The wind blew mercilessly against the hallowed steeples of Notre Dame, as the rain laughed in the face of the mortals who dared to defy its endless power. A lone figure stood silently on the edge of a turret, so silent and still that the only proof he wasn’t a gargoyle was the wind tugging at his long grey cloak and travel-worn hat. The man chuckled to himself softly, it’s 1850 already, and it’s hard to believe I’ve roamed this same world for nearly three hundred years. As the man stood there contemplating his next move, the fiend he sought made his presence clear with a shattering screech as he leaped at the figure. The man just smiled as he unsheathed his long black sword. His prey was cornered, the battle was on.                

It was the darkness of early morning in the sleepy town of Paris, but an eerie mist made it hard to tell.  Rain dashed against the windows, the droplets playing a dark but beautiful melody. A man who appeared no older then twenty-five rolled out of bed. He had fair skin, a thin but muscular body, jet-black hair and the most peculiar feature of all, eyes a shade of teal, with a hint of silver glimmering in their deep recess. The man stretched, yawned, then proceeded to make himself a delightful breakfast of eggs and buttered bread. This was the man’s typical life, a façade that almost made him feel like a normal human being. His name was Dante, and he was a hunter. Once an angel in the service of God, he was cursed with the gift of eternal life on Earth after his betrayal of his master, Dante was a renegade, trying to make the best of a bleak existence in a world that was always changing and had forgetten the ways of old. He flipped open the daily newspaper, the usual headlines were there, so and so was arrested, work continued on the newly planned Eiffel Tower. One event in particular caught his eye, however. The Angers Bridge had collapsed, killing over 200 of France’s soldiers. The reports had claimed it was rusty supports, but Dante could tell something was off about this collapse. Not able to put his finger on it, he simply put it out of his mind as a mere coincidence thinking, if I followed every little detail that looked fishy in the last 300 years I would be all over the place. Instead, he grabbed his cloak and hat and headed into the bustling town, expecting to see the same sight he did every morning, a sleepy street off the main roads, with the fast paced part of the city several streets away.