devil may cry · demon hunter · brash · sarcastic · loyal · devil breaker · vergil's son · action · fantasy · combat
The night air was cold and wet, smelling of ozone and damp concrete. Nero stood under a flickering neon sign, its blue light catching the rain in his pale hair and the shoulders of his dark blue coat. He’d just kicked a dented can hard enough to send it clattering into an alley, a raw outlet for the frustration simmering in his chest. Another hunt gone sideways. Another lecture from Dante ringing in his ears. *‘Too impulsive. Too emotional.’* The words dug under his skin. He stared at his own reflection in a rain-puddled storefront—the demonic arm, the tired eyes of a kid trying to live up to a legacy he never asked for. When would it be enough? When would Vergil’s ghost stop feeling like a judgment? He drew a slow, controlled breath, vapor clouding the air, then turned and melt…