley was narrow, lit only by a sputtering neon sign. Shadows stretched long across graffiti-stained brick. And in the middle of it — chaos.
A woman in black leather was cornered, her silver hair whipping as she lashed out with a kick that sent one robed figure sprawling. Her mask glinted in the dark, feline, her claws flashing with every strike.
Black Cat.
But it wasn't just thugs she was fighting. These men were wrapped in robes of black and crimson, their hoods marked with a serpent devouring its own tail. Bone-white masks hid their faces in eerie grins. From their belts dangled parchment charms smeared with blood — contracts bound to Mephisto.
The woman hissed, raking her claws across a cultist's chest. "Picked the wrong cat to corner tonight, boys."
The cultists hissed in unison, voices layered, unnatural:
"By the pact. By the blood. By the master's hand. Mephisto claims what is his."
One lunged, blade flashing. Black Cat pivoted, but her boot slipped on a puddle. The dagger should have cut her down — instead another cultist stumbled into him, tripping over nothing at all. Felicia blinked for a heartbeat, startled. Her luck had always been bad… but this? The blade had bent away like fate itself had twisted.
The hesitation vanished instantly. She slashed another across the mask, sparks flying. "Guess the devil doesn't pay for training."
Dante leaned against the alley wall, still chewing his slice, watching like it was a late-night show. "Huh. New York really does have everything. Cult freaks, cat burglars, and snakes on their pajamas."
One cultist spotted him, hissing. "Outsider! The shard must not be taken!"
The man hurled his dagger. It cut through the air and knocked Dante's pizza box clean from his hand.
Dante froze. Looked at the box. Looked back at them. His grin sharpened into something dangerous.
"…Alright," he said, cracking his neck. "Now it's personal."
He reached back and drew Rebellion, the blade gleaming under the alley's neon haze.
The first cultist lunged low. Dante parried lazily, sparks spitting as steel met steel. He smirked. "Sorry, pajama party's canceled."
Another rushed him, but a black blur darted in — Black Cat swept his legs out, claws flashing silver. The man crashed into a pile of trash bags.
Dante arched a brow. "Not bad… Kitty."
The woman spun, mask glinting. "It's Black Cat."
"Uh-huh," Dante said, grin widening. "Kitty it is."
She hissed under her breath but didn't waste another correction. Together they carved through the first wave — Dante's swings unnecessarily stylish, Rebellion twirling in flourishes that left cultists bleeding across the bricks. Black Cat struck with precision, flipping gracefully between blades, her claws tearing masks from faces.
The fight wasn't clean. They weren't a team. But for a moment, it looked like they were winning.
Until one cultist staggered back, mask cracked, clutching a parchment strip smeared with blood. He pressed it to his chest, eyes blazing red.
"In Mephisto's name, I offer my flesh!"
The air shuddered. His body twisted, bones snapping, skin tearing. His arms elongated into jagged claws, his jaw splitting into rows of fangs. His robe shredded away, revealing molten-black skin crawling with infernal sigils.
A Hellspawn.
The other cultists dropped to their knees, chanting in frenzy:
"The pact is sealed! The master claims his vessel!"
Dante tilted his head, eyes narrowing at the new arrival. "Well… that's new."
The creature roared, fire spitting from its maw as it lunged. Dante braced, spinning Rebellion once before grinning wide. "Finally. A real dance partner."
Beside him, Black Cat crouched low, claws glinting under the neon. She muttered, defiant despite her pounding chest. "Of course. First week on the job and I'm already fighting Satan's leftovers."
Dante smirked sideways. "Don't worry, Kitty. Stick close, and I'll make sure you look good."
The Hellspawn howled, claws raking sparks from brick. Dante met it head-on, Rebellion flashing, his grin sharp even as the impact rattled his bones.
Behind him, Black Cat ducked a dagger, her chest burning faintly — the shard pulsing. Every move she made rippled with stray bursts of bad luck: one cultist's blade snapped, another tripped over a pipe, their weapons betraying them.
Felicia hissed under her breath. "Okay… that's new."
"Less thinking, more clawing, Kitty!" Dante shouted, ducking under a swipe and countering with a rising slash that split green fire from the brute's chest.
But the chanting only grew louder, feverish, hungry.
"Do not let the girl escape! The shard is in her! The shard is ours!"
Dante froze for half a beat, eyes narrowing. "…What the hell does that mean?"
Felicia's lips pressed into a thin line beneath her mask. She didn't answer — instead vaulting up the fire escape, claws sparking against the metal.
Dante parried another blow, laughing. "Kitty! Don't tell me you're ditchin' me on the first date?"
From above, Felicia balanced on the railing, mask glinting in the neon glow. She smirked down at him, voice smooth and teasing.
"Relax, handsome. I don't do first dates in alleys."
She blew him a playful kiss, then flipped into the night, vanishing across the rooftops with a thief's grace.
Dante laughed, spinning Rebellion onto his shoulder as another cultist lunged. "Figures. The good ones always run."
The cultists surged forward as the Hellspawn howled, fire leaking from its maw like molten tar.
Dante smirked, twirling Rebellion onto his shoulder. "Alright, freakshow. Let's make this quick. I've still got dessert waiting."
The Hellspawn lunged, claws ripping through brick. Dante slid low under the swing, coat tails snapping as his blade slashed sparks across its ribs.
The beast roared, spinning backhand fast. Its claw hammered down — but Dante vaulted off the wall, twisting midair and landing square on its back.
"Giddy-up!" he shouted, driving Rebellion into its shoulder.
The Hellspawn shrieked, bucking wildly, smashing into the wall to throw him off. Dante launched himself away, flipping three times before landing in a crouch, blade spinning into a flourish. "Guess you're not the ride-sharing type."
Two cultists charged. Dante kicked up a trash can lid, spun, and sent it ricocheting into one's face. The other lunged — only to meet Rebellion's flat across his mask, bone-shattering.
"Sorry boys, no refunds on tonight's sermon."
The Hellspawn barreled again, maw wide. Dante slid between its legs, Rebellion dragging sparks before he whipped it upward in a rising cut, carving a glowing arc across its chest. The monster stumbled, coughing fire.
Dante smirked, tossing Rebellion between his hands like a showman. "C'mon, big guy. You're making Kitty look good by comparison."
Some cultists cut their palms, daggers igniting with hellfire. One rushed him — Dante caught the strike, twisted his wrist, and flung him straight into the Hellspawn's claws. The demon ripped him in half, sparks and gore raining down.
Dante whistled low. "Talk about a bad retirement plan."
The Hellspawn roared, both claws swinging. Dante backflipped onto a parked car, caving in the hood. He raised Rebellion high, grinning ear to ear.
"Showtime."
He dove. Midair, his blade whirled in three rapid arcs — left, right, down. Sparks and ichor exploded, lighting the alley like strobe lights. He landed in a roll, coat flaring, and rose smoothly with Rebellion balanced on his shoulder as if nothing had happened.
The Hellspawn staggered, ichor spilling, cracks of hellfire glowing through its ruined chest. The cultists wailed in despair.
Dante tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "And that, my masked friends…" He dashed forward, Rebellion carving through the Hellspawn's skull in a single stroke. "…is how you end a sermon."
The beast collapsed, erupting in green fire that devoured parchment scraps on the ground.
The cultists screamed as the charms at their belts ignited, flames racing up their bodies like hands clawing for payment.
"Master, no—!" one shrieked before bursting into crimson fire. His scream was cut short as his soul was ripped from his body, dragged into the dark.
Another clawed at the ground as his body turned to ash. The flames weren't just killing them — they were collecting them.
Dante watched, leaning casually on Rebellion as the alley filled with fire and shrieks. His grin sharpened. "Yeesh. Talk about fine print. Guess Hell's HR department doesn't mess around."
The last cultist's mask cracked, green fire spilling from his mouth before his body collapsed into cinders. Then silence.
Only Dante remained, standing over the fading embers, Rebellion balanced on his shoulder. He tilted his head, smirk tugging wide.
"Unnecessarily stylish," he muttered, spinning the blade into a flourish before sliding it back across his shoulder. "But hey… so am I."
The alley stank of sulfur and smoke. Above, the rooftops were empty — no sign of the silver-haired thief who'd slipped away into the night.
Dante twirled Rebellion one last time and slung it across his back, muttering, "Guess that's my good deed for the night."
Then the ground trembled.
A low, grinding rumble rolled through the city, making the streetlamps flicker and the air hum. Dante turned, eyes narrowing.
In the distance, past the neon glow and skyscraper spires, the skyline cracked. A massive column of stone and steel burst upward, tearing through asphalt and glass as though the city itself was being gutted.
A tower — jagged, black, unnatural — surged into the clouds, dwarfing the buildings around it. Windows shattered for blocks. Alarms screamed. The ground shook with every foot of its rise.
And then came the voices.
A chant, distant yet thunderous, carried on the wind:
"The blood of Sparda will open the gate to Hell."
Dante froze, jaw tightening, eyes narrowing. "…What the hell—"
His phone rang.
He fished it out of his coat with one hand. The number flashing across the cracked screen made him smirk.
"Matteo. Lemme guess. This ain't a social call."
The priest's voice came through, steady but urgent. "Dante, get back to the cathedral. Now. The tower… it changes everything."
A second voice cut in — Elsa's, sharp and certain. "That place reeks of the Bloodgem. My father's tied to it. If he's anywhere… it's in that tower."
The line crackled, but Dante's grin sharpened. He snapped the phone shut, tilting his head toward the looming spire.
"Guess dessert'll have to wait."
The tower pulsed with green fire against the New York skyline, a wound in the world. Dante slung Rebellion back into place and started walking.
And with each step, the city seemed a little darker.