Night wind swept across the rooftop of the skyscraper. Pitch-black hair like a waterfall whipped in the breeze, flowing down her graceful curves before transforming in an instant into a tight, form-fitting black leather bodysuit. The bare skin of her back shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
The woman pushed her black-framed glasses up her nose. Dozens of demons at her feet crumbled into ash and scattered on the wind. She watched the silver-haired man in the distance carry the exhausted, unconscious youth away, her full red lips curving into a sly smile.
"Decent kid."
She licked her lips, stepped onto the roof's edge in her high heels, and dissolved into a swirl of countless black feathers that vanished into the night.
"According to our latest report, the disaster at Ravenscroft Psychiatric Hospital several days ago was caused by a rare geological collapse event," the TV anchor's voice drifted in, warm and professional. "The incident resulted in one death and dozens of injuries of varying severity. Relevant authorities are still investigating the details. Additionally, seismic activity was detected in the suburbs—citizens are advised to limit outdoor activities in the coming days."
The cheerful broadcast cut in and out. Soren's eyelids felt like lead. His whole body ached.
He slowly opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him wasn't unfamiliar. A familiar face filled his vision instead.
"You're awake?!"
Patty's usually perfect makeup looked exhausted, her blonde hair a mess.
Soren rubbed his throbbing head and pushed himself upright. Vergil must have dumped him straight back at the office.
"How long was I out?" he asked.
Patty's expression hardened instantly. She stared at him dead serious. "Ten thousand years."
Soren froze mid-motion and gave her a flat look. "And you're still alive? That's a miracle."
"Bang!"
She punched him square in the chest. "Screw you! First thing out of your mouth and you're already pissing me off!"
Soren clutched his chest in mock pain, about to fire back, when the TV cut to breaking news.
"Urgent update! Last night, a military base on the East Coast was attacked by a mysterious swordsman. This marks the sixteenth targeted assault against military facilities this week—"
Helicopter footage showed the base sliced open like a cake, massive cracks spider-webbing across the concrete. In the corner of the screen, a blurry surveillance shot caught a silver-haired man in a long coat, katana in hand, coat flapping in the moonlight.
Soren's mouth twitched. Vergil. He'd assumed it was some masked vigilante.
But the guy who lived only for power had gone after the military? For Patty?
"Don't stare. Big bro's just settling the score for her."
Dante's lazy voice came from the left. He lounged in a chair, boots kicked up on the desk, casually flipping a coin.
"While you were wrecking the psych ward, a few stragglers tried to snatch the girl. If you hadn't hit that communicator when you did, you'd be in deep shit right now."
"Vergil's methods are his own. Handle your mess yourself—don't expect us old-timers to keep bailing you out. Let Patty get dragged into this crap again and I'll knock your teeth in before anyone else gets the chance."
The smirk faded from Soren's face. He looked at Patty.
She met his eyes and forced a bright smile. "What? I'm fine. Those losers didn't even graze my skirt before they were done."
Soren studied her tired face and stayed quiet. He'd been careless. After the mechanical monsters hit him in the suburbs, he should've seen this coming. He'd destroyed too many of their bases. They couldn't touch him, so they'd go after the people around him.
If he'd been stubborn that night and never pressed the communicator… or waited even a minute longer…
He didn't want to finish the thought.
"I get it," he said quietly a moment later.
Dante watched him, chuckled, and tossed a small wooden box onto the couch. "That's the face I wanted to see. Your debts, your problem."
Soren caught the box and opened it. Inside lay half a spear, its tip crusted with long-dried blood that still pulsed with faint golden light when he focused on it. The Spear of Destiny. After everything, it had finally landed in his hands.
Beside it rested several pure white, flawless feathers—Gabriel's, slashed off during the Lightning Iai.
"Figured you busted your ass for these," Dante said with a snort. "Kid, I've known you since you were trailing after me. Your little schemes never fooled me for a second."
"What about Satan?"
Soren closed the box.
He distinctly remembered the Lord of Hell getting launched by Dante's demonized punch right before everything went black. He hadn't actually turned the guy into a Devil Arm, had he?
"That fat bastard took a beating and I chucked him back to Hell," Dante said. "Kill him for real and Hell goes into full meltdown. Then every little shit down there floods the surface and I'm stuck working overtime. Too much hassle."
Soren nodded and set the box aside. With the Spear of Destiny as the core and all the random corpses and materials he'd dumped into Silent Hill earlier, maybe Nico could forge him a proper custom Devil Arm. Alastor was strong, but it wasn't his.
Dante stood, stretched, and headed for the door. "Alright, chat's done. My stomach's been bitching for hours."
At the threshold he paused, glanced back with a crooked grin. "Oh—pay this month's electric bill for the office. And the meal tabs I've been running up. Throw those in too."
The door slammed shut.
Before Soren could react, a warm scent hit him. Patty launched herself into his arms, wrapping tight around his waist and burying her face against his chest.
His body went rigid, hands hovering awkwardly in the air. They'd grown up bickering and roughhousing in this office, but this unguarded closeness was new. He felt her trembling, heard her quick, warm breaths.
After a long moment he relaxed and gently rubbed her back.
"It's over. Don't be scared."
He didn't know what else to say, so he kept his voice soft. "I'll kill every last one of them."
Patty didn't answer. She just held him tighter.
Outside, sunlight bathed Red Grave Avenue. Dante leaned against the wall, tilted his head back, and smiled up at the sky. Warm light touched his weathered face, catching in his messy stubble.
Listening to the muffled voices of the two young people inside, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned down the shadowed alley.