It had been days, days without real sleep.
Where nightmares replaced dreams and the little rest he allowed himself felt more like mental paralysis.
He was no longer hungry, no longer thirsty, and had nowhere left to go.
Rain, cold, pain, screams… they were now part of him.
And now ? Only he remained. Him… and this freezing rain.
This tedious hunt was over, it was time to return home and be showered with love.
That morning, he stumbled to the gates of St. Andrew Central Hospital.
His coat was nothing but a soaked rag. His left arm still bore the marks of the fight against Malek, and his chest burned with every breath.
The receptionist looked up from his terminal— he immediately paled.
— "Sir… can I help you ?"
— "Annabelle Edwin." His voice was hoarse, like a man who had screamed all night.
The receptionist stood up, worried. He checked his tablet hurriedly.
— "Uh… the woman ? Yes, she was admitted a few months ago."
He hesitated, looked Dante in the eye.
— "But she's no longer here."
— "Explain."
The doctor swallowed hard.
— "She… she disappeared yesterday. Right after your visit. The cameras show nothing. Her room was empty. No struggle, no break-in. But…"
— "But ? But what ?"
— "Two men in black came asking for her. Even before she vanished. We let them in. We thought they were… family."
— "What family, damn it ?" Dante growled, jaw clenched.
The doctor stepped back. A chill swept through the entire reception area. A nurse dropped a metal tray, the clang sound across the tiles.
Dante said no more. He turned on his heels.
The road home was agony.
The wind pushed against him. The streetlights flickered, as if Dante's presence disrupted even electricity.
He ran, boots sliding, black hair sticking to his face.
Then he smelled it.
Not rain.
But the choking stench… of ash.
And at the corner, he saw the flames.
Their house was... ablaze.
The smell of ashes, a burning house... He e memory echoed in his head and his heart sank.
He dropped to his knees on the floor, his hand clutching his garment at chest level.
— "Am I the one who was cursed from the beginning...?"
Firefighters struggled to contain fire, they were bustling around with their instruments, shouting among us.
— "Back up! Back up, damn it!"
But in the chaos… Dante moved forward.
— "No... I don't want to believe it..."
The few policemen around saw him as he moved forward as if he were hypnotized by the fire.
— "Stop him!"
Weapons were raised but he didn't seem to pay attention to it.
— "Stop or we'll shoot!"
But he still didn't listen, an officer let go of a bullet but the projectile shattered against Dante.
— "Shit, what the hell is he ?"
Afraid, police officers took a step back.
Dante didn't even feel the bullet. He continued to walk into the house, and, at the end of the hall… two body. One tall, one small. Both reduced to ash.
His legs trembled. His heart clenched. But he didn't cry and he didn't scream.
He placed his hand on the scorched floor, and the next moment, a wave of dark energy spread from him.
The people nearby recoiled in terror. Some dropped to their knees, others vomited.
Dante had just used his energy like a radar. The dark wave spread across several hundred meters. Invisible to most, but felt in the bone.
Dante closed his eyes. His breath ragged. He could hear everything. Eyelash flutters, tears, whispers. But he filtered them out.
He was searching for one thing, a dissonant aura.
And he found it.
Two blocks away.
With a single leap, Dante launched himself. Not running but something like flying, not like a man but like a beast.
He hurled through the air, shattering pavement tiles. He landed on a rooftop, his knee splitting concrete, then bounded again, clawing walls bare-handed.
Raising his head in anger, he saw him.
A man in black, tall, armored, energy rifle on his back, sword at his waist.
He was running, glancing around in panic.
Dante landed silently in front of him, blocking the way. The man leapt back, drawing his weapon.
— "Out of my way, monster."
Dante tilted his head. His voice no longer human. It was a growl.
— "Where… is she ?"
— "I don't know who you're talking about. And I'm not your enemy."
He raised his weapon. Dante stepped forward without flinching.
— "They burned my house. They took my sister. And you dare look at me without trembling ?"
— "I'm an Inquisitor. Sent to monitor anomalies. I had nothing to do with the fire."
— "Lies."
In a blink, Dante vanished. Reappeared behind him. The man barely turned when his arm twisted at an impossible angle.
— "YOU'RE GOING TO TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW!"
The man screamed, teeth clenched. He struck back, drew a dagger, plunged it into Dante's side…
… and the blade shattered.
Armor beneath skin, flesh reinforced by corruption.
Dante grabbed his throat and lifted him, despite his tech, the soldier's heart raced at absurd speed.
— "They screamed, didn't they ? You heard her ? You looked at her ? You don't even know what you did… You don't…"
The man gasped, then broke.
— "Alright, alright… I was sent to eliminate all life and burn the house...
But I swear I do nothing ! The incident had already started before I got there...!"
— "Who gives the orders ?"
— "I am a Caledron's handyman. I swear I do nothing… I swe—"
Too late.
Dante's fist fell. He finished him. Not out of necessity but instinct.
Dante stayed there, kneeling, arms shaking. He felt the rain, but it no longer washed anything.
It clung, seeped into his wounds, dripped into his open mouth. He looked at his hands. But they weren't hands anymore.
Claws, red and black, he no longer breathed. He growled. And that growl… it wasn't anger.
It was hunger.
A shiver climbed his spine.
— "No… no, no, no…"
He collapsed to his knees. His body trembled, then arched back. He spat blood.
His humanity… was fleeing. He had used too much power, he had crossed the line. And now… He was losing what was left of his first mother — his humanity.
It all blurred in his memory, replaced by another sound, the sound of hate.
People were arriving. Some running in panic. Others backing away, crying.
Firefighters, agents, children. All staring at him.
— "Filthy monster…"
— "Where the hell did this savage come from…?"
And Dante, kneeling in the rain, was nothing but a shadow of himself. He wanted to speak, but all that came from his mouth was a growl.
This world he once loved now looked at him with disdain. They judged him with their eyes.
Then he suddenly collapsed, drained by exhaustion, and only adrenaline kept him going in his madness.