Dante stood in the center of the ritual circle, his breath uneven, his muscles tense. The air around him crackled with raw energy, warping and twisting the light. The sigils drawn in blood glowed in eerie blues and purples, swirling in patterns that made his head spin.
He was levitating.
His body lifted off the ground, weightless, as a surge of something flooded his veins—something ancient, wild, and unrestricted. His hands trembled, his heartbeat slowed, and his vision blurred into colors beyond comprehension.
And then—a shockwave.
The entire house trembled, the very fabric of the air splitting apart as a pillar of radiant, unnatural fire erupted from the ritual circle, tearing through the roof and shooting into the sky. The flames weren't red or orange—they were black, lined with streaks of blue and violet, twisting like a void come to life.
The world outside seemed to hold its breath.
Then, Dante collapsed, landing with a harsh thud against the wooden floor. The aftershock sent pulses of energy rippling outward, rattling the furniture.
Silence followed.
Then—laughter.
"Ha! Look at that! You actually pulled it off!" The Trickster's voice rang with delight. "Damn, kid! You didn't even explode! I had a bet running with the Sound God on whether you'd survive. I lost, by the way."
Dante groaned, pushing himself up. His hands felt strange—his skin was buzzing with an almost electric sensation. He opened his palm, and before his eyes, a small, swirling mass of darkness coalesced—a miniature black hole.
"What... the hell?"
The Sound God whistled. "Oh, he's already messing with spatial distortions. Not bad. Not bad at all."
Dante clenched his fist, the black hole dissolving. He turned, barely registering the still-unconscious girl slumped against the wall. "Alright, Trickster. You've had your fun. Now tell me—what did this ritual actually do?"
The Trickster hummed. "Oh, you know. Just a little unsealing of your true power, a touch of reality-breaking potential—nothing too major."
Dante wasn't buying it. "No. There's more. The sigils, the blood, the—" He paused, realization settling in. His breath hitched. "Wait… that was a containment seal, wasn't it?"
A pause. Then a chuckle.
"Ahh, you're sharper than I gave you credit for."
Dante's heart pounded. "Tell me the truth, Trickster. What was the point of that seal? Why did I have it? Why—why did I even need this ritual?"
The Trickster finally sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll be honest with you… you weren't just sealed. You were being caged."
Dante's fingers twitched. "Caged?"
The Trickster's voice was unnervingly calm. "Yeah. Because your power wasn't just asleep—it was being suppressed. You're not just my descendant, Dante. You're something much, much more."
Dante felt his stomach drop. The Sound God said nothing, which only made it worse.
"And?" Dante pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What am I?"
A slow, amused chuckle.
"You, Dante… are me."
The room went cold.
Dante's mind blanked. "What?"
"You heard me," the Trickster continued, smug as ever. "You're not just my descendant—you're my reincarnation. My lovely, chaotic, perfectly flawed second life."
The world spun. The realization hit Dante like a crashing wave.
That was why the seal existed. That was why he never made it past twenty-eight. That was why—
If he died, the Trickster died.
And now that the seal was broken… he was no longer just human.
Dante's breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. He barely heard the Sound God mutter, "Whew. Yeah, I'd probably sit down after hearing that, too."
But before Dante could even process it, a sharp, piercing whistle rang through the air.
A shift. A presence.
Dante's eyes snapped toward the window—his newly heightened senses kicking in—just in time to see a figure standing on a rooftop across the street.
A soldier.
Dressed in the darkened armor of the Reaper Institute.
Dante didn't even have time to react before the soldier turned, vanishing into the night.
The realization hit instantly.
They had been found.
Back at the house, Dante paced the floor.
Dante rubbed his forehead, his expression unreadable. "So, that's it? You're just using me?"
The Trickster smirked. "Oh, come on. Don't act surprised." He leaned closer, voice dropping to something almost serious. "But let's not pretend you don't need me too. Or have you forgotten that little curse of yours?"
Dante's jaw tightened. The curse—the reason no one in his family had lived past twenty-four. He was already on borrowed time.
The Sound God interrupted, his voice amused. "Tension, tension."
Dante shot him a glare. "Shut up."
But before the Sound God could give another smug remark, there was a sudden, sharp knock at the door.
Everyone froze.
Dante exchanged a glance with the Trickster. No one should've been able to find them so quickly.
Another knock. Louder this time.
Then—BOOM.
The door blasted inward, splinters flying. A group of armored soldiers stepped in, weapons drawn, their leader's cold eyes locked on Dante.
"Dante Lirian," the man said, voice steady but firm. "By order of the High Council, you are under arrest."
Dante barely had time to curse before the first blade came swinging at his throat.
The first soldier lunged.
Dante ducked under the blade, his instincts sharper than ever. He twisted, grabbing the man's wrist and snapping it without hesitation. The soldier howled in pain, but Dante was already moving. The Trickster's power surged through his limbs, his senses heightened. He weaved through the attacks, dodging, countering, striking with precision.
The Sound God laughed. "Ahh, a battle soundtrack would make this perfect. Maybe some drums?"
Dante ignored him, focusing on the fight. But there were too many of them. Even with his newfound power, the soldiers were relentless, their movements too coordinated, too efficient. They weren't just ordinary enforcers—they had trained specifically to take down hybrids like him.
A spear came flying. Dante barely managed to twist out of the way, but a second one followed. This one found its mark, slicing through his shoulder. He gritted his teeth as pain flared.
"Dante, move!" the Trickster shouted.
Another blow struck him in the stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. He stumbled, and before he could recover, a reinforced chain wrapped around his neck, pulling him to the ground. More chains followed, locking around his arms and legs.
He struggled, growling, but the more he fought, the tighter they became.
Paralysis chains.
He was trapped.
---
When Dante came to, he was already inside the High Council's Grand Hall.
The room was massive, lined with pillars of dark stone and banners that bore the insignia of the Institute—the very organization that had hunted down hybrids like him for generations. At the far end sat a long table, behind which the most powerful figures of the Council watched him like a pack of vultures.
Dante's gaze flickered to the head of the Council—a man dressed in silver and black robes, his piercing eyes filled with something between amusement and disgust.
"So," the man said. "You are Dante or should I say, Lirian."
Dante didn't respond. He was too busy scanning the room, memorizing exits, counting guards.
The man leaned forward. "Do you know why you're here?"
Dante met his gaze. "Because you're afraid."
Some of the council members chuckled, but the Headmaster remained unfazed. "Afraid? No. We simply eradicate abnormalities. You should not exist."
Dante clenched his fists. "Because I'm a hybrid?"
"Because your kind is an insult to balance." The man gestured around. "The gods belong above, and humans belong below. The world is structured, and your existence threatens that order."
Dante's heart pounded. He had always known that hybrids were hated, but to hear it so casually stated, to know they were hunted not out of necessity, but out of a twisted sense of 'balance'…
"How many?" Dante asked, his voice quieter now.
The Headmaster raised an eyebrow. "How many what?"
"How many hybrids have you slaughtered?"
The man didn't even hesitate. "Thousands."
Dante's blood ran cold.
"For the greater good, of course," the Headmaster continued. "Hybrids are unstable, unpredictable. Like you." He gestured toward Dante's bindings. "Given time, you all become dangerous."
Dante breathed heavily, his mind spinning. They didn't just kill hybrids. They enjoyed it.
Was this who put the curse on his family?
The thought crashed into his mind like an explosion.
His family—all of them—dead before twenty-four.
His mother, the only person he had ever truly known, had died when he was just four years old. She had turned twenty-four that very year.
It wasn't fate. It wasn't sickness.
It was them.
Dante's vision blurred with rage.
The Trickster's voice echoed distantly. "Dante. Stay with me."
Then—
"Your mother was a weak, pathetic woman."
The words came from the Headmaster's mouth, but Dante barely heard them over the sound of his own heartbeat.
Something inside him snapped.
The Trickster panicked. "Dante! Don't—"
A pulse of raw, unchecked power erupted from Dante's body, shattering the floor beneath him. The entire room shook, walls cracking as an overwhelming force filled the air.
The chains binding him disintegrated.
Soldiers were flung backward, some hitting the walls with sickening crunches.
Dante wasn't thinking anymore. His mind had gone dark, consumed by something deeper than anger—something primal.
The Trickster struggled to reach him, but he was too far gone.
For the first time in a long time, the Trickster felt something unfamiliar.
Fear.