The Edge of the Map Fandom:Devil May Cry Rating:G Summary:Dante, post DMC3 just after the credits I suppose but before the final cutscenes. Author notes:Un-beta'd or edited in any way. Just some idea my brain was following at the time. Prompt 'Dante and Vergil, titled 'The Edge of the Map'. It didn't turn out quite as I meant it to. Disclaimer:Devil May Cry belongs to Capcom, I make no money nor claims from this fanwork.
A loose page danced along the ground until it snagged on the cracked paving slab that jutted up from the ground at what had been the foot of Temen-ni-gru. Dante, sat on the remains of car lodged firmly into the ground next to it, leant over and idly picked it up.
Lady had left some time before, he wasn't sure when. He wasn't sure on how long he'd been sitting here, he'd not given it any thought apart from some part of his mind being vaguely aware that this was probably the longest he'd ever sat still. He sat staring into the distance, just holding the paper that was rustling in the breeze that had blown up, its timing almost as if to clear the air of the stench of demons, blowing everything away and taking the past with it.
Except it didn't. The piece of paper was still in his hand, the hand that now showed no sign of injury except for the clean cut and dried blood on the glove. The wreckage around him, the wind couldn't blow that away either. There were no tears, the one he'd shed was the only outward evidence of his loss he was prepared to show, even to the wind that was now his only company. He was almost numb now; the kind of dulled nondescript feeling that came when all else has been spent, all his anger and frustration taken out on the demons left behind when the hellgate closed.
Lady would probably return soon. She'd left him to his solitude in respect for what he'd gone through, she'd needed it herself too. But Dante knew that she'd probably come back, if nothing else, just as an excuse to kick his ass again. He rose, slightly numbed from sitting still for so long. It wasn't in his nature to stay melancholy for long so he let out a sigh, picked up Rebellion from where he'd propped it beside him and looked at the piece of paper he'd picked up for the first time. He looked at the old ink, not that it showed where Vergil was, just part of how to get there. He snorted gently like he was amused by some private joke and threw the paper down, watched it land in a small smouldering pile of debris, watched the edge of the map catch fire and then walked away.