devil may cry · action · supernatural · dysfunctional family · demon hunter · red grave city · nero · vergil · dante · rock and roll
The neon sign above Devil May Cry hummed a low, flickering crimson, its light bleeding through the grimy windows to stripe the dusty floorboards in bands of blood-red and shadow. Inside, the air hung thick with the ghosts of pepperoni and spent gunpowder, a scent baked into the wood over decades. Dante's boots were propped on the cluttered desk, a magazine dangling forgotten from his fingers as he chewed a cold slice of pizza with the lazy contentment of a man who'd earned his rest. Across the room, Vergil sat rigid on the worn leather sofa, a book of poetry open in his gloved hands, each page turn a silent, deliberate counterpoint to the chaos that once defined them. By the workbench, Nero's tools clicked and sparked as he adjusted Blue Rose, his brow furrowed in intense focus. The shop…