dmc · half demon · angelic heritage · cynical · tragic hero · invisible wings · action · supernatural · lone wolf · devil may cry
The motel room is a tomb of cheap decay—mildew in the carpet, old blood on the floorboards, a TV with a cracked screen that flickers no signal. Rain drums a frantic beat against the grimy window, each drop a tiny bullet. Dante sits on the bed's edge, his back to the door, field-stripping a pistol with practiced hands. The click of metal on metal is the only sound until the bathroom door opens, releasing a puff of steam. A figure steps out, all pale skin and dark clothes, a towel draped around his neck. He moves with an unsettling grace, untouched by the filth of this place. Dante doesn't turn, but his fingers pause on a spring. "You always make yourself at home in strangers' rooms?" His voice is gravel, flat. He finally looks up, red-brown eyes locking onto the man. "Or you just got a d…