Early January 2005 – Lower Manhattan
Snow fell sideways through the alleys, hissing where it met the steam rising from cracked asphalt.
The city was quieter these days—too quiet—but New York never stayed clean for long.
A snarl echoed from the dark.
Dante Sparda stepped out of the shadow of a burned-out subway entrance, coat flaring in the wind, twin pistols drawn.
The smell of sulfur cut through the cold.
"Figures," he muttered. "New year, same demons."
The first creature lunged—gray skin, horns curling like rusted pipes—and met a bullet to the face.
Dante pivoted, firing again; shell casings scattered across the snow like brass confetti.
He moved with practiced rhythm, all swagger and precision—a dance between bullets and claws.
When the last demon hit the pavement, he exhaled, steam curling from his breath.
Under the streetlight, two necklaces glinted against his collar.
One was the familiar red pendant—his mother's gift, a reminder of what he'd lost.
The other hung lower, a small silver rosary, cracked and scorched from the Tower's fire.
Father Matteo's.
He reached up, thumb brushing both pendants.
"Still watching, old man?"
The rosary pulsed faintly, catching the dying glow of the city lights—a heartbeat of gold in a world gone gray.
Dante holstered his guns, flicked snow off his coat, and smirked toward the next alley.
"Guess that's a yes."
From the distance came another scream—the low, wet howl of something crawling out of the ruins.
He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and drew Rebellion.
"Alright, boys," he said to no one, "let's make this quick. I've got pizza getting cold."
Snow hissed on the barrels of Ebony and Ivory as he blew the smoke clear.
The last demon hit the pavement and burst into cinders.
He holstered both guns, brushing soot off his coat.
"And that's how you start a new year."
A snarl came from the next street over—followed by a thwip and the crunch of something big hitting brick.
A familiar voice yelled through the blizzard:
"Dante! Little help here?!"
Dante sighed and looked skyward. "You've gotta be kidding me."
He vaulted over a wrecked taxi, landing beside Spider-Man, who was currently wrestling a horned demon twice his size.
"Didn't I tell you to stay out of the weird stuff, Web-Head?" Dante called, drawing his pistols.
"Yeah, well, the weird stuff keeps finding me!" Spider-Man shot back, kicking the demon in the face. "And since you're here—"
Ebony barked once, Ivory twice. The creature's head dissolved in a flash of green flame.
"—you're welcome," Dante said, spinning his guns back into their holsters.
Spider-Man straightened, panting. "You know, you could've led with that instead of the lecture."
"I charge extra for saving repeat customers."
"Put it on my tab."
They both turned as another wave of demons poured from a collapsed subway entrance.
Dante grinned. "You take the rooftops; I'll handle street cleanup."
"Right. And we're totally splitting the dental bill for these guys."
Snow whipped around them as the fight resumed—webs and bullets cutting through the dark, the rhythm of their teamwork easy, practiced, earned.
The next wave hit before either of them could breathe.
Five demons burst from the tunnel—long-limbed, skin like cracked obsidian, green fire pulsing in the seams.
Spider-Man dove straight into the mess.
He webbed two of them together mid-leap, swung through the gap, and drop-kicked a third into the street.
Dante stepped through the flurry, coat flaring, Ebony and Ivory already drawn.
Bang—bang-bang.
Each shot landed where Spidey's web had yanked an opening.
The two bound demons exploded in green cinders.
"Nice timing!" Spider-Man called.
"Old routine," Dante replied. "You tangle, I terminate."
Another brute lunged.
Spider-Man vaulted off Dante's shoulder, twisting mid-air to sling a web around the demon's throat.
Dante pivoted beneath him, firing upward—two perfect rounds through its jaw.
The creature went down in a rain of ash.
"You keep using me as a trampoline, I'm billing you for dry cleaning," Dante said.
Spider-Man landed beside him. "You love it!"
A heavier beast crashed from a rooftop, shockwave rippling through the snow.
Spider-Man clung to a lamppost, then used the recoil to launch himself across the street.
Dante planted Rebellion in the pavement, channeling power through it until the blade glowed crimson.
Spider-Man's web-lines yanked the creature forward—
Dante ripped the sword free in a single arc, severing the demon in half as its body ignited.
Ash and steam filled the air.
Spider-Man landed beside him, eyes wide behind the lenses.
"Okay, not gonna lie—that was awesome."
Dante smirked, spinning Rebellion to rest on his shoulder.
"Try not to get jealous."
Another snarl echoed from the tunnel—something larger, slower, crawling on all fours.
Spider-Man shot twin webs into its shoulders and yelled, "Fastball special, demon edition!"
Dante grinned. "My favorite kind."
He sprinted up the tensioned webs, used them as a ramp, and came down with Rebellion blazing.
The sword cleaved through the monster's skull; fire roared out of the wound as it collapsed into molten dust.
Silence settled.
Snow fell through the rising steam.
Spider-Man crouched on a broken hydrant, catching his breath.
"You ever notice your fights end with small-scale natural disasters?"
"Occupational hazard," Dante said, holstering his guns. "You still insured?"
"Working on it."
They shared a grin.
The city hissed quietly around them—sirens in the distance, neon flickering overhead.
Spider-Man stretched, cracking his neck. "So, uh… you always turn downtown into a war zone, or is this just your hobby?"
Dante brushed ash off his coat. "What can I say? Demons love my company."
A faint buzz came from his pocket. He sighed, reaching into his coat and flipping open an old Motorola RAZR V3, the metal catching the streetlight.
Spider-Man tilted his head. "Is that a flip phone? Man, everyone's got the new StarkPhone—military encryption, AI assistant, all that jazz."
Dante smirked without looking up. "Yeah, I don't trust phones built by guys who also make missiles."
"Hey, Tony says it's perfectly safe."
"Sure," Dante said, snapping it open. "Until it launches a drone when you miss a call."
He pressed the phone to his ear, ignoring the caller ID.
"Devil May Cry—yeah, still under construction," he said with a grin. "Dante speaking. You got a problem that bleeds? I've got the cure."
The voice that answered was sharp and familiar.
"You can start by explaining why you're late."
Dante's grin widened. "Hey, Elsa. Miss me already?"
"I've been sitting at the diner for twenty minutes," she said, exasperated. "Your pizza's cold, and they're out of parfait again. Maybe show up on time for once?"
"Tragic," Dante said, brushing a bullet casing off his shoulder. "Save me a slice. I'll be there before it gets colder."
"If you're not here in ten minutes, I'm feeding it to the dog that keeps staring at me."
"Wouldn't be the first time I lost dinner to a monster."
"I heard that."
He chuckled and snapped the phone shut with a metallic click.
Spider-Man dropped onto the nearest lamppost, arms crossed.
"So—girlfriend?"
Dante slid Rebellion back into place, expression unreadable.
"Partner," he said after a beat, then added with a faint smirk, "Still figuring out what that means."
Spider-Man cocked his head. "Sounds complicated."
"It usually is."
Spider-Man chuckled, firing a webline. "Well, try not to blow up the city before Valentine's Day."
"No promises," Dante said, already walking into the snow.
The storm swallowed him as he disappeared into the glow of neon and steam, the faint red pulse of his mother's pendant glinting beneath his collar—
a heartbeat guiding him toward the diner, the pizza, and the woman waiting there to yell at him for saving the world late again.