Chapter 116: Just Me
It had been three days since the courtroom doors closed.
Three days since the Red Doom had been declared not guilty.
And Central City… had gone quiet.
The headlines faded. The debates died down. No parades. No riots. Just silence.
The people who once called Dante a murderer now walked the streets with their heads down, ashamed—not because they were wrong, but because they were forced to face how wrong they had been. Even those who once cheered him now kept their distance, unsure how to reconcile their fear with their admiration.
The truth was out: Marcus Grant was a monster. A killer. A metahuman who abused his powers with glee. And Julian Grant… had tried to paint him as a martyr.
And so the city said nothing. It moved on. Or pretended to.
Inside S.T.A.R. Labs, things returned to normal—on the surface, at least.
Barry and Cisco worked in the cortex, arguing playfully over an algorithm. Caitlin made tea and shared it with Patty and Joe. Nora ran tests on her lightning, and even Wally dropped by with that same smirk that used to light up the room.
They were smiling.
Laughing.
Trying.
But Dante wasn't.
He sat in the corner of the cortex, legs crossed, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The smoke curled upward like a slow ghost, whispering secrets only he could hear.
His red hair was unkempt. His leather jacket hung heavy on his shoulders. The mask—the infamous demonic mask of the Red Doom—was gone, tucked away somewhere he didn't care to find.
Barry finally noticed the silence on Dante's end. He looked at him, brow furrowed.
"Dante?" he asked softly. "What's wrong?"
Dante didn't look at him. He exhaled a thin ribbon of smoke, watching it fade into nothing before he spoke.
"I killed my own brothers for this city," he said quietly. "And now they call me a monster."
Everyone froze.
Even Cisco, who had just been mid-joke, fell silent.
Patty lowered her cup.
Joe looked at the floor.
Because they all knew what Dante meant.
Michael. His blood brother. Gone by Dante's hand.
Leon. The older brother. The brave one. The heart of them. Dead… because Dante couldn't save him.
And now… the city he bled for, called him the villain.
But one person in the room didn't understand.
Nora.
She blinked, confused, her voice uncertain. "You… had brothers?"
Dante finally looked up. His eyes met hers. And in that moment, Nora saw something she hadn't seen before—something ancient and broken. Like he'd been carrying the weight of a thousand lives on his shoulders.
"I had two," he said.
No one stopped him. No one interrupted.
He stood up slowly, letting the smoke trail behind him like a shadow.
"I killed. I fought. I died," he said, his voice gaining strength with every word. "And now they protect the monster, and call me a murderer."
Nora looked around, but no one spoke. She turned to Barry, seeking clarity, but he just lowered his gaze.
Dante's voice softened again. "You know what's funny? From the very start… I never wanted to be a hero."
He looked at Barry directly now. There was no accusation in his voice—only truth.
"You remember, don't you?" he asked. "The first day I used my powers."
Barry nodded slowly. "The Mist."
Dante gave a cold, hollow smile.
"I killed him. Cisco called him 'The Mist.' I didn't hesitate. I didn't even flinch."
He started to pace now, restless energy building in his limbs like lightning in a bottle.
"Then it was Tony Woodward. Then Reverse-Flash. Killer after killer. I thought—hell, maybe that's all I'm good at. Hunting monsters."
He stopped, turned to face the whole team.
"But then you guys came along," he said. "Team Flash. And you changed me."
He gestured to the room. The walls. The lights. The legacy.
"You made me believe I could be something else. Something better."
There was silence.
"And I liked it," he whispered. "For a while."
He walked to the edge of the cortex and looked out through the glass at the skyline beyond. The city pulsed with light. So much life. So many people.
"I started to believe in happy endings," he said. "In quiet mornings. Coffee. Dumb jokes. Love."
He glanced over his shoulder at Nora, and her heart ached for him.
"It wasn't perfect. It was chaos. But it was life. And we… we lived it."
Then his voice dropped.
"But now?" he said. "I don't know."
He turned fully now, facing all of them.
"I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't think I want to save people who were ready to throw me into the fire just because I killed a killer."
Barry stood, his voice gentle. "Dante, we—"
But Dante raised a hand to stop him.
"I'm not blaming you," he said. "Any of you. You did what you always do—try to find the best in people."
He looked away.
"But I'm not one of those people."
Caitlin stepped forward. "Don't say that."
He shook his head.
"Let's be honest," he said. "I'm not a hero."
His eyes softened as he looked at all of them—people he'd fought beside, bled beside, laughed beside.
"I'm just me."
He dropped the cigarette, crushing it beneath his boot.
No one spoke. Not even Barry.
Dante turned and walked away, leaving only the faint smell of smoke behind him. A red streak of lightning followed him out, small and fading.
Nora looked at Barry, voice shaking. "What's he going to do now?"
Barry's jaw tensed.
"I don't know," he said. "But I think… whatever it is… he's going to do it alone."
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