After confirming the time was 5 AM, Dante started to make his way home.
He soared through the early morning sky.
He then dropped down through the manhole and into the familiar decay of the sewers.
Back in the lair.
Back in the silence.
He walked through the bright halls, past the photos he no longer looked at, the table he barely sat at, the books he had stopped reading. The world outside was distant now. This was his reality.
He stopped infront of the pristine mirror above the sink. His warped reflection stared back at him, barely human.
His lips curled into a grin. A sick, twisted grin.
He laughed.
At first it was low and quiet, barely a chuckle. But then it grew louder—sharper—echoing through the base with the sound of something unhinged. His shoulders trembled as he doubled over, laughing at his own image.
"Look at you," he whispered to himself, eyes wild, bloodshot. "You're a monster."
He stood upright again, arms stretched out like he was greeting an old friend.
"No… no, not quite a monster." He said, head tilting with a manic gleam in his eye. "You're… We are unstoppable."
He slammed his hand into the wall, it didn't crack or break thankfully. His breathing was erratic, heart pounding with such a foreign feeling.
"They can't stop us. No one can. No hero, none of these scum street rats." He sneered at his reflection. "They think they can control us? They don't know ANYTHING."
He stepped closer to the mirror until his breath fogged the glass.
"We're a god to them now. We decide who lives. We decide who dies. The more we take… the stronger we get. We will grow infinitely stronger."
His teeth bared.
"We are not alone."
Little Dante's voice chimed in with a giggle.
"Why should we limit it to just villains? If you think about it… heroes would be stronger? Why not kill them too. It's what Kaijin would've wanted."
"Yes…" Dante said aloud, a grin stretching ear to ear. "Every last one of them."
His eyes suddenly widened. "No?" He dropped to his knees, "No it's not? Kaijin? Why would he want that…"
Little Dante leaned down, whispering in his ear, "Come on… I've been building this for so long, don't break now. Don't forget your mission, Dante."
Dante looked up, his eyes shaking erratically, "Yes… I won't forget… Tonight, I will find that truck."
Little Dante looked a bit dissatisfied, "Not that mission. You must kill every last Hero and Villain."
Dante suddenly punched himself square in the face, "W—huh?"
The voice of an old man echoed out in the back of his head, "Get a hold of yourself, you idiot!"
Dante suddenly stood up, breathing heavily.
He turned and walked slowly down the corridor back to the main room, leaving little Dante in stunned silence.
And in the main room stood his obsession.
This was his REAL goal.
A large cork board, covered in pins, photos , maps and long red strings connecting details. Photos of destroyed alleys, mutilated villains, strange creatures and most importantly, a black truck. It had shown up near every major sighting. He traced the string leading from it to a map of Mustafu, dozens of red circles surrounding the central districts.
It was all starting to make sense.
"What now? You are wasting time now."
He was constantly in Dante's ear.
All the time.
"You should be out there. You should be tearing their throats out. That's what they deserve. That's what we promised. Forget the League of Villains."
Dante winced, closing his eyes. The pressure in his skull was unbearable.
"Heroes… Villains… Cops… Civilians… they let her die. They didn't help us. Why are you pretending to care suddenly? You were perfectly fine before, what's with the sudden change?"
He clenched his fists.
"Shut up," he muttered.
"Do this for our mother. She wants them all to burn. And you're getting soft, for what? Mother would've wanted them all dead. I don't care if father is okay, mother is dead. And she wants revenge."
"Shut. Up."
"You're nothing without me. I kept us alive. I made us strong. I helped you survive when no one else gave a damn, I GAVE YOU MY BODY—"
"I said SHUT UP."
Dante grabbed little Dante by the throat.
Silence fell.
His breathing was heavy, his eyes wide with frustration. And then… something inside shifted slightly. His voice lowered, trembling slightly.
"…What you're doing is pathetic."
He didn't sound angry. He sounded seriously disappointed. Hurt.
"You seriously think this is what Mom would've wanted?" He said quietly, staring Little Dante straight in the eyes.
"Did you forget what Dad told us? You really think she'd want us killing heroes? Innocents? Acting like a monster? That isn't revenge. It's taking anger out on those that aren't even involved."
"She—"
"She wanted to be a hero. That's what Dad told us, did you really forget? Or are you plain dumb. Did my intelligence leave you? There's no way I was this dumb." Dante cut him off. "She believed in people. She died because of a broken system, not because every hero is evil. And if I go out there, killing every uniform I see… then I'm no better than the people who killed our Mother."
He stepped closer, looking down.
"Why don't we honour her by getting better. By being strong. By being honourable. She didn't raise you to be a butcher. She raised you to be someone that would protect others. I understand your emotions aren't yours, they're mine, and I'm sorry you have to experience that, but still. This isn't what Mother would've wanted."
His fists loosened.
"No more killing." He whispered. "No more absorbing people. I've had enough."
When Dante opened his eyes, little Dante was gone, nowhere to be found.
The room was silent.
No voices.
No giggles.
No evil whispers.
Just Dante.
He was worn. Pale. Sluggish. But his mind was finally clear.
He stared back at the truck pinned to the board and exhaled.
"Let's find you."
He reached out, dragging a finger along the red string connecting the latest sightings. The dates, the routes, the timing—it was all staggered just enough to confuse anyone not paying attention. But Dante was.
"The truck skips a night after every third stop…" he muttered to himself, dragging a marker across the map. "Always through areas with low surveillance… avoids main roads… and…"
He circled a spot on the edge of the city. A neglected warehouse district—half condemned, mostly ignored, just enough from the public eye to go unnoticed.
"…They should move again tonight."
He stared at the circled location.
Dante turned from the board and stretched his arms out with a long, silent exhale.
The next few hours passed slowly. He just did his daily routine. Like ritual.
He stripped off his scarf, mask and pants and laid them across the old metal table, brushing off grime and cleaning any blood stains.
After cleaning that, he stepped into the freezing cold shower, he washed his body clean of blood, smoke and any grime.
He didn't bother with his hair anymore. It was too tangled and messy, red streaks dull and muted. It clung to his face and shoulders like vines. But he didn't really care. That part didn't matter to him anymore.
After drying off and getting dressed, he sat at the desk in his room, flipping through one of Ryujin's journals.
Hours passed.
9:00 PM
He didn't move.
10:30 PM.
No movement.
Just reading, just thinking.
Until—
11:00 PM.
Click.
He shut the manual.
He stood up and pulled on his fireproof pants, fireproof scarf and finally, his mask.
He turned toward the door.
Tonight… he would find that truck.
And maybe, he'd find the League of Villains.