Author's note: My first attempt at a Devil May Cry story, oh boy. This story takes place a wee bit before the first Devil May Cry and so I've decided to do the normal thing I do and make up my own plot line. Mu hu ha ha ha. Anyways, leave a comment before you go, A.K.A review, and if you so desire, I may continue this story. Here we go.

A Devil's instinct

The Devil's instinct

'During the time when the star of Bethlehem bathed the earth with its radiance, demons and monsters rages deep in the bowels of Hell. One of these monsters declared himself King of the Demon World, and began to covet the world of humans. It was then that a fearless demon swordsman named Sparda appeared. Sparda cut down armies of hell and defeated the Demon King, sealing him into oblivion.

Although Sparda was himself a demon, his desire to experience the pain and joy of a human soul turned him against the demons. After many blood battles, he departed hell to reside in the human world. He even married a human woman who bore his seed.

And so, after two thousand years past, the cursed Demon King was destined to reclaim his powers and return to the human world. Also destined is the battle the Demon King and the half demon son of Sparda ...'

-Excerpted from the forbidden library texts of the Vatican "Demon World History".

(Date unknown)

The red neon light flashing irritatingly outside was the only thing that shed light into the inhabitants of his office. In one corner several white boxes, all containing the same word, most in red print of 'pizza', were stacked half heartedly to form a sloppy tower. Dried and crusted pieces of cheese clung to the white cardboard like glue and some pieces had even fallen to the ground, where they remained until they were either kicked away or crumbled into dust.

A polished drum set stood off to the side, though not forgotten, surrounded by piles of the same cardboard pizza boxes and forgotten pieces of paper. Almost empty and already losing it's maple polish, a medium desk stood on four wooden legs, abandoned for the moment. There were a couple pictures, however, and a trashed piece of paper that showed the outside of the building and the bold words "Devil May Cry" underneath it.

In here the air was thick and humid. It was almost possible to taste the smell of delivered pizza, so much that it would be too much to bare. There were a set of windows surrounding the main entrance, half bent and broken curtains covering them, but not doing as good of a job as they should have been. Away from everything else, but still surrounded with forgotten cardboard boxes, was a sofa, dark in color. But unlike everything else, it was occupied.

He took another bite of his half eaten slice of pizza, chewing slowly on the tough dough for a moment, then swallowed it instantly. He often wondered why he never stopped eating his most desired food, but he kept on eating it and knew he would probably never stop. This piece was distasteful, like it hadn't been fully cooked and there was an unwanted stale taste to it. So, in turn, he reached beside the sofa and withdrew another piece from inside, carelessly tossing the no longer desired one back where it came from.

It hadn't been that long since he had gone into business. His office was fairly new, bought at a cheap price because it had a few leaks in the ceiling and the heating wasn't all that shabby, but it did have a roof. Only four weeks since starting up, he figured, and there was already a mess.

Oh well.

Dante brushed several strands of his hair out of his tired eyes. He was hoping to catch some shut eye but the phone had been ringing constantly and there was no time to rest. Hell, most of the phone calls were the wrong number and that had only bothered him further, up to the point where he went up to the damned thing and pulled out the cord that connected it to the wall, only to put it back a half an hour later.

Mumbling a slur of curses, the demon slayer rose from his slouched position on the worn furniture, finished off the last piece of pizza in the box, and stood upright. He stretched momentarily, felt his muscles shift as he moved, and let his arms fall limply to his side.

What was worse than the phone ringing non stop was the awful hangover that he was suffering greatly from. Last night was nothing but a blur of flashing lights and the burning sensation in his stomach when the alcohol was first swallowed. His head felt like a boulder, no, a ticking time bomb, ready to explode if pushed or pulled the wrong way.

"Talk about over doing it," Dante groaned as he staggered over a clutter of emptied beer bottles, nearly falling face first into the hardwood flooring underneath his feet. Maybe the alcohol hadn't worn off after all...

Trying hard to balance himself, Dante made for the bathroom, unsure if he would make it or not, shirtless and reeking of booze and smoke. When his feet, still protected by his brown leather boots, touched the tiled floor, he went straight for the shower and pulled back on the white stained curtains. Turning the crystal knobs, nothing but cheap plastic with a handwritten "C" on the right and "H" on the left, the demon slayer waited until the temperature of the water was exactly how he wanted it, extremely cold, and jumped in after enduring a great deal of trouble trying to get his boots off without falling backwards.

The water hit his exhausted face and felt like small pinpricks, something close to sharp needles hitting bare skin, and watched through half lidded eyes as they bounced off and fell into the small whirlpool under his feet. The loud sound of the water seemed to drown out all the thoughts that circulated inside his mind, allowing him to experience relaxation. Dante was not granted the chance to do that since he opened his own business.

Yes, life was grand. Grand indeed.

After several minutes of mindlessly watching the water, more out of boredom than fascination, Dante stepped out of the shower, turning off the water. Like hell he'd be paying that big of a water bill, the cost of electricity was bad enough. Bloody rip off, that's what it was.

When his feet touched the tiles underneath, Dante soon found himself in a jumble of towels and discarded clothing, having slipped since he was sopping wet. But he soon recovered from his nice trip to the very 'clean' bathroom floor and cursed under his breath for what had to be the hundredth time today when the annoying, blaring ring of the phone echoed loudly in his ears.

He wouldn't be drinking for a while now. He hated having hang overs, especially now that he was constantly in need of.

Quickly dressing himself and grabbing a stray towel, Dante staggered out of the bathroom as fast as he could muster and reached for the phone on his desk, placing the towel over his head so it would not get in his way, though it probably would on his head, and picked up the oddly light contraption.

"Devil May Cry," he answered, caring not if he sounded professional or not. Hell, he really didn't want to be professional sounding anyways.

Dante used his free hand to swipe the towel off his head and sat in the worn chair behind his desk, kicking his feet over the surface of it. He then realized that he had forgotten his boots, but the sharp voice on the other end cut off any train of though concerning them.

"I require your assistance, greatly. Follow these directions and I'll give you your pay when it's completed."

"Whoa, hold on there big fella. Now what exactly do you need done anyways?"

"Head towards the large insurance building about two miles from your office and you should find-"

"Hey buddy," Dante cut off the gruff sounding man on the other line, "First off, I'd like to know what I'm getting into. A guy has to be prepared, you know?"

There was a long pause before the man answered, giving Dante the information he asked for, though some parts were missing. But something didn't sound all that right in the way their conversation had gone and Dante had long since decided to go with what his instincts told him.

This wasn't going to be no ordinary walk in the park.