Dante was unconscious, strapped to an operating table. His wrists and ankles were cuffed, but the chiseled muscles and rapidly healing scars covering his body made one thing clear—he was no ordinary man.
A focused, slim doctor approached him.
Thick glasses sat on her nose as she examined his chest with fascination. His skin was regenerating at an incredible speed. She recorded every detail on her portable device, eyes wide with wonder.
—"This is… insane. Accelerated cellular regeneration? How is that even possible for an unregistered awakened subject?" she whispered, brushing her fingers across his abs almost absentmindedly, as if sculpting clay.
A small smile curled on her lips. This was beyond science.
She leaned in closer, completely absorbed in the miracle before her—studying the scars that seemed to vanish before her eyes.
But a loud thud snapped her out of her trance.
Dante's eyes flew open.
—"ARRRHHHHHHHHH!"
He jolted upright, nearly snapping the restraints. A guttural, primal scream echoed through the room.
The doctor froze, panic gripping her. Her glasses flew off as she stumbled backward.
—"KYAAAAH! I—I didn't mean to touch your incredibly well-defined chest, okay?!"
She crashed into the wall trying to flee, tripping over fallen instruments before scrambling out the door, her heart pounding.
Dante was in a frenzy. His fists slammed the table, making the whole thing shake violently.
Moments later, the door burst open again. A group of people entered—some armed, others more casual.
At the front, calm and chewing gum, was Lexie—a blonde in a fitted tank top and joggers, her gaze sharp and unreadable.
She walked up to the raging Dante like she was strolling into a coffee shop.
—"Easy, big guy. You keep pounding the table like that, and you're just gonna bruise your own ego." She glanced at his cuffs. "Need a hand with those?"
Dante, breathing heavily, turned his blazing eyes toward her.
—"WHO ARE YOU? Where are Jophiel and Annabelle?!"
Lexie raised a brow, chewing slowly.
—"Alright, slow down. You want answers? I've got some. But if you keep screaming like that, I'm taping your mouth shut. I'm trying to enjoy my gum here."
A massive man walked in behind her—Milo, axe in one hand, soda in the other. He looked at Dante with zero patience.
—"Chill out, muscle boy. I don't have time to wrestle with rage monsters today. We've got bigger problems. You done wrecking the place or what?"
Lexie smirked. "Relax, Milo. He's starting to get the message—we're not the enemy."
Still tense, Dante finally let his arms drop.
A smaller man with connected glasses and a high-tech jacket stepped forward—Nash. He tapped his device, and a video projection floated up in front of Dante.
It was a live feed. Dante recognized the setting immediately, a fancy spa. His eyes widened.
There they were—his mother and Annabelle, laughing, relaxed, wrapped in white towels.
—"Dante," Nash said calmly, "look. They're safe. What you saw wasn't real."
The footage showed them soaking in the warm water, laughing under soothing jets.
—"This... this is a joke ?"
—"Nope," Nash replied, adjusting his glasses. "What you saw was staged. The Caledron were coming for them. We got to them first. Burned the houses to throw them off our trail."
Dante narrowed his eyes, still skeptical.
—"Why would you do that for me ?"
A deep voice answered—Rowan, a grizzled ex-cop with a permanent frown.
—"Because we've got the same enemies. And we think you're our best shot. The Caledron run everything in Duraand. But not for long. Not if you help us bring them down."
Dante looked from Rowan to Lexie, then to Milo.
—"What do you want from me ?" he asked, tone softer but still wary.
Rowan sat beside him and laid a tablet on the table.
A map loaded on screen—webs of names, places, files, all linked to the Caledron.
—"This is what you get : a shot to burn it all down. To destroy their entire network. Maybe even recover your mother's Eye, if our intel's right. But we need you to do it. One by one, we bring them down."
Lexie raised her hand like she was answering a teacher.
—"And most importantly? You've got the rage. And we need that."
Dante clenched his fists again, glancing around at this strange, determined team.
—"So?" Rowan asked, smiling faintly. "You in?"
Dante took a deep breath. Then nodded.
—"Alright. I'm in. But one thing... I want their leader. The one pulling the strings. I'll destroy him myself."
The room went silent, then Nash spoke up.
—"You'll get him. But it won't be easy. He's at the top of the food chain."
Dante stepped forward.
—"Then let's get ready. Because I'm about to show them what happens when you mess with Kang—...Dante."
---
The improvised bathroom of the HQ looked like an abandoned military locker room.
A single cracked mirror hung above a rusty sink that made a choking sound every time the hot water was turned on.
Dante undressed, staring at his body in the fractured glass. And then he froze.
— "… Fuck… is that me?"
He looked… monstrous. Not ugly. No. He looked like someone who had just walked out of a nightmare, wielding an axe.
Skin stretched over excessively sculpted muscles, a face marked by time, a sharp jawline. He frowned. Even that looked too intimidating.
— "I can scare my own reflection. Great."
He ran a hand over his chest. Even the old scars from his past… gone.
In their place, just fresh skin, too perfect. He clenched his fists. Veins popped out. His strength was real.
His cells… were moving ? He felt a strange warmth spreading through him, like his whole body was constantly repairing itself, adapting.
A mosquito dared to bite him. He killed it with a glance.
After showering, he rummaged through the clothes left nearby, a black shirt, a bit too tight, black pants, and a dark jacket with a spiral logo stitched on the left shoulder.
He looked at himself again. He didn't look like a boy anymore.
— "I look like a guy who sells weapons in a post-apocalyptic movie..."
---
The cafeteria was an old industrial canteen. The sealed windows barely filtered the light. A halogen lamp on the ceiling flickered like a depressed nightclub.
In the center, a big self-service counter filled with homemade food. Or rather… thrown-together food.
Dante walked in. And then… all eyes turned to him.
Milo, sitting with an XXL sandwich in each hand, whistled through his teeth:
— "Whoa, did you steal someone's body or what?"
Lexie, leaning backward on a chair, smirked provocatively:
— "OK, I take back what I said. He's not a kid anymore. He's a nuclear weapon with pecs."
Nash, mouth full of cereal soaked in juice (yeah, he does that), added:
— "Already added your photo to our recruitment file. You've got a vibe that could knock drones out of the sky with sheer intimidation."
Dante didn't respond. His stomach growled.
He rushed to the buffet and, in under ten minutes, devoured three servings of rice, two hard-boiled eggs, some moldy bread he spat out with a "what the hell, is this alive?", and finished with a lukewarm can of ravioli.
He ate like someone coming out of a ten-year coma. The table shook with each bite.
Helena, the medic, walked in just then. She saw him. Froze. Then immediately fled without saying a word, red as a tomato.
— "Still as social as ever," Lexie said, snorting.
Milo offered a chicken leg:
— "Want some? It's real. I think. Might be a corrupted pigeon though."
— "I'll take it all," said Dante, with such dead-serious intensity that Milo nodded like he was saluting a warlord.
Nash tapped on his tablet:
— "Analyzing your profile. Appetite: abnormal. Temperament: pending. Charisma: devastating. Lexie, take note, we might have found our new macho mascot."
— "He's mine if we tattoo him."
Dante paused, stared at Nash.
— "You seriously making a file on me?"
— "I'm doing an animated PowerPoint with your voice in the background. We'll present you as 'Project D.'"
— "Can I do the voice-over?" asked Milo, dead serious.
— "No. You sound like a rusty gate."
— "You look like Wi-Fi that never works," Milo snapped back.
— "Your mom never works."
— "My mom says screw you," he replied, flipping him off.
Lexie clapped her hands :
— "OK, stop. I'm the mediator here. Shut up and eat. Or I'll eat your share."
---
Later that night, when everyone had gone back to their quarters, Dante sat on an old torn-up couch in the central lounge, a cup of juice in hand.
Nash quietly came back with a blanket and sat beside him.
— "Feeling lost?"
Dante shrugged.
— "I dreamed of being strong. Now that I am… I wish someone else took my place."
Nash smiled softly.
— "We all dream of power. Until we realize it's a burden."
Silence.
— "You know, I act all cocky, but I was terrified the first time I hacked a military drone. I was 14 yo. Thought the government would kill me."
— "And now?"
— "Now I eat cereal with orange juice and plot the fall of the Caledron."
They looked at each other.
— "We're all a little broken here," said Nash. "But at least, we're broken together."
— "Yeah… I think I'm gonna fit in just fine with you lunatics."