Devil May Cry White Rabbit Novels & Stories

Darz said. “Rabbit, the symbol of luck. An incarnation of a moron who is so cocky for her luck. Speculated as the ones everyone afraid of, yet don’t get so cocky as you just summoned your Ribo!” Franz exclaimed. “She’s not the only one who has a Ribo!” Harz said showing his Ribo which is a white sheep. “We managed to summon our Ribo because of Varz. We are not a bunch of morons who will hate anyone for something he has never done.” Larz said showing his Ribo which is a brown boar.

”Nice flowers.” Wendy commended as soon as Rebecca entered the room. Rebecca on the other hand didn’t pay attention to what was said. She was lost in a world of her own thought. She didn’t see the face of the biker, but from the sound of his voice, she could tell who it was. It was a voice she would recognize anytime, any day. The voice of the devil who haunts her in her dream. A pat on the shoulder brought her back to reality. She jerked and the flower slipped from her hands, but Wendy caught it before it could fall to the floor.

The underground gambling den smelled of cigar smoke and old money, humming with the sound of shuffled cards, clinking chips, and muffled curses. Viviana descended the concrete steps without hesitation, heels clicking against the cold floor. She was dressed in sleek black leather pants that hugged her curves like a second skin, paired with a crimson satin blouse tucked in just right, its buttons teasingly open near her collarbone. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, green eyes sharp, confident, and hungry.

I took a glance at Valerian and saw him already staring at me. When I agreed to what he wanted in exchange for his life after I fulfill what he requires, will it be all worth it? Will it finally be enough for my father? Will I finally be free? When I entered his lair thinking I can handle him, was I right? Can I really handle this devil and what he is capable of doing? “Did you do that?” I asked, spitting the words like poison. He creased his forehead. “What?” “Did you--”

DANTE'S POV People call me the Devil of New York. They're not wrong. I've killed men for less than a dirty look. I've gutted rats who thought they could steal from me. I've fucked women who begged for mercy and made them beg for more pain instead. My empire runs on blood, loyalty, and fear. That's the only language this rotten world understands. And tonight, I reminded everyone of it. Crawford thought he could play me. Thought he could borrow money from my syndicate, promise returns, and then ghost like I'm some dumb fuck banker. No. You don't spit in my face and walk away.

If it weren't for that cup of water, I might never have realized she used occult means. The first time I heard the voice, I'd drunk the water she handed me. I'd hired a master to probe what was wrong, and only then learned my unborn baby carried an extra soul. It was the missing piece belonging to Ashley. The fragment could not harm us physically, but it could conjure voices that ruined lives. When I saw the shock on his face, I seized Ashley's arm and bared the scarred skin on her forearm. "This burn? She'd it had reconstructed by a doctor to impersonate me—an artificial mark to make herself look like the rescuer. Any hospital check would show it was recent."

“Here comes, here it goes. She who is lost in time falls into another and forms another identity. Take it, blame someone and pull her out of the abyss and misery. Give back what is supposed to be hers and remind her of who she is.” With a smile that is genuine excitement from deep within, she giggles and for the note claps her hands for the very first time now owning the emotion of joy, glee, and somehow a triumph. Thinking of the character that somehow reflects the description of the current stage’s imprisoned soul into the seventh circle of Violence, she whispers. “The White Rabbit.”

I whispered to myself as I waited impatiently for his call, asking me for directions or asking me to come out but I got no call. Then he finally walked in, an hour later, and the moment I set my eyes on him, I nearly forgot how to breathe. Six-foot-three, wide sculpted shoulders in a fitted black coat. A black shirt unbuttoned just low enough to reveal the ink running down his bronze skin, his jaw was sharp, his nose straight, his cheekbones high and cruelly perfect. Midnight black hair, just long enough to fall into his piercing, cold grey eyes, the kind of eyes that stripped souls, not just clothes.

“What did the man look like?” I shrugged. “Like any old man. White hair, older. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t give any information. So I don’t know what the hell that was about.” Renata laughed and choked on it halfway. A bitter, broken sound. Her eyes watered instantly. This was the first time I've ever seen tears in Renata's eyes. She never cries. “That’s him,” she whispered. “Elijah, that’s the man I’ve been looking for. It's him!”