Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry nor do I own RWBY.

A/N: I changed a detail in the last chapter to fit what I'm working towards.

No, Really Now?

There was an explosion and a siren blared.

"ATTACK! WE'RE UNDER ATTAC-" The voice was silenced with a flying door that smashed right on top of him. The door went right through and turned the guy into a groundhog impression, dazed and confused before collapsing.

"Fire!" There was a cacophony of firearm detonation, all pointed at the dust buildup that made its way into the emporium that served as the main hideout of this particular gang stationed in Vale. Dust bullet casings fell to a rhythm, clattering on and about the ground with their signature 'clinks' noises, as the entirety of the room emptied their cartridges at the lone intruder who dared to enter their territory.


"Okay, seriously. It was kinda funny at first, but now it's getting annoying. I just want to see the boss in charge of this joint."

A redclad man spoke serenely through the storm, as if he did not register the countless number of firearms firing at him. He walked through the rain of Dust and lead like he was out for a walk in the woods. The way he dodged was unnatural; he was not even putting any effort into dodging. He could only be a veteran Huntsman or something more.

"Trust me when I say this. I don't need to drag a bunch of bodybags out of here, so it'd be nice if you dropped down on your knees and become my little helpers."

The gathered group did the contrary. Desperation caused them to try and reload their guns, draw out more mechashifting weapons, and bring out the bigger guns. Funny how desperation worked.

"Alright. Plan C, then."

The stranger snapped his fingers audibly. Any thoughts of what happened to "Plan B" were thrown out of the window when there was a resounding crash of rubble and concrete. A demonic motorcycle tore through the wall, its chainblade wheels screeching against the foundation of the building like a bad idea in action. It parked beside him and with it by his side, the redclad intruder began posing flamboyantly reminisce of a pop it had not been such a terrifying moment for the gang, they would have thought he was just some Mistrallian celebrity who got lost; Mistrallian, because such style displayed by the man could only be attributed to the continent where that kind of flamboyance was born.

"Boys and girls, I'd like you to meet your best friend for today. He really likes to cut people. Take care to get cut. And no, I did not misspeak." He struck another cocky pose and pointed at a random mook, "Your next line is, 'What can you possibly do with just a motorcycle?'"

"What can you possibly do with just a motorcy- HUAH?!" Said mook said verbatim then gasped at what just happened.

The red man stroked the motorized hellion and in a deft move, mounted it as the chained wheels carved against the ground. Cement and dust picked up and flew in every direction, and then they both vanished. The motorcycle and the red man had somehow managed to fly into the air while they were distracted in trying to find them on the ground. In that time, the intruder had drawn out two large handguns, black and white like piano keys, and started blasting away while somehow standing on his motorbike like it was a skateboard.

'That is NOT how a motorbike is supposed to be ridden!'

All of them wanted to shout, but oxygen was low in supply and had to be reserved for screaming in fear.

That day, a subsection of the gang EZ Nightz was destroyed and rebranded under the Red Man, who would later come to be known as Santa Claus, a name truly feared and respected amongst the denizens of the criminal Underworld as the Don of the North Pole.

In the meantime, in contrast to the criminals' screams of pain and terror, Dante's own thoughts did not align whatsoever with the victims' behavior. In fact, he was a little miffed despite his boisterous exterior.

He had only wanted to open up a bank account so he could cash in his monthly paycheck. As it turned out, his pay was far more than what he had expected for a janitor that he could see himself easily living off of Beacon for the next couple of decades, provided that nothing catastrophic happened.

How did that lead to him busting yet another criminal joint in the process, discounting the others he had blazed through?

As it turned out, when Dante became involved, it was very easy to break it down.

Let's backtrack a little.

(few days earlier…)

Janitorial duties did not bore him nor did it make him feel lazy. It was just that he never felt motivated to clean up after himself. Of course, when the mess piled up to the point that he could no longer ignore it, he would take care of it. The problem was that the way he did it was not exactly conventional.

For example, the common way of disposing trash was to put them into these black bags and leave them out so garbage disposal services could come and pick up them to throw them into who knew where. Some liked to recycle them. Some liked to burn them. Some liked to throw them into the ocean where it would inevitably form its own island of waste for people to marvel at their own stupidity.

For Dante, he liked to throw all of his trash on a rooftop and use Pandora – when he still had it – to instantly turn them all into immaterial particles with its 666th form. Effing genius idea! Well, it was, until the city became uppity about it when they realized he could effectively put the local garbage disposal service out of business. Not only that, Trish, Lady, Morrison, and even Patty got on his case and lectured him about how he couldn't just take the easy way out all the time, with the former "confiscating" the Devil Arm.

He had stared at them in disbelief, Trish in particular.

What easy way? Had they forgotten that he earned that Devil Arm after a quick one-two with that ice frog demon?! Was he just going to keep it around just so he could leave it in disuse? If anything, he was doing his part in being an economical role model. Heck, it was even eco-friendly! No carbon emissions, no nuclear fusion, no coal mining, no fossil fuel usage; just plain ol' casual disruption of the laws of thermodynamics via Devil Arms. It was the perfect disposal system. But nooooo~, people HAD to complain anyways.

On a side note, he had a sneaking suspicion that Trish did not really care much for the whole "incident" and had only taken advantage of the chaos to "liberate" Pandora for herself. The smugness she had that day trumped any other smugness she could have been capable of in other circumstances.

Why did he even bother?

"What are you thinking about?"

A voice brought back to Earth… Remnant, he corrected himself. He coughed and rubbed his nose, turning to a blonde student. It was the same woman who interviewed him weeks prior.

"Nothing at all. Just something stupid that happened in the past," he replied in a rather amused voice, fixing the janitor's uniform he was wearing while on the job and by all that was sacred, he felt old wearing it. It made him look… well, there was another word for "unstylish" and "unfashionable" but he could not remember at the moment. Still, he could rock the clothes for being comfortable, at the very least.

"Oh? Do tell."

"Nah, I'm being serious. It's just something stupid between coworkers and colleagues. Well, former, anyway. It's actually been a while since I last saw them."

"Coworkers and colleagues…" the blonde girl repeated to herself, "I presume it's from your time in Vacuo?"

"Nah, long before that," Dante corrected her. "We were a pretty merry bunch; going around taking odd jobs here and there while some of them mooched off of me, and then I mooched off of them in return. Sadly, they mooched more off of me than I did them. I think if I look carefully, I might find that I'm still in debt to some of them."

"Sounds rough." He detected some measure of amusement at his plight.

"Hey. Just because I don't contribute to the school as much as the professors and the Head Boy and Girl do doesn't mean I don't have moments where I question my life decisions," Dante shot back.

She could only snort at his reply.

"And what life decisions did you make that led you here?"

She was prodding him for information about himself. Well, well, well, look who was trying to be sneaky.

Glynda Goodwitch, he recalled her name was. Blonde hair lightly shadowed her inquisitive green eyes, which were complemented by thin-rimmed glasses, and was neatly tied into a braid that hung on her shoulder. She appeared to be somewhere in her twenties and intended to have others know that and make no mistake. Her outfit was a crossbreed between what was expected of a stern ojou-sama – as Patty would call her – and a late-night dominatrix who could be found in a dank night club downtown.

Best keep that last part unsaid.

At the moment, she was in her last year at school whilst working on an internship or two, carrying with her an impressive accolade of awards and prestige that would guarantee her instant fame if she so wished. This included, and was not limited to: Head Girl, Disciplinarian, Interviewer, student most likely to be upcoming valedictorian, and his personal favorite, "Boss Bitch". The latter was a title coined by her fellow students and evidently made her a rather fearsome person to contend against.

Instead of making her presence known to the Huntsmen limelight however, it appeared she had chosen to stay and become a teacher at Beacon Academy to usher forth new generations of Huntsmen and Huntresses. Some would call her decision a noble sentiment. Others would decry her as a coward for not wanting to be on the frontline.

Neither was wrong. Neither was correct. Like many people, she had her reasons and she was not obligated to share them with the public.

And just as she had given him her life story during his little orientation here in order to make him officially a custodian/janitor, it was only fair that he gave her his own, albeit it would have to be abridged to the point that it barely sounded believable. He was not sure how demons were perceived in this world and quite frankly, it sounded a lot more stressful to deal with.

"I come from a land far, far away," Dante decided to keep it vaguely truthful, "One day, a giant tree destroyed my home, and I was rescued from my untimely death by a boy who can be called my protégé. Of course, that came with its own cost. Not as severely as you'd think, though. I think I still got the mark from that bitchslap he gave me near the end of the debacle."

And Lord, it had hurt like a bitch. He felt his soul fly out of his body that day. It was not a feeling he was familiar with and it had left him slightly out of commission afterward, and no, getting his ass handed to him by Vergil in his Urizen form early on does not count.

"A giant tree." Glynda looked at him skeptically. "A giant tree destroyed your home."

"We live in a world where black things try to kill us every day. We use crystals as a power source and as a way to do a bunch of stuff we take for granted nowadays, and we use what is essentially soul power to defeat aforementioned black things. Do you really think a tree that eats people is so far from the truth?" Dante spun his bullshit tale with the proficiency of a seductive bard who placed all of his stats in charisma and luck.

Glynda had a ponderous expression as she tried to look for discrepancies. "I suppose…"

"But I have to say, you are being very forward about me telling you about myself. Did something catch your fancy? Is it my roguish looks?" Dante winked.

Glynda rolled her eyes at him. "I intend to apply for a position here once I graduate. It's only reasonable that I become close with the faculty members at Beacon to further my chances of getting in. Headmaster Ozpin may have assured me otherwise, but I'm not entirely convinced if that's the case."

"You wound me, Glynda," he placed a hand over his chest in mock hurt. He even made a theatrical voice to dramatize it. "You're only getting close to me to secure a better future for yourself? The travesty! I thought we had something special! How shameless can you be?"

"If being shameless means I can help others better themselves, by being involved in paperwork and teaching them how to not frolick about like a bunch of luddites, then very shameless," Glynda played along with his jest, managing to keep her strict persona while she was at it.

"Hohoho, girl got bite."

Just as Glynda was about to respond, an explosion was heard and a crowd of student was seen running away from what seemed to be the source. "…That's right. I came here to ask you, Mr. Dante, do you know what's happening in the cafeteria that you did not feel any urge to report?"

"Ah… yeah, that? I thought that's a normal thing that happens around here."

"Normal," the blonde parroted in disbelief.

"Yeah. I mean, it's a combat school. Combat? School? Things like explosions and fights breaking out and all that stuff? Sounds like a pretty standard occurrence when you put the two words together."

"This is not Vacuo," Glynda sighed, understanding now why the commotion had not died yet. "You do realize this is going on your report?"

"Can't really fault kids for wanting to cause some mayhem. What's the worst they can do anyway?"

Dante stared at the mess that was once Beacon's cafeteria. Food was everywhere and none were spared from its properties. Not even the ceilings were exempt from this atrocity that was called wasted food. Even worse, food was still getting thrown everywhere by all students.

He saw a slice of pizza flying his way and in an instant show of acrobatics, he backflipped, somersaulted and caught the slice in his mouth before it could touch the ground. Just as he reveled in his victory, a whole pizza fell on his head toppings first, having been stuck on the ceiling for some time. Sacrilege. Someone must pay for this blasphemy against God's gift to mankind.

"To answer your question, Mr. Dante, very much so."

"Yeah yeah, I deserved that."

"It seems you now have an idea of what to expect when the students here are not restrained," Glynda intoned next to him. Peeking under his impromptu pizza hat, he stared blankly at the woman. She coughed at his stare and explained, "Beacon, for as long as I have been on its premises, has its share of rambunctious students with few methods to channel their eagerness and energy. Going on missions, slaying Grimm, and protecting the peace of Vale are apparently not enough, leading to situations like this."

Dante took the pizza on his head off, contemplating whether he should eat it or not. On one hand, it had been on the ceiling for who knew how long… but on the other hand, pizza was still pizza. Good or bad, it was still good in his eyes.

"So what you're saying is that these bunch of brats are gonna destroy stuff whether we like it or not."

"That is more or less correct. For future records though, please do not refer to the students as "brats". I am included in that category and I don't appreciate it."

Dante looked at the food fight. Then back to the Head Girl.

"…So basically, just wait until you graduate."


'Alrighty then. Throw them to the wolves while you're at it, why don't you?' Dante thought with a measure of amusement. "So what do you do to stop this?"

In response, she drew out a riding crop from somewhere on her person and struck down. The resounding crack indicative of a shattered sound barrier stopped everyone in their track and turned their attention to the one responsible for said crack.

"Oh crap! It's the Boss Bitch! Run!" One of them said and like that, the students clambered over each other in a bid to make it out of the cafeteria. Glynda whipped her crop in one direction. All of the turned tables and chairs rocketed up and back into proper positions, sending some of the students flying and screaming in the air. She whipped the crop in another direction. The accumulated foods and drinks that were in places they were not supposed to be all piled into one goopy mess of a pile. Apparently, the trash cans were all indisposed. One final flick and the students responsible for instigating the food fight were stopped in their tracks and brought forth to her.

One very strong sigh and an aggressive fixing of glasses later, Glynda Goodwitch stared at one unrepentant Raven Branwen and a guilty Summer Rose. Trailing behind them, Qrow Branwen and Taiyang Xiao Long tried their best to not look like they were associated with the instigating culprits.

"Explain yourselves, Team STRQ. Why have you, once more, disrupted the cafeteria with another food fight?"

"Santa Claus? What are you doing here?" Miss Rose chose to answer with a question, her attention focused on the custodian rather than the disciplinarian. The others did not look enthused nor did they look hopeful that he would help them out. Dante had to remind himself that he once gave out that name. Glynda was now studying him, curious about the unfamiliar name. How did this world not know who Santa bloody Claus was?

"I work here, you now?" He said with some measure of bemusement. The devil hunter pointed at a mop that was leaning against a nearby wall. "And you, lady, are about to get a taste of what I can dish out with a mop." He then pointed at the makeshift hat he had removed. "How dare you, by the way. I'll have to educate you on the blessing upon this world that is pizza. Don't think you can run away from this."

Summer could do nothing but chuckle nervously, suspended in midair by telekinesis.

"I wonder how long you can joke like that," the blonde student peeked at Dante with one eye. "This cafeteria is in dire need of cleaning as well. It's time to see what you can do now, custodian. How long do you reckon the remaining mess will be cleaned up?"

"Considering my history? A really long time, Glynda," The custodian of Beacon Academy rolled his shoulder at the leftover chaos before him. "Now that I've got this all to myself, I can just kick back and rela-"

"This is a stick-up! Everyone OUT and ON YOUR KNEES!"

Dante sighed, probably wondering why he deserved this. Okay fine, he did not read the fine print before signing the contract to get the job. It's not his fault that Morrison took that responsibility from him. It's also not his fault that Morrison was also a hell of a lot better at it.

Whatever the case, it meant he was not getting cash up front for his trouble, but with checks. And to get said cash, he needed a bank account. And seeing as getting an account opened for him by Beacon was not in the fine print, that meant he would have to go to Bells' Cargo (he had raised a brow at the bank name) to manually open one himself.

…He probably should not complain. Beacon paid well. And by well, he meant that he could live off of working in Beacon for the foreseeable decade without much trouble.

Was it so much to ask for a bank account without interruption?

"Someone's getting too big for their boots," he instead commented, unfazed by the sudden event, and continued leisurely, ignoring the growing horror on the bank clerk's face, "Fine, sure. I'll take the deal. Now, let's say my account's been open for four years or so. How much would I have to pay after that?"

The door to this particular cubicle was pushed down and the two inside were put at gunpoint by four men in suits and red glasses. The clerk, who was now wishing he had worn brown pants today, was quick to surrender and raised his hands. Dante just stared dully as the employee continued to piss his pants.

"…No, seriously. What's the weekly or monthly maintenance fee for keeping an account open after the deal is done? This is my first time even having a bank account. I usually just get paid under the table or-" The demon hunter's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait a minute. Is this one of those shifty business tactics where I'm intentionally not in the know and you're gonna leech a bunch of Lien off me every now and then? Cuz that isn't nice at all."

His nonchalance at the sudden turn of event clearly pissed off one of them, who decided to approach and place his handgun point-blank at Dante's head.

"Hey! You fuckin' deaf!? OUT and ON YOUR KNEES!"

The hunter responded by thrusting two fingers straight up into the offender's nose, lifting him high into the air, and throwing him at the other three. The force behind the throw launched them out through the glass window, shattering it to pieces and alerting the other robbers of a resistance.

"I'm gonna need a lot of hand sanitizer for the number of noses I'm gonna tear a new hole in."

"-multiple gunshots heard within Bells' Cargo this afternoon. The initial police team reporting back has given the official statement that-"

Team STRQ's television broadcasted as the leader surfed through the channels and paused abruptly on.

Qrow and Raven were busy doing their own things that were totally related to homework while Summer and Taiyang stared at the current newscast because apparently, this constituted an interesting news story when compared to the ever-encroaching Grimm horde that threatened the peace of the Four Kingdoms. No need to talk about the latter, that's boring. Plus, it would hurt ratings.

"It was close by, too," Taiyang commented, frowning at how the reporter was excited to give the story.

"Why don't we go out to hunt criminals, anyways? I thought the whole schtick about being Huntsmen besides killing Grimm is, you know, protecting the peace," Qrow remarked, marveling slightly at the doodle he had been working on. "And since the police haven't shown themselves good enough to stop a robbery, of all things, shouldn't there be a story about that instead?"

Raven could care less about incompetent higher-ups and continued copying her leader's "Stealth & Security" homework. Summer noticed this and rushed to save her precious grade from the vile hands of plagiarism.

"Reports and key witnesses state that the felons responsible for the gunshots were subdued and apprehended by a man in a red coat with white hair. We now go live to the scene of the crime-"

"Red coat? White hair?" Summer repeated and made a confused noise, her scuffle with Raven forgotten as she claimed her victory. "What's Santa Claus doing on TV?"

"He set up a protection racket and those mooks tread on him?" Raven answered with a question, her curiosity about the custodian deciding to make its appearance. The older twin had a nagging suspicion that their resident janitor was hiding more than he appeared to be, just like she and her brother were hiding some things from their other teammates.

"You're making him sound like one of- a criminal," her brother had to chip in, nearly letting slip their allegiance. "Why would a criminal go to work at Beacon? That's like begging for attention to come his way. Besides, I heard Beacon's pay for their janitors is top-notch compared to other places. The place is friggin' huge, now that I think about it…"

"He does have that motorcycle, so he's gotta be at the very least decent at kicking ass and taking names," Taiyang mused. His teammates made sounds of agreement and left it at that. None of them were aware of how outlandish that line of logic was in another reality.

Summer rued how unfair the world was that someone managed to get themselves a kickass motorcycle and chose not to divulge its luscious secrets to her.

"Are you all okay in the head? And I don't mean that in a worrying way."

Dante had to ask the would-be robbers after he had downed all of them. It had been anticlimactic how he took them down. He didn't even have to pull his guns out.

Their guns did his work for him; there had been a substantial amount of friendly fire. A good amount of acrobatics and a couple punches and kicks here and there also did the trick. Once the intruders were rounded up, Dante got himself a free lifetime bank account for his trouble – his check was promptly deposited – and excused himself while carrying every single one of the hoodlums on him. Now, the miserable pile of robbers and burglars were lined up in rows and on their knees as Dante paced in front of them in a dark and dank alleyway, all while holding one like a theatre prop.

"Tell me, what part of me screamed, 'Please rob me, I'm a defenseless burk with a lot of money who deserves misfortune'? I'm really confused how I managed to give that kind of air. I was trying for the 'chill, good-natured, down-to-earth guy who is slightly naïve in regards to financials' kind of mood. Wait, is that why? How dare you take advantage of the naïve guy! He's only trying to make it through the month, ya bunch of sorry sods! I just wonder-"

"W-what the hell are you even saying-" Dante's hands tightened, silencing the particular mook in his grip.

"I just wonder whose bright idea it was to rob a bank in the middle of the day!" He shook the poor victim in the air like a doll. His previous thought got derailed by the interruption and so, he latched onto the next thing, "And I just wonder who thought it would be nice to even rob a bank in the first place!"

"I-it was our boss, actually." The dizzy goon managed to stutter out.

"…Your boss is an idiot," Dante dropped the misfit. "Either that, or a newbie. You don't aim towards a big name bank to kickstart a gang! You start with small businesses, like forming protection rackets, and work your way up while getting better equipment. Hell, maybe even open up a club to rake in quick bucks while you're at it!"

Dante would know. His early years of demon hunting was expensive, and while he could fence off spare parts of all the guns he worked to the point of them failing for spare cash, he still had to find a way to get fed. Thus, his routine visits to the local strip club for free breakfast and pizza.

"We had automatic submachine guns!" One of them protested. "And hostages!"

"And a fine bloody work you did, didn't you? Did you take into account that maybe a Huntsman was nearby?" The bunch of robbers grew quiet at the question. Dante stopped caring about lecturing. Too much trouble like that. "And not to mention, you dick-nanas just had to put a lot of attention on me! I'll be surprised if I don't get chased by a news crew or by Beacon's staff for this showcase of vigilante justice within the week. There are cameras everywhere, just so you know. What part of laying low do you mooks not understand?!"

"U-um… are we supposed to know you?" Dante glared at the one who asked the question. It was the same one he had manhandled by the nose literally. "S-sir?"

"No. And while we're at it, you lot will refer to me as "Santa Claus" when I address you. Or Mr. Claus. Not this "Sir" thing. I'm not a knight in shining armor."

None of them dared to ask what "Santa Claus" was supposed to mean. Dante was acutely aware of what the consequences of using his real name in the criminal underworld could do. The risk of identity fraud was real, so street names were a must for that line of work. Also, they had spotted the larger-than-normal handguns holstered on his person but that was neither here nor there. Good thing their survival instincts kicked in.

"Now that we have introductions out of the way-" All of them were now wise enough not to point out that they did not get to introduce themselves, "Let's take me to your boss so I can, ehh…"

"Dispose of him?" One of them dared to interject.

"I was going to say "have a stern talk with him", but that works too." Dante did not care either way. "If he can't even come up with a solid plan that is also safe for his rep or his goons, he does not deserve to form a criminal gang in the first place. Now…" Dante dug into one of their pockets and fished out their Scroll, despite the weak protest. "Let's see… your head honcho is "Junior", huh? Weird name to use. Bet he's a teen too far out of his head."

"And 'Santa Claus' is better? What even is-"

"If you value your nipples, I suggest you be quiet, lackey."

A/N: I now have 25% of a plan. Not much progress, but I do know how I want the first arc to end: with Dante spreading the word and joy of Christmas to the many people in the world of Remnant, preaching that love and peace can be found by all.

with him becoming a Don along the way, but hey. You can't make scrambled eggs without cracking a few eggs along the way.

P a treon. com (slash) DarkAkatsuk1