Devil May Cry - Volume 2 - Chapter 2.1

Phase 2 
Part 1 

Dante emptied the shot glass and gazed out at the first pink rays of the sun peeking over the rooftops.

After Beryl had left the temple ruins, Dante had returned to his shop to unwind.

He sat on the stone steps out front with a furrowed brow, lost in thought.

He didn't know the true nature of the Beastheads.

Even Beryl hadn't known-or at least hadn't admitted to knowing.

However, there was one thing he had grasped immediately.

The Beastheads was a link to his father.

A link to his father's era, anyway.

No man alive knew the secret to Dante's lineage, although many suspected he was touched by magic.

None knew he was the son of the legendary Sparda, a dark knight of the demon world.

Dante ran a hand through his silver hair as he pondered his next move.

Above him, the neon sign proclaiming his other name flickered in the dawn.

Devil May Cry.

The name that demons feared.

I supposed this means my battle isn't over.

Dante stood up, resolved.

A cynical smile spread across his face as he tossed the empty glass into the air.

He whipped out Ebony and Ivory with characteristic speed and fired a single 
shot.

The glass shattered before it hit the ground, sending a spray of sparkling glass raining onto the street.

Bring it on.

Whatever was happening, it was already underway.

Oblivious, the city woke with the rising sun, its denizens flooding the streets as they went about their daily routines.

The first change didn't begin until the first stars poked through the sky at dusk.

"Again?! What the hell is up with that rat bastard tonight?" 
The agitated voice was so loud that it flooded into the alley outside the bar.

The watering hole offered little in the way of class or cleanliness, but instead focused its energies on alcohol, loose women, and various other sinful pursuits.

Normally at this time, the last of the respectable customers would be leaving happy hour to head home, while the first of the evening's mercenaries wandered in to prepare for the long night ahead.

But tonight was different, Businessman and mercenary alike were rooted in place, eyes locked on a small card table that had been hastily installed in one corner.

A young woman shuffled cards with a pained smile.

She doled out a series of hands for the solitary man sitting at the table.

Ducas the Rat stroked the triple-headed pendant that hung around his neck and broke into a greasy smile.

He had tried to stay put in the hotel, but cabin fever got the better of him.

And just as well.

He was on a roll tonight.

His new lucky charm had helped him rake in a small fortune in just under an hour.

"I'm going all in!" Ducas snaked out an arm around a small mountain of chips and moved them to the center of the table.

He hadn't bothered to count his winnings yet, but it was obvious to everyone present that it surpassed the establishment's take this evening.

The dealer allowed her pained smile to collapse into a frown.

"Perhaps we can take a quick break?" She dashed from the table without waiting for an answer.

A square-shouldered brute the size of a small rhinoceros swept into the vacant position at the table.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir.

Would you kindly step into the VIP room for a moment?" 
Nobody would accuse Ducas of anything remotely approaching intelligence, even if they were in a charitable mood.

But he had slunk through the lower rungs of the criminal underworld long enough to know that dive bar requests to visit the VIP room were generally invitations to a shakedown or a good, old-fashioned pummeling.

Never a good thing.

"Let me save you time," Ducas said with a confidence he hadn't felt before picking up the charm.

"I'm part of Chen's Family." 
The goon stepped back awkwardly, suddenly nervous.

"I'm so sorry, sir." 
Ducas clutched the Beastheads with delight and watched the bouncer slink into the shadows.

He spread his hands wide and addressed the throng of onlookers.

"Come on, next round.

Next round! I'm gonna work the house until it begs for mercy!" 
"That's all we have to report about his situation." 
"Ho ho.

Very interesting." Chen sat in an overstuffed leather chair, sipping lemonade.

He watched swans play in an artificial pond.

Every once in a while, minions scurried forward to deliver updates on various enterprises.

This particular minion had rushed to Chen's opulent veranda with details about Ducas' uncharaceristic winning streak.

"The deal was by no means unskilled," the toady offered, staring politely at his own feet.

"But it seemed as if Ducas could see her hand perfectly.

He even beat the roulette wheel nine times out of ten." 
Chen clasped his hands.

"So it seems our Mister Ducas has found himself something more than a mere good luck charm.

But let's not jump to conclusions just yet.

It seems prudent to let him swim free for just a while longer.

Don't you agree?" 
Everyone always agreed with Chen.

The minion bowed lower before exiting the veranda, leaving his master alone in the warm glow of the evening.

The swans skittered across the water as Chen mused to himself.

Chen had paid handsomely for the artificial pond and the pretense of southern comfort.

His house was on the edge of the city, protected by high walls and bulletproof glass.

Behind the grounds was a twisted maze of concrete and glass-a city millions called home.

And Chen had mastery of most of it in the crepuscular hour.

He was blessed with bursting coffers, wealth generated on the backs of countless victims and stooges.

But it was somehow not enough.

Every evening, Chen came out to his veranda and watched his treasured swans drift gracefully in the pond.

In these moments, his cheerful facade ebbed to reveal an underlying melancholy.

"You're there, aren't you? Come on, then.

Come out where I can see you." 
The growing shadows morphed into humanoid figures cloaked in black leather and hidden behind esoteric masks.

The figures advanced toward the veranda without a sound.

Chen rose up to his full height.

"We shall continue our observation of the Beastheads for now.

You are to continue to maintain your perimeter around young Mister Ducas.

Protect him if necessary, but otherwise do not allow yourselves to be seen.

Understand?" 
The figures nodded in unison.

"Very good." Chen flared his nostrils involuntarily.

"There is one other thing.

We have identified someone else with an interest in the Beastheads.

A silver-haired mercenary with a penchant for killing your kind." 
The shadows twitched upon hearing Chen's last statement, although he could not identify whether the figures were fearful or enraged.

Whispers fluttered across the veranda as the newcomers took in the information.

Chen screwed up his face in consternation.

"Calm down.

We already know the man's name and location.

And make no mistake about this, my friends.

His interest in the Beastheads will only intensify.

He must be dealt with." 
The shadows sobered under Chen's soothing tones.

"Devote your energies to tracking our Mister Ducas.

He must not escape our sights.

Eliminate the warrior Dante.

Slay him in the name of the Ghost Knights.

He is the wild card.

Leaving him alive is too dangerous at this stage." 
The figures melted back into the shadows around the edge of the veranda in silence.

Once the last of the demons vanished, Chen allowed his customary smile to return.

Ho ho! The hunt has a formidable quarry at last.

The one who defeated the King of the Underworld.

Chen's lips curved excitedly as he contemplated the game ahead of him.

A Devil Hunter! A throaty chuckle welled up from within, spilling out into the night air.

On the artificial pond, the swans flapped their wings in agitation.

The planet trundled on through its diurnal course, spinning the city into the light of the sun once more.

Nothing of note had happened after Chen conferred with the men in black.

Ducas had taken the house's winnings and finally stumbled back to his hotel.

Dante spent the rest of the night perched on the stoop under the flickering neon sign, uninterrupted by job inquiries or calls from Enzo.

But he knew that the calm betrayed an impending storm.

Hours stretched into days, and Dante walked through the week in quiet preparation.

By the weekend, everything would be different.

"Excuse me." 
Dante only had a moment to register the sound of a woman's voice before recognizing that Beryl found the offices of Devil May Cry.

The reunion was sooner than either of them would have wished.

"A customer.

How unusual." Dante didn't move from behind the desk.

"I thought you told me not to get involved." 
"One can't survive on principles alone, you know." 
Beryl plopped herself unceremoniously on a sofa across from Dante, who seemed unconcerned that the woman who had shot at him in the ravine had wandered back into his life.

The pair regarded each other for a moment.

Finally, Dante broke the silence.

"Did you find what you were after?" 
"Yes," Beryl said.

"It took some trouble.

Look at this." Beryl tossed a newspaper onto the desk.

It was opened to the financial section and featured among its stock quotes and interest rates, a large photograph of a gambler who had attracted attention for an unparalleled winning streak.

The pendant hanging from his neck had three canine heads.

Dante examined the picture with a frown.

"This is it?" 
"Yes; the Beastheads.

I don't know how this guy got hold of it, but there we are," Beryl said.

"We?" 
Dante scanned the accompanying article.

Ducas the Rat had spent the week sinking his winnings into dog and horse races, spinning that first night at cards into a fortune worth millions.

The article was packed with analysts waxing effusively over his keen insight into the vagaries of the bond market and equities.

"How did this clown wind up with the Beastheads?" 
"Who knows? That's our next stop." Beryl folded the paper and stuck it back in her pocket.

She looked at Dante expectantly.

"Pretty good news, huh?" 
Dante glowered at her.

"If you think about it, my job request hasn't actually been fulfilled.

You wounded the she-devil, but you let it get away.

So in a way, it's your fault that Ducas has the Beastheads." Beryl decided to gloss over the fact that she had distracted Dante by shooting at him and the demon.

She adopted her best girlish pout.

"I'll give you another chance.

Surely you can get close to Ducas and recover the Beastheads." 
"What's in it for me?" 
"Don't be so vulgar.

Besides, didn't I say? The Beastheads is connected to your father." 
Dante didn't ask how she knew of his father, or what she was keeping secret about the statue.

He knew she was appealing to him out of selfish concerns.

Ducas was almost certainly backed by dangerous forces, and allying with Dante would give Beryl a powerful counterweight.

Ordinarily, he would coldly eject her onto the street without further comment.

Instead, he rose and collected the massive sword Rebellion from its mounting on the wall.

What Beryl wanted with the Beastheads was a question for another time, but for now it was enough that the statue was linked to his father.

"So that's a yes?" Beryl asked.

 
"Your previous commission was completed.

But I'm interested in your current problem.

Consider us partners as long as our interests coincide." 
Beryl beamed at him.

"I knew you'd say yes! Come on, let's go!" She pecked Dante on the cheek and bounded out of the office.

Dante sheathed Rebellion on his back and gritted his teeth.

You've kept me waiting for a long time.

Don't disappoint me.

Dante exited Devil May Cry and took another step closer to his destiny.