The door creaked open as Dante stepped into the final room.
Unlike the rest of the hideout, clean, practical quiet, this room felt different. Racks lined the walls, each filled with different equipment, gear and hero costumes. Bright red, pink, white, all colours were bright, symbolising ideals and standing for justice, all with the same logo of a singular dragon tooth.
Dante said nothing. His bare feet passed against the cold floor, his towel draped over his shoulders, he had used sludge to create a kind of armoured pants so that he wasn't fully exposed just walking around.
He scanned the room.
These costumes… most of them were untouched. Preserved? Maybe projects Kaijin and Ryujin worked on together. Maybe dreams that never saw the light of day. Some had notes on them others weren't even fully designed yet. It felt like stepping into a museum of what could've been.
That's when something caught his attention.
Tucked into the furthest corner, apart from the others. While the others were gleaming with hope, this one seemed less hopeful. Instead of bright reds, this was a deep, crimson red—almost bloodstained. No glossy finish, no heroic flair. It was just raw, practical armour wrapped in malice and regret. It wasn't built for the spotlight.
It was built for war.
Dante stepped closer, drawn to it like instinct. Like fate.
This suit was his.
A tattered red body scarf, long and jagged, slightly frayed at the edges like it had been caught in a dozen battles and never mended, was it meant to look like this? From what the notes attached to it said…
This was a suit designed by Kaijin himself, after Ryujin's death. This suit was made out grief, hatred, revenge and anger. Kaijin was an artist. This suit perfectly represented his emotions, Dante could feel it.
And then there was the mask, there was a monstrous jawline made of reinforced alloy and false metal teeth, shaped into a jagged grin. This costume was not meant to comfort civilians. Not to strike heroic poses for the media. No—this thing was meant to haunt the monsters that prayed on the weak. Above the mask, there was room for his eyes.
He reached out and grabbed the fabric. It felt heavy. Not in weight, but in meaning.
First, Dante checked some more info on the back of the card, thankfully, the suit was made of a heat resistant material, so his flames wouldn't just destroy it.
Dante then began to change. He removed the towel, slipped into the dark grey pants, wrapped the scarf around his neck and finally, slid the mask on.
It clicked into place like it belonged on Dante.
He walked toward the tall mirror at the back of the room and looked at himself. The transformation was immediate.
No longer simply a grieving boy.
He was finally wearing a hero costume, his first costume. It suited him perfectly.
The scarf fluttered slightly with the underground vents. He summoned tendrils of sludge to flow around him, adding more to scary effect, forming twitching shapes in the corners of the room.
This suit wasn't going to be a symbol of hope, it was his symbol of revenge.
"I will not save anyone that doesn't want to be saved." He muttered to the reflection, voice clear despite the mask.
"Let's work together, Dante. Me and you." Little Dante stepped out behind him, putting his face close to Dante's.
"Let us join forces." He whispered.
Dante nodded.
And with that, little Dante's form slowly faded into Dante's, and his eyes glowed brighter.
"Let's go."
…
…
A manhole cover suddenly moved in a dark alley, and out crawled Dante.
Above him, the lights of the city flashed.
Neon lights flickered between skyscrapers. Sirens echoed in the distance, normal city noise.
Dante's wings shot out from his back and he flew up the skyscraper, landing on the very top.
He stood there, unmoving letting the wind pull at his scarf. He reached up, adjusted the fanged mask over his face and flexed his fingers.
He needed to find the Leage of Villains, he didn't know how he'd find them but he needed to. He knew he wouldn't find them tonight, but maybe he could get a lead.
"I can grieve later." He muttered, his voice breaking slightly. "He wouldn't want me wasting time."
He meant Kaijin.
The old man that had become a part of him.
Dante tightened the scarf around his neck and took a step toward the edge. The wind picked up again, tossing his hair and sending the ends of his scarf flapping behind him like some wings.
His wings flapped once and he shot off into the sky, searching for anything off.
The city blurred beneath him, lights streaking by as he flew above the streets. His eyes scanned every alley, every rooftop, everything.
That's when something felt wrong.
His eyes narrowed. A rooftop three stories down, he descended quietly, landing on the rooftop.
He looked over the edge and down into an alley and what he saw made his heart rate rise.
Three men. One woman.
She was struggling, her cries were muffled, her arms were pinned. One man had already unbuckled his belt. The other two were laughing like this was some kind of game.
Well it wasn't.
Dante didn't bother speaking.
He stepped off the building.
His bare foot hitting the first man's skull, driving his face into the concrete with a crack that echoed through the alley. Blood sprayed. The other two turned, startled, but they were too late.
Two tentacles of sludge burst out of Dante's back, coiling around them. The men were ripped from the woman, slammed into the ground and restrained. Their mouths gagged by hardened sludge, unable to scream.
The woman gasped, trembling on the pavement.
Dante turned to her, he crouched and extended a hand. His tone softened, not by much, but enough.
"You're okay now."
Her wide eyes flicked to his glowing red ones behind the mask. She took his hand, hesitating, then let him help her up. Tears streamed down her face.
"A-Are you… are you a hero?" She whispered.
He nodded.
Relief washed over her. "Thank you… thank you…"
He didn't reply. He simply jumped back to the rooftop without another word. His mind was set.
The three men squirmed below him, wrapped in his tendrils, twitching.
He stared down at them, voice low and cold.
"The league of villains. Do you know anything about them?"
They didn't answer, they just glared at him.
One managed an insult, another spat at him.
They seemed to think that Dante was some kind of benevolent being, thinking that he wouldn't harm them.
Oh well.
Sludge suddenly surged from his body, enveloping theirs with a sudden, sickening speed. Their screams were brief, cut off as they were absorbed into Dante like trash into a grinder.
He felt them dissolve.
Their presence was gone.
It didn't matter if they weren't gonna tell him, their knowledge was his now, unfortunately, they didn't know anything about the League. Either way, it didn't matter. They had already proven that they didn't deserve to live. Monsters pretending to be men. He wouldn't lose sleep over their deaths. Not tonight. Not ever.
Dante stood alone on the rooftop. His strength had increased by 45% thanks to the men's kind donations.
A/N : The Fit is in the comments ❤️