Dante In Devil May Cry 5 Novels & Stories

A ghost. Amara tapped her nails against the stem of her glass, her mind racing. “Dante,” she whispered to the darkness, though he wasn’t in the room. “Who is it this time?” --- A Crack in the Empire Dante returned late that evening, the sharp scent of gunpowder still clinging to him. His shirt was torn at the sleeve, a graze of blood visible near his shoulder. But his eyes—the sharp storm-gray eyes Amara loved and feared in equal measure—burned hotter than the Mediterranean sun.

He adjusted his suit jacket, though his eyes were still burning with the fire of L'Oscuro. He looked down at Mateo, who was still on his knees. "You thought you were inviting a tech CEO to a birthday party." Dante whispered, his voice dangerously calm. "You forgot who I was before I built the company, Santiago." Mateo spat. “You son of…” "You invited the Devil into your house." Dante hissed. "And now you are upset that he brought hell with him." Then he casually shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around the room, his grey eyes sweeping over the terrified elite of New York.

Into the open space between the two forces. I follow, staying just behind her like she ordered. The late afternoon sun is blinding after being inside. I squint against it. And see him. Dante. Standing in the center of his men. Arms crossed. Face carved from stone. But his eyes... Oh god. His eyes are red. Not gold like I've always seen. Not the amber-gold of his Lycan side. Red. Pure, burning red Like blood. Like fire. Like nothing I've ever seen before.

He had to be subtle as he knew the man standing in front of him was Dante, the atrocious third master. “I don't want to hear this! I want a positive answer!" After suppressing himself for the whole night, Dante finally lost it at this moment. He was out of his mind just like a runaway lion. His phoenix eyes had turned scarlet, filled with killing intent. He looked so intimidating as if he was from hell. Luca stepped forward and held his hand to calm him down.

Her fingers brushed his cheek, still warm but pale, and something inside her cracked. Tears began to slip from her eyes—slow, silent, and heavy. She hovered over him, her chest heaving, her mind screaming. Please... don’t die on me. But across the room stood the devil himself. DANTE. Unbothered. Cold. Detached. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t even look at Damon bleeding to death. Instead, he stood before the wall like it was a gallery—staring at the photographs of her. His fingers held a cigarette lazily, smoke curling into the dim air like poison.

After a few seconds of eye-to-eye battle, he still maintained his silence, leaving Don Basco with no choice but to break the deafening silence between them. “Am I right? What do you think? (Am I, right? What do you think?)” Don Basco questioned; his lips painted with the image of the devil's grin. Without Don Basco's knowledge, the real devil was the young man in front of him—a devil who is hiding in human flesh with an innocent face, waiting for the right moment to attack his enemy and make them feel what hell is like.

“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.

"How many of you do I have to kill before you get the message?" "As many as it takes to stabilize the Ledger," the Vessels said in unison. They moved together. A synchronized wall of his own lover’s face. Dante didn't hesitate. He dived into the center of the group. He wasn't a soldier anymore; he was a demolition crew. He grabbed the first Vessel by the arm and snapped the bone with a dry pop. He used her body as a shield, absorbing the strikes of the others. He felt the sting of a blade across his ribs, the warm slide of his own blood, but he didn't slow down. He drove his elbow into a Vessel’s jaw, the teeth shattering like porcelain.

Alessandro’s pov: “Okay,” I mutter, “Who’s the other person?” I question with a relaxed expression. “Okay?” Harlow snarls. “Yes, okay,” I repeat. Dante points to the other guard holding the chit. He hands it to Harlow. “Dante. Dante Jovie,” Harlow hisses. Dante’s torn lips and broken teeth smile at me. I don’t waste a single second shoving the gun down Dante’s throat before pulling the trigger. As the blood pours out, I feel anger gushing through my veins.

I made it to the front steps before I heard… “Hold it right there.” If Antarctica had a voice, this was it. I turned slightly, and met the sight of the devil himself glowering at me. Dante had stepped out of the car, looking like a character out of a freaking fantasy novel. His top was undone by half and he had his sleeves rolled up. This guy was sin itself. He tried taking a step towards me and stumbled slightly. Dominic was by his side in an instant, reaching out. “Watch out—”