TEN YEARS LATER
--------------
Paradise Megacity seems to have frozen in time. Ten years have passed yet this city has remained the same; not much has changed, the sky was still choked under a blanket of smog and neo haze.
Rain fell relentlessly, slicking the alleys, and above, maglev trains zipped through the skyline.
Although the city still remained the same,
But Dante... he had changed.
------
Dante limped through the dark alleys, his leg bent and covered in blood; each step echoed against the wet concrete, leaving behind crimson trails of blood that the rain quickly washed away.
His chest heaved up and down with labored breaths.
He was already fifteen years old, an age where he should be enjoying his life, but in the pits of Paradise Megacity, this is just a far-fetched dream.
The pits had already stolen his childhood long ago. Now he was tall and lean, muscles honed by ten years of survival forged in battle and violence, his eyes sharp like a predator's gaze.
And grafted into his spine was a Street Level Spinal Rig, a cruel reminder of his reality.
Its gears whirred with every movement, glitching at times and putting him in a difficult spot when in mid-fight.
Which sometimes even landed him on the brink of death; every breath felt like a gamble with this machine fused to his back.
His entire body was covered in deep scars, some so deep that they were horrifying, slashes from blades, bites from dogs, burns from shock rods gone wrong. Old wounds layered over new ones, none of them had healed properly.
He was a battlefield stitched together by bandages.
The pits had already become his home.
In these ten years, he had taken more lives than he can count... more than a hundred souls to the entertainment of others: dogs, men... even kids like him, all of them thrown into cages for sport.
He tore them apart to survive, wearing them apart until nothing remained but corpses left behind.
He endured all of this for one reason only: his sister.
That bastard father of his knew too well... he always did; he knew that his sister was Dante's Achilles' heel, he wielded her like a chain around Dante's neck.
Every fight came with an ultimatum: win or she is sold off to someone worse than him.
Initially, Dante refused and fought back; he tried to escape multiple times, waiting for that bastard father of his to come home drunk and follow him in hopes of discovering where his sister was hidden away.
But each attempt always failed; his father was too careful and meticulous when it came to his sister's safety; she was the leverage... the only thing that made Dante bend.
So, Dante, with no other choice, fought again, bleeding in those pits while breaking bones and killing with bare hands, all for a fleeting chance to see her face as a reward, a brief reunion before she vanished again.
That was the only thing keeping him alive and continuing to endure this nightmare of torture.
-------
Tonight was another brutal pit fight, with another victory in blood.
He limped forward with difficulty.
---
The shack loomed out of the fog like a ghostly haunted house. A crooked structure wedged between two abandoned buildings; its walls leaned precariously, patched with scrap metal.
The door hung askew on broken hinges, and a flickering neon sign from the street outside cast a weak, sickly glow through the cracked window.
Dante limped towards this old shack and pushed open the door.
A heavy and overwhelming stench hit him, a noxious blend of smoke, rot, and chemicals.
His expression didn't change at all with this stench; after all, he had been living with this stench the moment he was born.
He recognized this smell too well, cheap stimulants that burned out minds for just a day's worth of numbness.
The inside of the shack was not much to talk about; on the old and ancient sofa was his mother sprawled on it, her hair a tangled mess covering her face.
She wore a skimpy dress torn in many places that barely clung to her body. White liquid substances covered her body, emitting an unusual smell.
Her eyes were half-open and empty. Her breath rose and fell shallowly.
For just a moment, when Dante entered, she looked up at him. A flicker of emotion appeared in her dead eyes before going vacant again. Her pupils were wide, as if lost in some distant void.
Her head rolled back, eyes drifting away into nothingness.
The Dante of five years old might have rushed to her side, shaking her to wake her up, but the Dante of fifteen just stood there without much expression on his face.
Rainwater and blood gathered beneath him as he stared at the shell of the woman who had once been his mother.
---
Dante ignored her and limped past her into the dim interior as the floorboards creaked beneath him.
In the back room was his drawer filled with scraps, bandages, and cheap medicine pilfered from pit handlers.
His hands trembled as he pulled them out: torn strips of cloth and half a bottle of antiseptic that was barely enough to close even one wound.
Just then, the creaky door slammed open, revealing his father's figure. His heavy footsteps reverberated through the shack, followed by his drunken and slurred voice.
"You worthless little shit!"
Dante immediately froze in place. That monster was here.
His father stormed in with a ferocious face, swaying on his thin legs that moved safer for someone looking half dead.
His cybernetic eyes glowed red in the dark, darting around while his chrome arm twitched as he clenched and unclenched his fist.
"You think that was fighting? You think that was enough?" His voice was filled with fury; spit flew as he shouted.
"You underperformed today! You made me look weak! You embarrass me!"
And before Dante could react or even brace himself...
BAM!
A fist landed on his ribs; a sickening crack sounded through the surroundings.
Pain shot through his body as he staggered a few steps back. The second punch landed squarely on his face, snapping his head sideways and sending blood spraying from his lip.
Dante didn't dare to fight back; he couldn't... not because he lacked the strength. After all, with a single punch from him, this man in front of him would be six feet underground.
Dante's eyes blazed red as he locked his bloodied lips. His body shook and screamed for vengeance, a primal urge to kill this old man before him.
But the thought of his sister held him back from doing anything.
If he fought back now, he would lose her forever.
The beating dragged on for minutes, as a barrage of fists and kicks landed on him.
Dante just lay there, protecting his most vital parts. This went on for a long time as his wounds reopened, and blood seeped out, soaking through his bandages.
After a while, the beating stopped; he was already exhausted. The old man stepped back with a sneer; he spat on Dante's face, the stinking glob of silver mixed grotesquely with blood on his cheek.
"Next time you fight like that," he roared, "I'll sell your sister to the flesh-merchants. They'll hollow her out piece by piece."
His cold voice rang in the shack. "You hear me? That's what she's worth, and that's all you're worth."
Dante's chest tightened when he heard those words. Blood dripped from his lips onto the floor as he bowed his head; every muscle in his body screamed with pain and agony.
As if it might snap under all this pressure, but he didn't move.
He couldn't.
As he turned to leave, the old man cast a last glance at the woman slumped on the sofa and raised his chrome hand, slapping her across the face; the sound reverberated through the shack like a clap of thunder.
She didn't flinch or blink; her head rocked sideways before tilting back again, eyes vacant and empty.
"Slut!" he spat on her and said disdainfully before staggering toward the door.
His figure disappeared into the night.
Silence enveloped the shack once more.
Dante remained kneeling on the floor, his head hung low, his hair dangling over his eyes while he took in shallow breaths.
Each breath felt painful and difficult.
His body was screaming with pain, ready to collapse.
He knelt there silently as blood dripped onto the floor; his bandages slipped from his grip.
His sister was out there...waiting for him.
And as long as she drew breath, he would endure this torment for her sake.