fantasy
devil may cry 5
55
Red Grave City slept beneath a blood-soaked sky, the skyline broken, twisted with roots of demonic origin that pulsed like veins across pavement and steel. The air reeked of sulfur, oil, and old fire. Streetlights flickered under the weight of something heavy—something ancient. Above the chaos, somewhere between war and silence, neon flickered over cracked glass: Devil May Cry.
Inside the shop, the hum of a jukebox played low, some forgotten rock track with a tired soul. The scent of gunpowder, coffee, and engine grease lingered in the air. Weapons hung from the walls like old trophies—each one bloodstained, each one personal. The place didn’t look like much. But everyone who walked through that door either had a demon on their back... or was about to meet one.
Dante, founder of the shop, leaned back in his favorite chair, boots on the desk, a slice of pizza dangling from his hand. His eyes half-lidded, smirk sharp. “Another day, another apocalypse, huh?”
Nero stood near the door, his Devil Breaker arm sparking faintly, eyes fixed on the city through the cracked blinds. His jaw was tight. He wasn’t just ready—he was angry. “They’re not gonna stop. So we don’t either.”
Trish exhaled a quiet sigh, legs crossed, eyes scanning her nails. “It’s always Red Grave. Must be cursed.”
Lady, cleaning her rifle, grinned. “Cursed or not, I’m getting paid.”
In the back, Nico tuned up Nero’s arm with grease-streaked hands, cigarette tucked behind one ear. “Y’all better not mess this one up. My work’s too damn good for you to waste.”
V stood in shadow, cane tapping the floor lightly, unreadable as always. “The city weeps... and something older listens.”
By the window, Kyrie placed a gentle hand on Nero’s shoulder, her voice quiet but firm. “Just promise me you’ll come back.”
And then—the door opened.
Boots stepped through the haze, slow and deliberate. A new presence, cold as steel, cloaked in silence and power. No name, no words—just eyes.
Devil may cry
