The first NSP unit materialized: a shard of black glass shaped like a man, veins of code-red light pulsing where a heart should be. It didn’t roar. It emitted —a frequency that made Rebellion hum in protest.
He switched to Trickster. Royal Guard. Gunslinger. Nothing landed cleanly. The NSP adapted like corrupted AI, dodging patterns before he finished them. Every hit Dante took made the world blur—colors desaturating, sounds compressing into dial-up screams. devil may cry nsp
He closed his eyes. Let instinct override logic. Fired Ivory blind—not at the NSP, but at the memory of where it had been . The shot curved. Reality hiccupped. The creature shattered like a frozen window. The first NSP unit materialized: a shard of
Style. Slash. System Corrupted. Reboot. Repeat. He switched to Trickster
Not with fire—with absence . A hole in reality that swallowed sound, light, and gravity. Dante caught his pizza mid-air, set it down gently (respect for the craft), and reached for Ebony & Ivory. The air tasted like rust and forgotten screams.
“NSP,” a voice whispered from the void. “Null Spark Protocol.”