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Dante thought to himself as he walked the lonely desolate night. It was a starless night, and exactly 12 years since he'd found that accrused box. He'd unleased evil upon the world and now he had to get rid of it, perfect. Dante walked slowly as he passed through the forest, moans of the deceased could be heard, they were slowly approaching him, he sighed and drew his sword. It shinned in the moonlight, the blood red blade shimmered. he stood still as he waited for the assult to begin.

Five minutes of waiting motionless and stil nothing, ~if there not going to start then I suppose I will.~ he thought.
"Fira-whip.." he spoke. A 7 foot long whip made of entirely flames appearred in his left hand. He cracked it in the air, this was followed by countless groans by the undead. One slowly limped out onto the opening, standing infront of Dante. It's clammy, decaying skin and countless wounds creeped Dante out even though he'd seen these at least once every day for the past 12 years. He slashed at it with his whip, the undead was to slow to dodge it, Dante kept slashing at it without moving an inch from where he stood. The undead split in half, the ground soaked up the blood thirstedly. By this time at least 10 others were moving in on Dante. He retracted his whip and held tightly to his sword. He advanced on the first undead, the blade cut with great ease through the undead's torso. Dante jumped back making sure not to get any blood on him. ~new clothes..what a time.~ he thought. The undead nearest Dante tried slashing at Dante's trench coat, before he could come an inch from it, it had it's arm sliced off and it's body impaled on a tree branch.

The fight continued like this, none were able to touch Dante and he effortlessly hacked them out of his way. His sword absorbed the blood of the undead, it soon had somewhat of a faint heart-beat. ~nows a good time as any~ Dante thought.
"Demon Fang!" he yelled. The sword faintly glowed bright red, Dante slashed at the empty space in front of him, a gigantic shockwave emerged from it, instantly killing whatever it hit. Dante smirked, as he put the sword back in its sheath. He departed the battlefield his shoes wet with blood.