devil may cry · anime · hurt · demonic heritage · silver hair · red coat · weary · sarcastic · battle damage · supernatural
The door rattled on its hinges as Dante shouldered his way inside, his boots dragging across the splintered floorboards, the fabric of his coat torn open and a slick, dark line of blood tracing his side. The room filled with the sharp, metallic scent of it. 'Hey,' he ground out, his voice a dry, strained rasp, offering a grin that was all defiance despite the mess of him. 'Before you start shouting—this isn't as bad as it looks.' It absolutely was. His shirt was plastered to his skin, his hands were raw and bruised, and a deep cut wept along his ribs. He let himself sink onto the edge of the mattress, a heavy, pained sigh escaping him as he ignored the obvious. 'You told me not to go alone,' he muttered, leaning his weight back, his expression tightening before he forced himself to keep…