The Rebellion thrummed in Dante's grip, its sheer size almost as tall as he was. The blade gleamed silver-gray, broad and unforgiving, its edges jagged like they'd been carved from raw stone. The crossguard curved outward into hornlike prongs, framing a snarling demonic skull where hilt met blade. Crimson lines pulsed faintly along the fuller, like veins under skin, as if the weapon itself were alive.
It looked less like a sword and more like something torn from Hell itself.
Dante smirked, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "Guess I finally upgraded from a stick."
The N'Garai brute roared and lunged, claws sweeping like scythes.
Dante met the charge head-on. Rebellion carved through the brute's arm, shearing muscle and stone-like flesh in a burst of sparks. The monster howled, staggering back, clutching the mangled limb.
Dante twirled the sword in a wild flourish, coat tails whipping behind him. "What's the matter? Thought you were working out."
The brute came again, enraged. Its clawed fist swung like a wrecking ball. Dante ducked under the blow, boots skidding across wet stone, then sprang upward, twisting mid-air. Rebellion's edge slashed across its chest, cutting deep, green ichor spraying like acid. He landed behind it in a crouch, blade already spinning for the next strike.
Elsa blasted two cultists trying to rejoin the fight, but her eyes kept flicking toward Dante. He moved like chaos given form — reckless, cocky, every strike a show. But damn if it didn't work.
"Crazy bastard," she muttered, pumping another shell into her shotgun.
The brute lashed out again, its jaws snapping. Dante flipped back onto a pillar of broken stone, balancing on one foot, and smirked down at it. "Nice dental plan you've got. Mind if I fix that smile?"
He dropped, Rebellion first. The blade plunged into the monster's maw, tearing down through palate and throat in a spray of black-green blood. The brute convulsed, roaring in fury.
Dante yanked the blade free, spinning it once as the beast staggered. "Guess you're not much of a talker after all."
The brute swung wildly, catching Dante across the ribs and hurling him across the cavern. He hit hard, blood at the corner of his mouth — but he laughed, the sound sharp and reckless.
"Oh, I'm gonna like this sword."
He lunged again, faster this time, Rebellion singing in his hands. Each strike carved deeper, every slash faster, Dante chaining combos with wild abandon. He ricocheted off walls, spun mid-leap, every movement a spectacle.
The brute staggered, ichor gushing from half a dozen wounds. Dante pressed forward, coat flaring, blade flashing in arcs of light. The style was messy, theatrical — but it was him.
Finally, Dante vaulted over the beast's head, twisting midair. Rebellion plunged down, cleaving through skull and spine, splitting the brute in two.
The demon collapsed with a seismic crash, green fire sputtering out. Silence swallowed the chamber.
Dante landed lightly, flicking ichor from the blade with a cocky spin. He rested Rebellion across his shoulder, grinning at Elsa.
"And that," he said, "is how you make an entrance."
Elsa lowered her shotgun, staring at him in disbelief. For a heartbeat, she had no words. Then she let out a breath and muttered, "Unnecessarily stylish."
Dante smirked wider, brushing blood from his chin. "Come on, you loved it."
The sewers were quiet again, save for the drip of water and the hiss of dying embers from the shattered brazier. The N'Garai brute lay in pieces, its ichor steaming against the stone floor.
Elsa reloaded her shotgun with steady hands, eyes sweeping the chamber. She moved toward the altar, scanning the bone-carved symbols and charred scraps of parchment scattered by the fight. Her fingers brushed over the stone sigil etched into the surface — jagged, glowing faintly red. For an instant, she swore she saw the Bloodgem reflected in the cracks.
But no sign of her father. No trail, no body. Nothing but whispers in firelight.
She clenched her jaw and turned away. He's not here. Move on.
Behind her, Dante leaned against a broken pillar, still catching his breath. Rebellion still rested in his grip, its crimson veins pulsing faintly. Slowly, the glow faded, the skull-shaped guard dulling until it looked once more like a heavy, plain broadsword.
Dante frowned, lifting it. "…Huh. Guess she got tired."
With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and slung the sword across his back. "That's fine. I'll keep her sharp."
Elsa's eyes narrowed. "That blade—what is it?"
Dante smirked, brushing blood from his chin. "Not sure yet. But I think she likes me."
Elsa rolled her eyes and turned back to him. That's when she noticed the blood soaking his coat. "You're bleeding."
Dante waved her off. "Eh, it's just a scratch. Looks worse than it is."
She knelt anyway, tugging a bandage roll from her coat. "Hold still."
He blinked. "Wait, are you seriously about to patch me up? Thought you'd let me bleed just to teach me a lesson."
Elsa pressed the cloth against his side, firm enough to make him wince. "Trust me, I'm tempted. But watching you keel over from blood loss would only slow me down."
Dante hissed, then chuckled through his teeth. "Ouch. You've got a hell of a bedside manner."
"Better than yours," she shot back, wrapping the bandage tight.
For a moment, her hand lingered over the wound — and she noticed something strange. The bleeding had already slowed, the edges of the gash knitting faintly together. It wasn't natural.
Her eyes narrowed. "You shouldn't be healing this fast."
Dante smirked, brushing her hand away as he straightened, Rebellion clinking softly against his back. "Guess I'm a quick healer. Perks of good genes, sweetheart."
Elsa stared at him for a moment longer. He didn't look the least bit rattled — if anything, he looked energized after the fight. Reckless, bleeding, and grinning like the battle had been a game.
Unnecessarily stylish. And definitely not entirely human.
She turned away, muttering under her breath. "Matteo didn't tell me everything…"
Dante twirled the sword once before sliding it back over his shoulder with a flourish. "Nah. Where's the fun in that?"
St. Patrick's Cathedral, New York City, 2004.
The heavy cathedral doors shut behind them, muting the city's chaos. Candlelight flickered along the stone walls, casting Dante's shadow long and lean, Rebellion hanging casually over his shoulder. Elsa's boots echoed sharp against the marble as she strode toward Father Matteo's study.
Matteo was waiting, seated at his cluttered desk, fingers laced, his expression unreadable. He looked them both over — Dante grinning like he'd just walked out of a bar fight, Elsa stiff with frustration, her coat still spattered with demon ichor.
"So," Matteo said, voice calm but weighted, "tell me what you found."
Elsa wasted no time. "A cult. Ritual fire, summoning circle, and a brute that shouldn't exist outside the darkest myths. But no sign of my father."
Her hand tightened on the edge of the desk. "What I did see was a symbol. Blood-red, jagged. It looked like the Bloodgem. That's no coincidence."
Matteo's eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang.
Elsa's jaw set. "You know something. About the gem?" She pointed at Dante. "And do you know something about him, too?"
Dante leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. "Yeah, Padre. She's got a point. You've been sitting on secrets since I was nine. Care to share with the class?"
For a long moment, Matteo said nothing. His gaze flicked between them, heavy and tired. Then he shook his head. "Not tonight."
Elsa's eyes flashed. "He pulled a sword from nowhere, Matteo. He's bleeding and half-healed before I can even patch him. What is he?"
Silence. Matteo's jaw clenched, but no answer came.
Dante raised a brow, his grin faltering just slightly. "…That bad, huh?"
Realizing she wouldn't get anything more, Elsa stepped back, arms crossed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But I'll get my answers eventually."
Matteo stood, reaching for a rolled-up map among the clutter. "If you're serious about finding your father, there's another site. Reports of disturbances, same kind of fire. It may not lead to him, but it will lead to something. And something is better than nothing."
Elsa took the map, her gloved fingers brushing the parchment. Her eyes softened, just for a breath. "Then that's where we start next."
She turned, already heading for the door. "I'll contact my supplier. We'll need heavier firepower for what's coming." Her gaze flicked toward Dante, lingering just long enough to make him grin. "And the boy needs proper weapons. That toothpick won't cut it forever."
Dante smirked. "What, you jealous of my style?"
"Jealous?" Elsa arched a brow. "No. Annoyed? Absolutely."
She paused at the doorway, glancing back with a sly half-smile. "Don't worry. I'll fix that. I'll get you something with bite."