REDGRAVE

The old church stood as a relic of a forgotten time, its once-majestic spires now crumbling under the weight of neglect. The heavy wooden doors, adorned with intricate carvings of angels and demons, creaked ominously as they swung open, revealing a dimly lit interior. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light that filtered through the stained glass windows, casting eerie patterns on the cold stone floor. Each window depicted scenes of celestial battles, their vibrant colors dulled by years of grime, telling tales of a war long past.

The air was thick with the scent of mildew and decay, a stark reminder of the church's abandonment. Shadows clung to the corners, and the flickering candles on the altar struggled against the encroaching darkness. Cobwebs draped like veils over the pews, and the silence was palpable, broken only by the distant echo of dripping water.

Suddenly, the tranquility shattered as a deafening crash reverberated through the sanctuary. The roof splintered and buckled, sending shards of wood and debris cascading to the ground. From the gaping hole above, a massive figure plummeted, wings unfurling in a chaotic display of power. 

The demon, known as Seraphiel, was a grotesque sight to behold. Standing at least ten feet tall, its six wings were a tattered tapestry of black and crimson feathers, each one marred by deep gashes and torn edges. Blood dripped from its wings, pooling on the stone floor like a dark omen. Its skin was a sickly shade of gray, stretched taut over a muscular frame, and its eyes glowed with a malevolent red hue, filled with both fury and pain.

Seraphiel's body was riddled with bullet holes, each wound a testament to a fierce battle fought against an unseen foe. The bullets had pierced through its flesh, leaving jagged holes that oozed a thick, dark ichor. The demon's claws, sharp as daggers, scraped against the stone as it struggled to regain its footing, the sound echoing like nails on a chalkboard.

As it rose, the air crackled with an otherworldly energy, a palpable tension that filled the church with an impending sense of doom. The flickering candles extinguished one by one, plunging the sanctuary into darkness, save for the eerie glow of Seraphiel's eyes. 

In that moment, the church transformed from a sanctuary of peace into a battleground, the very walls bearing witness to the chaos about to unfold. 

With a guttural roar that echoed through the hollowed halls, Seraphiel reared back its head, the air around it shimmering with a malevolent energy. The demon's eyes blazed brighter, a fiery intensity that seemed to draw the very shadows closer, as if the darkness itself was afraid of what was to come.

From deep within its throat, a crimson glow began to coalesce, swirling like a tempest of rage and despair. The light pulsed rhythmically, illuminating the church in a hellish hue, casting long, distorted shadows that danced along the walls. The very atmosphere crackled with energy, a prelude to the chaos that was about to erupt.

With a deafening roar, Seraphiel unleashed the beam—a torrent of raw, destructive power that shot forth from its mouth like a dragon's breath. The crimson energy surged through the air, leaving a trail of shimmering light in its wake. It struck the roof of the church with a cataclysmic force, the impact resonating like thunder.

The ancient wooden beams splintered and cracked under the assault, sending shards of timber raining down like deadly shrapnel. The stained glass windows shattered, their colorful fragments exploding outward, catching the dim light and scattering it like a thousand falling stars. The air filled with the acrid scent of burning wood and the sharp tang of ozone, a testament to the sheer power of the demon's attack.

As the beam continued to bore into the roof, a gaping hole opened up, allowing the moonlight to pour in, illuminating the chaos below. Dust and debris swirled in the air, creating a surreal, almost dreamlike atmosphere amidst the destruction. The once-sacred sanctuary was now a battleground, the remnants of its former glory crumbling under the weight of Seraphiel's wrath.

With the roof breached, the night sky loomed above, a stark contrast to the chaos within. The demon, panting heavily, stood amidst the wreckage, its wings unfurling with a menacing grace, ready to face whatever came next. 

"Dante!!!" Seraphiel bellowed, the name echoing through the ruins like a death knell. The fury in its voice was palpable, a mixture of rage and desperation. The demon's eyes burned with a fierce intensity, reflecting its anger at the one who had wronged it. 

Seraphiel's body trembled with pent-up rage, the bullet wounds still oozing dark ichor, a reminder of its recent battles. Each breath it took was a struggle, yet the fire in its gaze spoke of an unyielding determination. It was not just anger; it was a primal need for vengeance, a desire to confront the one who had caused its suffering. The church, once a sanctuary, now bore witness to the fury of a demon scorned, and Seraphiel was ready to unleash its wrath upon the world.

As the echoes of Seraphiel's furious roar faded into the shadows, a haunting melody began to weave its way through the remnants of the church. The voice was smooth yet eerie, reverberating off the crumbling stone walls, filling the air with an unsettling charm. 

"It's close to midnight, and something evil's lurking in the dark…"

The lyrics floated through the air like a ghostly whisper, each note dripping with an otherworldly quality that sent chills down Seraphiel's spine. The sound seemed to dance around the demon, taunting it, as if the very walls of the church were alive with the rhythm of the song. 

Seraphiel's eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows with ferocious intensity. Its wings flared, casting ominous silhouettes against the flickering candlelight. The demon's heart raced, a primal instinct urging it to find the source of the voice. 

"Come out, bastard son of Sparda!" Seraphiel bellowed, its voice a thunderous growl that echoed through the sanctuary. The fury in its tone was palpable, a mixture of frustration and anticipation. The name hung in the air, heavy with the weight of history and rivalry, as the demon's claws dug into the stone floor, leaving deep gouges in its wake.

The melody continued, weaving through the chaos, a stark contrast to the destruction surrounding Seraphiel. The tension in the air thickened, a palpable force that seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. Shadows flickered and danced, and the church, once a sanctuary, now felt like a stage set for a dark performance, where the lines between hunter and hunted blurred.

The continuation will focus on the voice singing the lyrics of "Thriller," further aggravating Seraphiel and heightening the tension in the scene. This will emphasize the demon's frustration and set the stage for a dramatic confrontation.

The voice, smooth and haunting, continued to weave its way through the chaos, each lyric dripping with a mocking undertone.

"You try to scream, but terror takes the sound before you make it…"

The words echoed off the stone walls, reverberating in Seraphiel's ears like a sinister lullaby. Each note felt like a taunt, a reminder of its vulnerability and the power of its adversary. The demon's fury ignited further, its muscles tensing as it scanned the shadows, searching for the source of the voice that dared to mock it.

"Show yourself!" Seraphiel roared, its voice a thunderous growl that shook the very foundations of the church. The air crackled with energy, a palpable tension that seemed to thrum in time with the haunting melody.

"And though you want to, it's hard to keep your head…"

The lyrics twisted like a knife, each line a reminder of the demon's current state—injured, enraged, and desperate for vengeance. Seraphiel's wings unfurled, casting dark shadows that flickered ominously against the walls, and its eyes burned with a fierce intensity, reflecting the chaos within.

"Bastard son of Sparda!" it bellowed again, the name a growl of pure rage. The church, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage, the walls closing in as the melody continued to mock its fury. The tension in the air thickened, a storm brewing as Seraphiel prepared to unleash its wrath upon the unseen adversary.

Seraphiel cried out in pain as a bullet pierced its shoulder, the sharp sting igniting a fresh wave of fury. The demon fell hard onto the stone floor, the impact sending tremors through the debris-strewn sanctuary. It looked up weakly, its vision blurred, just as a figure dropped through the gaping hole in the roof, silhouetted against the moonlit sky.

Dante landed with a grace that belied the chaos around him, his boots striking the ground with a soft thud. He stood tall, exuding an air of confidence and defiance. His silver hair, tousled and wild, framed a face marked by sharp features and a roguish charm. His piercing blue eyes glinted with mischief and determination, reflecting the moonlight as they locked onto Seraphiel.

He wore a long, dark red trench coat that flowed elegantly around him, the fabric smooth and unblemished, hinting at his stylish persona. The coat was unbuttoned, revealing a fitted black shirt underneath that accentuated his lean, muscular build. The sleeves of the coat flared slightly, giving him an imposing silhouette, while the high collar added an air of mystery.

In his right hand, Dante held a 1911 .45 ACP pistol, the weapon gleaming ominously in the dim light. The grip was textured, fitting snugly in his hand, and the barrel was polished to a shine, a testament to his meticulous care for his weapons. The gun was a classic, its weight balanced perfectly, ready to unleash a torrent of bullets at a moment's notice.

Dante's presence was electric, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded him. He surveyed the scene with a smirk, his demeanor a mix of nonchalance and readiness, as if he had stepped into a familiar dance of battle.

"Looks like I arrived just in time," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as he aimed the pistol at Seraphiel, the tension in the air thickening with the promise of conflict.

Dante strode confidently toward Seraphiel, a smirk playing on his lips as he closed the distance between them. The demon, still reeling from the bullet wound, barely had time to react before Dante delivered a swift, powerful kick to its face. The impact echoed through the church, sending Seraphiel's head snapping back, its fury momentarily eclipsed by shock.

"You know how long I've been chasing your feathered ass around the city?" Dante taunted, his voice dripping with mock indignation. He stepped back, hands on his hips, feigning hurt as he looked down at the demon sprawled on the ground. "And as soon as I finally find you, I decide to serenade you with a bit of Michael Jackson, and this is the thanks I get?"

He gestured dramatically, as if wounded by the demon's lack of appreciation. "I mean, come on! A little gratitude wouldn't kill you!" His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, the tension in the air lightening for a moment as he reveled in the absurdity of the situation.

Dante's bravado was infectious, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded them. He was ready for a fight, but he couldn't resist the urge to poke fun at his adversary, relishing the moment as he prepared for the inevitable clash.

With a furious roar, Seraphiel staggered back to its feet, its eyes blazing with rage. The demon's clawed hand slashed through the air, aiming to cleave Dante in two. The air crackled with tension as the attack came hurtling toward him, but Dante merely smirked, his confidence unwavering.

"Dodge this!" he taunted, his voice laced with playful defiance. As the clawed hand approached, Dante pivoted on his heel, his body moving with a fluid grace that seemed almost effortless. He ducked low, the razor-sharp claws slicing through the air just above him, missing by mere inches.

Seraphiel's frustration mounted as Dante danced around its attacks, each dodge executed with precision. The demon lunged again, this time with a sweeping strike aimed at Dante's midsection. But Dante was already one step ahead; he leaped backward, his body arching gracefully as he avoided the deadly swipe. The force of the missed attack sent a gust of wind that ruffled his coat, but he landed smoothly, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

"Is that all you've got?" Dante quipped, his eyes glinting with mischief. Seraphiel, growing more enraged, slashed again, this time with a series of rapid strikes, each one more desperate than the last. Dante weaved and dodged, his movements a blur as he sidestepped the onslaught. He ducked under one swipe, rolled to the side to evade another, and even performed a backflip to avoid a particularly vicious claw aimed at his head.

"Come on, I thought you were supposed to be a big, scary demon!" he teased, his voice echoing through the church as he continued to evade Seraphiel's furious attempts to land a hit. The demon's frustration was palpable, its growls growing more guttural as it struggled to keep up with Dante's agility.

"Die!!" Seraphiel bellowed, its patience wearing thin. It stopped its futile attempts to slice Dante in half and began to gather energy in its mouth. A deep, ominous glow of red and black swirled within, pulsating like a heartbeat, casting eerie shadows across the church. The air around Seraphiel crackled with dark energy, the very atmosphere thickening as the demon prepared to unleash its devastating power.

The crimson and ebony energy twisted and coiled, forming a swirling vortex that threatened to erupt at any moment. Seraphiel's eyes narrowed, filled with a fierce determination as it focused all its rage into this single, cataclysmic attack, ready to unleash its fury upon the one who dared to mock it.

Dante smirked, his confidence radiating as he raised his right hand high into the air. "Rebellion!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the church like a battle cry. A dark crimson glow enveloped his hand, swirling with energy as it began to morph and grow. The light pulsed and flickered, illuminating the shadows around him, until it took on the unmistakable shape of a giant sword.

As the glow faded, Dante stood proudly, holding Rebellion —a magnificent weapon that gleamed with a polished sheen. The sword was massive, its blade broad and slightly curved, tapering to a sharp point. The steel shimmered with a deep crimson hue, reflecting the light in a way that made it appear almost alive. Intricate designs etched along the blade's surface glowed faintly, hinting at the power contained within. The hilt was adorned with a distinctive cross-guard, shaped like a pair of wings, and the grip was wrapped in black leather, providing a firm hold.

Dante held Rebellion to his side, exuding an air of nonchalance as he gave Seraphiel the "come get some" gesture, his smirk unwavering. The demon, now seething with rage, unleashed its demonic ball of energy, a swirling mass of red and black that crackled with malevolent power.

Dante's expression remained unfazed as he charged directly at the oncoming attack. With a graceful swing of Rebellion, he sliced through the energy ball, the blade cutting through the dark mass as if it were made of paper. The explosion of energy erupted behind him, sending shockwaves through the church, but Dante remained focused, his movements fluid and precise.

In an instant, he was in front of Seraphiel, the demon's eyes widening in shock as Dante swung Rebellion again. The blade arced through the air with deadly elegance, and in a heartbeat, the demon's head was severed cleanly from its body. Time seemed to freeze as the headless form of Seraphiel stood for a moment, then blood erupted from the neck like a fountain, spraying the walls and floor in a gruesome display.

As the blood sprayed, Dante stepped back, watching as Seraphiel's body and head were engulfed in black flames, the inferno consuming the demon in an instant. The flames roared and crackled, turning the once-mighty creature into ash, leaving nothing but a swirling cloud of darkness. When the flames finally died down, a single red glowing orb remained, pulsating softly on the ground.

Dante approached the orb, his expression shifting to one of curiosity and intrigue. He bent down, reaching out to pick it up, feeling the warmth radiating from it as he cradled it in his palm.

Dante held the glowing red orb in his palm, feeling its warmth pulse against his skin. With a smirk, he tightened his grip, crushing the orb with a decisive squeeze. As it shattered, dark red and orange energy erupted from the remnants, swirling around him like a tempest of light and shadow. The energy crackled and danced in the air, tendrils of power reaching out as if trying to escape.

The vibrant energy enveloped Dante, wrapping around him in a cocoon of warmth and strength. He could feel it coursing through his veins, invigorating him, enhancing his already formidable abilities. It was as if the very essence of Seraphiel was being absorbed into him, fueling his power and sharpening his senses. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush that sent adrenaline surging through his body.

As the last remnants of the energy faded, Dante stood tall, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He brushed off his coat, the remnants of battle fading into the background as he turned to leave the church.

With a playful glint in his eye, he began to sing the lyrics of "Thriller," his voice echoing through the empty sanctuary. "Cause this is thriller, thriller night…" The melody filled the air, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded.

Dante made his way toward the exit, his steps light and carefree, the haunting tune following him as he stepped out into the night. "Hmm, I think I'll stop by Tony's. I'm in the mood for a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese."