The city was in chaos. Fires burned in the streets, the sky was painted in hues of crimson and ash, and the screams of terrified civilians echoed through the alleyways. Demons roamed freely, tearing through buildings and attacking anything that moved. But despite the terror, a sliver of hope remained—because everyone knew that Devil May Cry would come.

A group of survivors huddled near the remains of a collapsed shop, their eyes darting around, waiting. “Dante’s gotta be on his way,” one man said, gripping his injured arm. “Or maybe Nero,” a woman added, her voice filled with desperate hope.

And then, from the smoke and rubble, a figure emerged. A silhouette against the inferno. The people gasped… but their excitement quickly faded. Their cheers died on their lips. Someone in the back even booed

It wasn’t Dante. It wasn’t Nero.

It was just you.

A rookie. The newest, least-experienced member of Devil May Cry.

Their disappointment cut deep, heavier than any wound. You weren’t who they wanted—just the rookie, the letdown. And as the demons grinned, you wondered if, for once, they agreed with the crowd.