"A Devil."
He said it flat. No inflection. Just pure, unfiltered confusion.
The silence that followed had a different quality. Like she was processing something that didn't compute.
"You... you don't know what a Devil is?"
Now she sounded confused. Disbelief colored the fear in her voice.
"Should I?"
"They're everywhere. On the news. We learn about them in school. Devil Hunters are celebrities. How do you not—"
A dry laugh scraped out of Dante's throat before he could stop it.
"Let's just say I wasn't much of a school person. Skipped a few current events classes." He tilted his head back against the wall. "Why don't you give me the crash course?"
"I..."
He could practically hear her trying to figure out if he was messing with her. The absurdity of the situation must have won out because she started talking again.
"Devils are born from human fear. The more people fear something, the stronger the Devil becomes. There's a Gun Devil. Even smaller things like the Tomato Devil or the Chicken Devil."
Dante processed this information like someone had just told him the laws of physics were optional.
So Sukuna and Gojo dumped me in a world where human nightmares are real and can punch you in the face. Fantastic. Great choice, guys.
His mind raced through the implications. If fear created Devils, and Devils were apparently common knowledge, then this whole world operated on rules that made Cursed Energy look reasonable by comparison.
"So you're telling me," he said slowly, "that somewhere out there, there's probably a Public Speaking Devil?"
Silence.
Then a sound he hadn't expected.
A laugh.
Small. Choked. Like someone who'd forgotten how the mechanism worked. It bubbled up from her cell and died almost immediately, replaced by a sharp intake of breath like she'd surprised herself.
"Or a Doing Your Taxes Devil," he continued, deadpan. "I bet that one's terrifying. Just shows up with a clipboard and a disappointed expression."
Another giggle. Slightly stronger this time. Still fragile, but real.
The sound faded into comfortable quiet. Not the oppressive silence of fear, but something softer. Almost companionable.
Dante found himself smiling despite the migraine, despite the concrete box, despite everything.
"Thank you," Sakiko said softly.
"For what?"
"For..." She paused. "For treating me like a person. The guards, they look at us like we're already dead. Or worse. Like we're just things."
Dante's smile vanished.
His hands curled into fists against his thighs. The new energy inside him responded to his anger, humming beneath his skin like high-voltage wire.
Calm down. Figure out what you're working with first. Then you can start breaking things.
"How long have you been here, Sakiko?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe a week? The days blur together. My father..." Her voice cracked completely this time. "He owed money to bad people. The Yakuza. They were going to kill him. So he..."
She didn't finish. Didn't need to.
Dante closed his eyes again. His sister's face flashed behind his eyelids. Young. Trusting. Before the world had gotten its teeth into her.
Different world. Same shit.
"I wish..." Sakiko's voice was barely audible. "I wish we could have met somewhere else, Dante."
The words twisted something in his chest.
Yeah. Me too.
He opened his mouth to respond when footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Heavy. Multiple sets. Getting closer.
The jazz music from upstairs swelled as a door opened somewhere above them. Laughter filtered down. Expensive. Carelessly cruel.
Dante's body tensed.
The footsteps stopped.
Right outside his door.
The bolt scraped. Metal on metal. The sound of a key turning in a lock.
Sakiko's breathing went ragged in the next cell.
"Dante," she whispered. Pure terror. "Don't fight them. Please. It only makes it worse."
The door swung open.
Light flooded in, and even through his closed eyelids, the Six Eyes processed every detail with brutal clarity. Three men. The one in front was broad shouldered, mid-thirties, with a scar running from his left eyebrow to his jawline. Black suit, white shirt, no tie. Yakuza muscle.
Behind him, two younger guys. Early twenties. Nervous energy. The kind of nervous that came from trying to prove themselves.
Scarface looked down at Dante with the kind of bored contempt usually reserved for insects.
"Get up."
Dante didn't move.
Processing. Analyzing. The Six Eyes are showing me their breathing patterns. Heart rates. Muscle tension. The big guy's confident. The other two are anxious. They've done this before, but not enough times to be comfortable with it.
"I said get the fuck up."
Scarface stepped into the cell. His hand dropped to his belt, where a retractable baton hung.
Dante's mind split into two tracks.
Track one: the old Dante. Street fighter. Scrapper. Twenty-one dead gangsters and counting.
Track two: the new Dante. The one with two dead gods rattling around in his soul. The one whose vision could track the individual sweat droplets forming on Scarface's forehead. The one who could feel something massive and dangerous coiled inside his chest, waiting to be unleashed.
I could kill them.
The thought arrived with absolute certainty.
I could kill them all before they took a breath.
But Gojo's voice echoed in his memory. Cherish the people you care about. Don't let strength isolate you.
And Sukuna's. Power always has a price.
Dante looked past Scarface toward the hallway beyond. Trying to see what was out there. How many more guards. What the layout looked like.
The Six Eyes gave him nothing useful. Too much sensory data, not enough context.
Not yet. Not blind. Not stupid.
He raised his hands slowly. Surrender. For now.
"Alright. I'm moving."
Scarface grunted, stepping back to give him room.
Dante stood on legs that only trembled slightly. The migraine pounded behind his eyes, but he kept his expression neutral. Bored, even.
The two younger guards grabbed his arms. Their grips were tight, professional. They'd done this before.
As they hauled him toward the door, Dante caught a glimpse of Sakiko's cell. The thin seam in the concrete where her voice had come from.
I'm coming back.
And when I do, I'm burning this whole fucking place to the ground.