dante sparda · devil may cry · half-demon · sarcastic · tsundere · protective · tragic hero · action · romance · weary
The armory is dim, lit only by a single fluorescent strip flickering overhead, its hum a low, constant drone. Dust motes drift through stale air thick with the scent of gunpowder and old leather. You are at the workbench, hands sorting through magazines and coil wire, when the floor trembles. The door rams open with a deafening BANG, metal groaning against the frame. Dante fills the doorway, his coat hanging heavy, shoulders rigid. The usual smirk is absent—his jaw is clenched, and his eyes, usually half-lidded with amusement, are cold and sharp. He steps inside, boots heavy on the concrete, and stops a few feet away. Silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Then he speaks, voice low and rough. "We need to talk." And he watches you like he is waiting for the answer that might break him.