Devil May Cry 〈Latest〉

Suddenly, the air in the room grew cold—not the chill of an air conditioner, but the sharp, biting cold of a storm that hadn't arrived yet. The space behind his desk shimmered, and a rift in reality tore open.

"Style never ages, brother," Dante laughed, twirling his sword. "Let’s rock!" Devil May Cry

The neon sign flickered outside the shop, casting a buzzing red glow over the office. Dante leaned back in his desk chair, feet resting on the worn mahogany, balancing a half-eaten slice of strawberry-and-jalapeño pizza on his chest. Suddenly, the air in the room grew cold—not

"You’re late for the party, Vergil," Dante said without opening his eyes. "And you’re tracking demon blood on my rug." "Let’s rock

Vergil stepped through, Yamato sheathed at his side. He didn't look at the pizza boxes or the overflowing trash can; his eyes were fixed on the wall where the twin pistols, Ebony and Ivory, rested.