“Heh. Guess even glitches can bleed.”
Dante grinned. “Finally. A challenge that doesn’t bleed out in two hits.”
Then the sky split open.
The sign flickered above the worn-out shop: Devil May Cry . Inside, Dante tipped back in his chair, a half-eaten slice of pizza balanced on his chest. The air smelled of old leather, gunpowder, and rebellion. But tonight, even the usual neon chaos of the city felt wrong—too still, too quiet.
A new breed of demon had emerged. Not born of hellfire, but of erased data —ghosts in the machine of reality itself. These beings didn’t burn. They unmade . Touch them, and your memories stuttered. Your sword swings lagged. Your very existence felt like a bad save file.