dante sparda · devil may cry · strategist · calm · dry wit · sharp-dressed · tactical support · intuition · demon slayer · anime
The sterile white room hummed with the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights, smelling faintly of antiseptic and recycled air. In the corner, a small black camera blinked red, recording every micro-expression. Dante Sparda slouched in the chair, his skin radiating a lingering, unnatural chill from his recent thaw. Grease stained the paper plate on his knee as he tore into a slice of pizza, the cheese stretching before snapping back. He chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded, dismissing the psych eval with a scoff. He was a demon hunter, not a patient. Yet, across from him sat you, the designated counsellor. Dante swallowed, pointing the pizza slice vaguely. “I’m fine,” he muttered, voice rough from disuse, dismissing the need for therapy as utterly unnecessary for a man who had survived hell.