Dante Devil May Cry Fanart Novels & Stories

"What do you mean?" "I just mean, you're a formidable businesswoman. I imagine there's quite a lot occupying your mind," he replied. A soft chuckle escaped me. His sense of humor, both humble and perceptive, intrigued me. "So, you're a lover of art?" I asked, turning back to the mesmerizing painting before us. "I'm obsessed," he stated simply. A faint, knowing smile played on my lips. "What's your favorite artwork?." "Devil in a Silhouette by Stéi Fontaine," he said without hesitation.

“She will be mine forever. Fifty million dollars.” My eyes flew open. Dante stood at the edge of the VIP balcony, black tuxedo immaculate, no mask needed because everyone knew that face. He held his paddle high, expression calm as if he were bidding on a vintage car instead of a human life. Relief crashed through me first—sharp, dizzying. Dante. The devil I knew. The one who threatened fingers and teeth but had never once touched me like those men wanted to. Then fear followed, cold and twisting. Forever. Not one night. Not an evening’s toy. Forever.

I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. Soo studies me, his long muscular legs showcased in tight black jeans. With his hair back, I can see the straight sweep of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his jawline. He’s beautiful, but so is Nicolo, and I’m reminded then that even the devil can look like an angel. “Do you have any requests? I can get you something, make you more comfortable.” “Why?” I spit. “So I owe you something too? Want to pop by for a hand job later to make sure I live up to the expectations of your clients?”

My eyes locked onto the center of the deck. Dante was splayed across a stone plinth that shouldn't have been there, an altar of dark, vein-streaked marble that seemed to have grown out of the concrete like a malignant tumor. He was shirtless, his chest heaving, his skin a deathly, pallid grey. Thin, glowing violet lines were crawling up his arms, tracing his veins like luminous parasites. They were draining him. I could feel it through the bond, a rhythmic, agonizing pulse of suction that felt like my own marrow was being drawn out through a straw.

“You think I’d like to be associated with such a nasty demon?” “Nasty demon?” Cloud demons hated being cursed, because they believed they were perfect. “You may look good on the outside but you're still a demon.” My voice lowered to a whisper. “A gruesomely disgusting demon feasting off souls just to maintain her fake looks!” I spat. Angered, she rushed to me, aiming the knife at my tattoo but I held her in place with my powers. The blade cut through my palm, dropping blood to the floor and the pain made me fling her across the room.

“Exactly. Now stop fighting it and just pick something. I even promise to help you choose which one will look best in that cold, soulless office of yours.” Cavern raised an eyebrow. “Soulless?” “Extremely,” Dante confirmed. “It needs some soul. My art can provide that. For the right price, of course.” Cavern stared at him for a moment, then let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.” “Thank you,” Dante replied, completely unfazed. “I try.” I watched their exchange quietly, a small smile forming on my lips. Even though Cavern was clearly the more serious twin, he still managed to joke around with Dante in a way that felt easy and natural. There was a comfortable familiari

Dante was beaming, dressed in a fine suit as he stood at an award ceremony. It seemed as if it was for an Italian wine company. Dante owned that legal company? Matthias had thought he only did illegal shit. Scrolling through the web, he couldn't find much about Dante until he came across a link to his I*******m. Tapping on it, he was brought to an account with five million followers. In every photo of Dante, he looked like perfection, gorgeous as sin. He was the true definition of a devil in a suit. If Matthias hadn't seen him kill, he wouldn't have believed it.

I said, stepping out, trying not to fall with the bleeding heels still in my feet, as they sank into the gravel. Luca walked ahead, not waiting for me. He climbed the stone steps and pushed open the massive front doors without looking back. Dickhead. I followed limping slightly. The interior was as breathtaking as the exterior. Marble floors, dark wood paneling, crystal chandeliers And oil portraits lining the walls. They were the portraits of Moretti ancestors. One portrait caught my eye. It was of a woman with dark hair and silver eyes, painted as she stood in the forest. She was wearing a crown of antlers.

< Waylon chuckled, >You know I love you. Dante smirked. He reached over the bed and slapped Waylon’s ass. >And you know I love you, mate.< >I do, now go!< Waylon said and covered his head with the yellow blanket. Dante shook his head unamused and walked out of the room. He quickly cleaned the living room and as he was cleaning, he found the drawing that Waylon was talking about. Dante was so confused, he turned the page around to look at the wolf properly. He could tell that the drawing was upside down because Caiden drew himself, too.

During the cold, the girl let out a loud cry, and I held her tightly against my chest. “Take them,” I barked. “Now.” We vanished into the night. Old blood and new ambition emanated from the underground temple. Hundreds of the Death Pack, which were full of cursed wolves with unnaturally bright eyes and covered in darkness, had Dante waiting at the altar. He resembled a shadowy king, sweating on his hair and having veins that were black from the dark beer he had consumed at this time. He expressed his gleeful approval, saying "You did it." “Don't act surprised.”