Sirzechs glanced up, locking eyes with the man now known as Dante Vale. The weight of his realization settled heavily on his shoulders, and for a brief moment, his expression mirrored something close to awe. He had asked the question already, but the answer still echoed in his mind, reverberating with impossible clarity.
"You are... human?" he repeated, his voice almost breathless.
Dante offered a light nod, the kind one might give when stating something so casually known it didn't bear repeating. But his gaze told a different story. It bore into Sirzechs like the eyes of a judging dragon—sharp, ancient, and utterly without mercy. It wasn't suspicion alone. It was readiness. The kind of readiness one only found in those who had been hunted and cornered too many times to count.
"Yes," Dante replied, his voice cool and level. Then his tone shifted, low and laced with pressure. "So I ask you, Sirzechs Gremory..."
The air grew thick, the room suddenly pressing in around them like the walls themselves were bearing witness. Sirzechs instinctively tightened his stance, years of battle-hardened instinct alerting him to a threat.
Dante's posture subtly changed. His left foot slid back just enough to anchor himself, knees slightly bent, muscles tightening with concealed preparation. His aura remained mostly masked, but Sirzechs could feel the tension in the air like the draw of a blade just before it strikes. For a split second, the human's body language screamed of a cornered predator preparing to strike.
"...will that be a problem?" Dante asked, his voice as hard and sharp as the atmosphere around them.
It was a warning. And in that moment, Sirzechs understood the true damage done to the man before him. Physical torture may have left no mark, but the psychological scars were carved deep. This wasn't a man unscathed. This was a man constantly on the edge, every interaction weighed with the memory of suffering.
Sirzechs raised his hands slowly in a gesture of peace, careful not to appear sudden or aggressive. The effect was immediate. Dante's coiled tension loosened, though he remained poised for conflict. His stance softened, if only marginally, and his eyes briefly flickered with confusion at Sirzechs' lack of aggression.
"I learned long ago," Sirzechs said calmly, "that the cause of the Great War was not noble... but petty."
Dante's arms crossed, his expression shifting to one of sardonic bitterness.
"I've heard the story," he muttered. "Lucifer—the Morning Star, First of the Fallen. Got angry, got cast out. Threw a tantrum. Boom. Hell is born. Great War sparked from Daddy issues."
He paused, then tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in thought.
"But that doesn't explain you," he continued. "A devil who doesn't immediately lose his mind the second he hears the word 'human'? That's rare. Strange, even. So I ask again... why the surrender, General? Does my freedom make you hesitate?"
Sirzechs paused, again, taking the time to truly choose his words. His hands dropped gently to his sides, his crimson eyes locking with Dante's steely gaze.
"I once believed Lucifer was a necessary evil for our kind," he began. "A symbol of strength. A banner under which we could unify. But I was young. I hadn't seen the truth yet. I hadn't understood that he viewed us—all of us—as pawns. Disposable pieces in his crusade to make his father bleed."
A flicker of anger twisted across Sirzechs' features. A rare, genuine crack in his otherwise composed demeanor.
"So yes," he said, his voice thick with controlled fury. "It was all because of 'daddy issues.' So many devils died—not for honor, not for freedom, but for one entity's selfish vendetta."
He shook his head slowly, exhaling as if trying to release the decades of pain wrapped around those memories.
"But things have changed," he continued. "Our numbers have dwindled. Our people suffer. Many of us understand now that war is no longer our way. Others still cling to the past, blind to what needs to be done. But change... change is necessary."
Sirzechs met Dante's gaze fully now, without hesitation, without reservation.
"And to answer your question," he said clearly, "I choose not to engage in pointless conflict when peace is within reach. I refuse to strike at someone who has every right to be wary—whose instincts were forged in pain and torment. Your species does not define you, Dante. I leave petty hatred and fear to the fools who now rest at the tip of my blade."
Dante studied him, a flicker of genuine surprise and... respect? Yes, there it was. A small, growing light in his otherwise jaded expression. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a smirk—not mocking, but wry and faintly amused.
"Heh... a respectable and open-minded devil," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Maybe my luck isn't as abysmal as I thought."
For the first time since the conversation began, the tension began to truly ease.
Dante eyed the mug of 'Hell Water' sitting in front of him with cautious suspicion. Sirzechs had poured it for him from one of his many provision caches, telling him to drink it. He didn't understand the human's hesitance, but from Dante's perspective, anything starting with the word "hell" didn't exactly scream hygienic—or safe. Especially not for a human. In stories, things like this usually ended with vomiting blood or spontaneous possession.
But in the end, Dante drank it anyway. Six months of torture, isolation, and starvation—and he was going to fold over a cup of water? The idea was offensive in itself. He'd survived too much to let a fancy drink defeat him.
The first sip was startling. The liquid was warm and fizzy, yet soothing—like a blend between the burn of a good scotch and the playful sweetness of cherry soda. The moment it slid down his throat, he could feel his hoarseness vanishing, his aching muscles relaxing.
Sirzechs had been quick to explain. Hell Water wasn't just any drink—it was a mild medicinal tonic, revered for its pain-dulling properties and its ability to accelerate natural healing. Not as powerful as a Phoenix Tear—a liquid rumored to grant near-immortality—but potent enough to have Dante already feeling somewhat...human again.
He hadn't realized how long it had been since he last drank anything. The interrogators had stripped him of that basic need within the first month. And this—this was his first drop of hydration since then.
"Do you like it?" Sirzechs asked.
Dante glanced up from the golden goblet. The devil sat behind a grand wooden desk, littered with maps and parchments. He looked like a general, composed and powerful, but oddly... welcoming.
"Yeah," Dante replied after a pause. "It's new, but good."
Sirzechs only nodded, but instead of pressing the subject, he produced another bottle in a flash of red light.
"A high-quality spirit," he said fondly, setting it on the table. "Brewed in Falls Peek—capital of Lucifaad. Best drink in hell, some say. The brewery got wiped out a few months ago in a border skirmish. Damn shame."
Dante stared, stunned. Why was he being offered the most prestigious drink in hell? The implications of such a gesture were still turning over in his mind when he shook his head and got back to the subject really bothering him.
"All right, enough hospitality. What are you doing?"
Sirzechs didn't miss a beat. "Are you aware that you've become the most valuable individual in this entire war? Surely, you've noticed."
Dante nodded slowly. "They called me the 'Second Coming' of Lucifer. At first, I thought the torture was just a method to break me, to twist my head around until I started believing their gospel. Cultist maniacs, the whole lot. But yeah... I figured out I'm important. What I don't get is—why the adoption?"
Sirzechs smirked, folding his arms behind his back as he moved from around the desk. "You know fragments of our history, yes—but not our politics."
He gestured broadly. "Hell is fractured. Our people are torn between two futures—those who cling to war, and those who seek peace. My faction, the Anti-Satan Army, works for the latter. That said, our current politics are defined entirely by war. Priorities are acted on, not debated."
"So what's the objective?" Dante asked.
"First, to survive. Second, to unify," Sirzechs answered. "And you, Dante—you're a wild card. You fell from our skies. You cratered a quarter of a region just by arriving. You vaporized a high-class devil's arm without trying. That kind of power? That kind of unpredictability? It makes you dangerous—and priceless."
Dante blinked. "I... left a crater?"
Sirzechs nodded and picked up a folder and a long, black-feathered quill—its edge shimmering with magic.
"Here. Sign this—bottom left. Initials are fine."
Dante took the folder, eyes narrowing. "Don't take this the wrong way, but where I come from, signing contracts with a devil is... sort of a massive red flag."
To his credit, Sirzechs chuckled. "A reasonable concern. But our faction has long outlawed soul contracts with humans. We believe in cooperation, not coercion."
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Didn't expect to hear that in hell."
"Most don't. The 'adoption' is a political shield. You become my family—you gain protections others don't. If the Old Satan Faction gets ahold of you, your status as my younger brother guarantees a military response. Without that? You'd be left to rot."
Dante sighed, then signed. "The name stays—Dante Vale."
"Of course," Sirzechs nodded, stamping the paper with a sigil that shimmered briefly. "Congratulations, Dante Vale Gremory."
Dante leaned back, brow arched. "Is it really that easy to get adopted here? Back on Earth, it takes months. Court hearings. Lawyers."
Sirzechs grinned and sank into his chair. "Normally? No. But I happen to be heir of House Gremory and one of the four generals commanding under martial law. In times like these, my word is law. If I say you're my brother, then you are."
Dante frowned. "Wait... you're registering me as a devil? Won't that backfire?"
Sirzechs shrugged. "Maybe. But you've already shown strength that surpasses most devils. People will question it, sure—but no one will challenge it. And if they do? They'll regret it."
Dante stared at him for a moment before chuckling. "Well... guess I'm a devil now. A human-shaped nuke with a fancy last name."
"You always were a weapon, Dante. Now you've got a scabbard to rest in."
Still, doubt lingered in the back of Dante's mind.
But for now... he was willing to see where this road led.