Devil May Cry - Volume 1 - Chapter 1.1

Phase 1.1

Humming neon lights and glittering raindrops aren't enough to stave off the inky night. Blackness always envelops the city. Only the rising sun unveils the familiar world. This unrelenting cycle of light and dark grinds on, just as it has for millennia. 
But there are things that remain hidden even in the light of day. Inhuman vapors come from the tangle of sun-cast shadows. And at night, those shadows merge with the darkness, and the creatures that dwell there are temporarily released. 
No one can pull back this curtain between worlds and see things as they truly are. No one, except for one man . . .

“It's all over, Tony!” 
Denvers shifted his weight, trying to cut an imposing figure but settling for “in charge.” He eyed Tony Redgrave, who stood at the far end of the alley. 
His prey had a penchant for flamboyance, cloaking his red leather coat in enough silver ornamentation to deck out more than one Christmas tree. The charms and talismans jangled as Tony turned to face him. 
“Again? I'm so tired of this shtick. Change the channel, Mad Dog.” 
Denvers bristled. This was, in fact, the ninety-ninth time he had gone after Tony. Any ordinary gangster would have stopped by the fifth. Tenth, tops. But Denvers was nothing if not tenacious – he'd earned his street name for a reason. 

He bared his teeth. “I've got forty men. And every one of them is armed with military-issue stain-makers. Today, you're gonna die.” 
Denvers involuntarily glances up toward the thick shadows that lined the alley's rooftops. Forty armed thugs. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. “You've got brass ones, I'll give you that.” He smirked. “You always manage to pull through. But I bet you've never had to eat this much lead. Ready to die?” 
The alley was still. Denvers shifted his weight again, uncomfortable with the tension. He could feel sweat beading on his brow, and hoped the thugs on the rooftops didn't notice. 
“Sorry, were you talking to me?” Tony pretended to stifle a yawn. “I haven't had much sleep. Can we make this quick?” 
“You bastard!” Delvers yelped. He glowered at Tony. “What is wrong with this guy? He either has nerves of steel or a mental condition. Either way, Denvers had had enough. 

“You arrogant punk!” 
“Chill out, Mad Dog. You might burst something.” 
“Just die!” Denvers pulled his trigger, and forty thugs followed suit. Hundreds of bullets volleyed toward tony, kicking up a dust cloud that soon swallowed the alley. 
The guns sputtered out a few seconds later. Denvers smacked his lips as his men lowered their spent weapons. 
“Maybe that shower woke you up.” He cackled. 

Tony emerged from the dust, brushing off his jacket. “Didn't I just say let's make this quick?” 
Denvers found the clank of jewelry more annoying than the witty banter. He sucked in a lungful of air, getting ready to bellow. 
Suddenly, he heard the clatter of empty weapons falling to the ground. One by one, his men backed away. 
“What the hell? Do your job!” he screeched. 
Someone shouted, “No way!” 
“I pay you, you bastards! What's the big idea?” Denvers wrapped his sausage-like fingers around the Mauser that hung at his considerable waist. Fresh sweat pooled everywhere. Why does it always turn out like this? 
Nobody could have survived that much lead. So why were his men lying in bloody heaps on the ground? Denvers gripped his pistol. Ninety-eight times. And now, yet again, he was poised to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. 
Red and silver flashed from the end of the alley, near the bodies of over half of his men. The talismans jangled, and another thug sprawled on the pile. Denvers' remaining men approached the dust cloud cautiously, wary of friendly fire. 
Denvers had no such compunction. “Like hell I'm going to lose this time!” He aimed at the melee and pulled the trigger. The Mauser roared, and one of his men collapsed. 
“Crap!” Denvers aimed again, squeezing off another round whenever he heard the metallic chime of Tony's jacket. Sweat poured off his forehead, blurring his vision. But Denvers didn't care. Aim for the jangle. Aim for the noise! 
Silver flickered at the edge of his vision – Tony's hair was as ostentatious as the rest of his gear. I've got you now. We aren't doing this a hundredth time. 
Denvers fired three bullets in quick succession, leaving a final round in the chamber. His eyes darted around anxiously. “Have you gone to hell yet?” 
There was no answer. 
A light breeze dissipated the veil of smoke. Forty bodies lay soaked in red, but Denvers couldn't see a hint of silver. He stepped carefully through the corpses, looking for Tony. He must have hit him. Had to, at that range. Find the body, go home, and knock back a few drinks to celebrate. 
His confidence returned. He could practically taste the celebratory cold beer running down his throat. Then something caught his eye.

“Wha – ?” Denvers felt the pit of his stomach grow cold. His mouth opened and closed like a fish's as his eyes registered the lithe figure standing alone in the alley. Silver charms clinked as Tony strode forward. 
“What are you trying to say, Mad Dog?” A gust of wind pushed the last of the dust out of the alley, brushing a strand of silver hair out of Tony's face. “If you need help completing a simple sentence, maybe you should go back to grade school.” 

He doesn't have a scratch on him! His red coat was a different story, though. It was riddled with holes. Tony held his giant sword in front of him like it was a shield. 
“You freak!” Denvers spat out. 
Tony was nonplussed. “You were aiming for the jackpot. I wouldn't expect anything less from a former Olympic sharpshooter. Too bad you've gone soft.” 
“Shut up!” Denvers snarled. He gestured with the Mauser. “I've still got bullets left, you butt-monkey.” 
Tony lowered his sword, further enraging Denvers. “Good for you. Mark of a true professional.” 
Rage chased away the last of Denvers' fear. He tightened his finger around the trigger. “I'm gonna shut your arrogant hole for good. If you've got anything else to say, now's the time. Think of it as a last request.” 
“I'm so sick of hearing that,” Tony said. “Must be like the ninety-seventh time now.” 
“Shut the hell up!” Denvers pulled the trigger. The two were so close that even a blind man couldn't miss. Denvers watched as the bullet tore into his adversary's face. “I did it!” 
Tony chuckled. “Oh. Really?” 
Denvers stared, agape. 
Somehow, Tony was unscathed. He pressed the tip of his sword against Denvers' throat. How is that even possible? 
Denvers had seen the bullet pierce the other man's skull. He's not human. 
“Looks like I win again,” the silver-haired devil crowed. “You're out of your league, pal.” Tony took the Mauser before sheathing his blade. “Nice piece. It's a bootleg,though. A real Mauser would have the manufacturer's mark here.” Tony traced a line on the gun. “Oh well, I'll take it anyway. Se you later, Mad Dog!” 

Tony spun on his heels and marched off, leaving Denvers wobbling, speechless, and totally dumbfounded. He turned at the end of the alley. “I almost forgot,” tony eased out of his ragged coat, “take this to Gail's shop and ask her to make me a new one. And don't forget to tip her.” 
“Crap! Why the hell do I have to be his errand boy?” Denvers skulked down the sidewalk, bitter. It was almost morning; soon the sun would rise, and skulking would become more difficult. (Denvers didn't want to run into anyone he knew.) 
He sneezed as he darted from building to building. “Dammit. First a defeat, and now a cold!” 
Denvers sidled onto a road that led out of town. It wouldn't do to be seen in this state. Luckily, the banks of the former Dob River were devoid of people. He pulled a grubby handkerchief out of his pocket and trumpeted loudly. The wind picked up. Maybe it was the sweat, or maybe it was his fear of Tony – either way, Denvers shivered. He slipped into the remains of the red coat, but the patchwork of holes did little to warm him. I'd be better off throwing it away, Denvers reflected. More than paying for repairs! But he had come this far. Might as well go the distance. 

Still, a little break can't hurt, he thought. Denvers sat down and crossed his legs. 
“Tragic,” he grumbled. “Ever since tony came around, my luck's gone to crap.” All his men were dead, making mad Dog just a lone wolf – Only he was more like a forlorn mutt. 
Ninety-nine times. “My reputation's kaput.” 
Tony had drifted into town two years ago, making short work of the underworld. Denvers wasn't the only gangster to feel the head. Drug dealers, arms dealers, human organ dealers, illegal surgeons. Anyone working for the mafia and its rivals had found themselves on the wrong end of Tony's talismans. 
Tony had rejected their overtures for peace. Any other mercenary would have taken the money, no questions asked. But not Tony. He did whatever he wanted, ignoring the local power structure. Gangs who opposed him were utterly crushed, and with each defeat Tony's reputation grew. 
Even worse, he'd started a trend. Other mercenaries cut ties with the underworld bosses, making their own bids for independence. It put the reputations of people like Denvers on the line, men who had come to power the old fashioned way. Tony was threatening his entire way of life. 

And so Denvers had decided to do something about it. Ninety-nine times now. There wouldn't be a hundredth. Denvers knew that. He had used up the last of his goodwill to find backing for this most recent attempt, hatching a meticulous plan and persuading old bosses to lend him money, muscle, and gear for the attack. Striking out had left Denvers with no friends and nowhere else to go. He had to keep his head down now. This wasn't a loss a man could just walk away from. 
“Dammit. I'm screwed.” 
Suddenly, a voice cried out. 
“DAAANNNTEEE!” 
Denvers lunged for his holster but came up empty, as tony had taken the Mauser. Damn! 
“DAAANNNTEEE!” The voice grew louder, echoing up the riverbed. Denvers' eyes darted around. 
“DAAANNNTEEE!” The call was coming closer. There were definitely several voices now. 
Denvers felt a new fear welling up inside him. Where are they coming from? 
“DAAANNNTEEE!” 
Denvers spun around wildly. 
“DAAANNNTEEE” The heavy clouds turned black and the sky grew darker. How is that possible? It's nearly dawn... No, it isn't the sky... It was everything as if the whole world was being subtly rearranged into and unknown shape.

“DAAANNNTEEE!” 
Denvers' fear grew more and more primal, his thoughts tumbling into feral abandon. Even if he'd had the Mauser, he wouldn't have been able to operate it. 
“DAAANNNTEEE!” The eerie voices were nearly upon him, but Denvers couldn't see them in the blackness. 
Suddenly, Denvers heard a footstep beside him. He whirled anxiously. “Who's there?” he was oddly comforted by the possibility that he wasn't alone. Maybe it was Tony. 
“DAAANNNTEEE!” 
And then he saw it – a scythe, slicing toward him. Slowly, his vision bled away. He felt something tearing into his flesh. Denvers tried to shout for help, but his voice didn't work anymore. Nothing worked anymore – nothing but his nerve endings, transmitting endless pain as he was hacked to bits. 
Denvers screamed silently. 

Finally, day broke. But on the chapped embankment, Denvers' body was nowhere to be found.