Chapter 8: Cry For Help
The cold stone still pressed against Dabi’s flushed skin, the phantom ache of Dante’s claiming thrust a pleasant throb. Dante’s breath was hot on his neck, his body a heavy, possessive weight pinning Dabi to the wall, both of them breathing raggedly in the aftermath. The scent of sex, sweat, and ancient stone filled the vast chamber. Dante’s thumb traced the fresh bite mark on Dabi’s shoulder, a low rumble vibrating in his chest.
“Mine,” Dante murmured again, the word a satisfied purr laced with lingering intensity.
Dabi shivered, pushing back slightly just to feel Dante’s solid presence. “Yeah, yeah, big guy. Got the message,” he rasped, a faint smirk playing on his lips despite the bone-deep satisfaction. He craned his neck to look at Dante. “But your four-eyed ghost is probably getting restless.”
A shadow flickered across Dante’s face, the possessive heat momentarily banked by grim reality. He sighed, the sound heavy. He pulled out slowly, the slick slide making Dabi gasp, and stepped back, adjusting his ruined trousers. His gaze, molten gold but sharp now, scanned Dabi. “Get dressed. Quickly.”
Dabi didn’t argue. He gathered the shreds of his clothes – his jacket was salvageable, barely, the shirt a lost cause. Dante simply snapped his fingers. Dabi felt a cool ripple of power wash over him, and his clothes were suddenly whole again, smelling faintly of ozone and leather. He raised an eyebrow. “Handy trick.”
“Perks of the job,” Dante said flatly, already striding towards a heavy iron-bound door Dabi hadn’t noticed before. He pulled it open, revealing not the club’s corridor, but the swirling, chaotic energy of the VIP lounge itself. The thumping bass, the murmur of voices, the smell of expensive booze and cloying perfume washed over them.
They stepped through the threshold seamlessly. One moment the cool silence of the sanctum, the next the electric tension of the lounge. Dante closed the hidden door behind him; it vanished, becoming indistinguishable from the rich, dark wood panelling.
The scene was frozen. Shigaraki was slumped in his usual corner, looking supremely bored but flicking his gaze between Sukuna and Dante. Toga perched on the arm of the couch beside Lilith, her knife absentmindedly twirling, eyes wide with morbid curiosity. Shoto stood rigidly near the main entrance, arms crossed, radiating protective suspicion. Hawks leaned against the bar Azereth was tending, his golden eyes narrowed, wings slightly flared. Dante’s siblings – Vincent, Sapphire, KJ, and Xavier – were scattered like statues, their expressions inscrutable but alert. And Lilith, Dante’s first born… Lilith sat elegantly on the couch, sipping a blood-red cocktail, her dark eyes fixed intently on Sukuna with unnerving calm.
Sukuna himself stood near the windows overlooking the chaotic dance floor below. He’d shed the heavy cloak, revealing the simple dark tunic and trousers beneath, the four arms folded across his broad chest. The four eyes watched Dante and Dabi’s arrival, the vertical lower slits narrowing almost imperceptibly.
The air crackled. Dante, however, moved with a deceptive calm. He walked towards the center of the room, radiating a chillingly controlled authority. He didn’t sit. He stopped, facing Sukuna directly, his hands loose at his sides. Dabi lingered near the bar, leaning against it, crossing his arms. He wasn’t hiding; he was observing. Hawks shifted slightly closer to him, a silent question in his gaze. Dabi just gave a minute shake of his head. Not now.
“Alright, Sukuna,” Dante said, his voice low, resonant, cutting through the lounge’s background hum without needing to shout. All eyes snapped to him. “You’ve had time. We’ve had… a moment.” His gaze flickered towards Dabi for an instant, hot and possessive, before snapping back to Sukuna. “Talk. What are you running from? It’s gotta be bad if you’re fuckin’ running… to me.”
Sukuna unfolded his arms. His expression was unreadable, the monstrous features betraying little. “Remember ages ago? That sanctimonious prick Ezekiel tried to recruit you?” His voice was rough, gravel scraping on stone, yet carrying a distinct, ancient cadence.
Dante’s face remained impassive, but a flicker of cold recognition lit his eyes. “Yes. Wanted me to lead his little celestial purge squad. Offered power. Glory. The usual bullshit.”
“You declined,” Sukuna stated flatly.
“Vehemently,” Dante confirmed, a ghost of his usual sardonic smirk touching his lips. “Told him where he could shove his holy mandate.”
“His plan died right there,” Sukuna continued, taking a step forward. The lower set of eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on Lilith, then Shoto, before returning to Dante. “Without the Morningstar heir, it lacked… teeth. He abandoned it. Until now. Until he found out I was back.” He paused, the air thickening. “Now he’s back too. Him, Castiel, and Metatron. They’re hunting me.”
Dante tilted his head slightly. “To kill you? Seems redundant, given our history.”
A harsh, grating sound escaped Sukuna – something approximating a laugh. “No. Not kill me. That’s too clean. Too merciful. They want to use me.” The lower eyes glowed faintly crimson. “They want to bind me. Cast a spell, something ancient, something vile. Take full control.” He spat the words like poison.
Dante went very, very still. The calm facade remained, but Dabi could feel the sudden drop in temperature, the subtle shift in the air pressure. “Control you… to do what?” Dante asked, each word precise, cold.
Sukuna’s gaze locked onto Dante’s, unwavering. “To kill you. Your siblings.” He gestured minimally towards Vincent, Sapphire, KJ, Xaiver. “And your children.”
Silence. Absolute, crushing silence descended on the VIP lounge. Even the thumping bass from below seemed to fade. Shoto’s hand clenched into a fist. Hawks’ wings snapped tight against his back. Toga’s knife stopped twirling. Lilith set her glass down with a soft, deliberate clink. Azereth’s hand hovered near a bottle, frozen. Dante’s siblings exchanged glances, their eyes hardening.
Dante didn’t move. His expression remained carved from stone. But his eyes… his molten gold eyes burned with a cold, incandescent fury that seemed to suck the light from the room. Dabi felt a primal chill skitter down his spine, recognizing the look of something ancient and terrifying awakening.
Dante took a slow, deliberate breath. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet, each syllable weighted with millennia of power and menace. “How long?”
“Not long,” Sukuna replied, equally quiet. The tension was a physical thing now, coiling around everyone present. “They’ve been watching. Gathering intel. They’ve got routines down for almost everyone here. Movements. Habits. Weaknesses.” His monstrous face contorted slightly, a grimace of contempt. “Except your daughters.” The four eyes swept over Lilith again. “Emerald… and Lilith.” He gestured directly at her. Lilith met his gaze with unnerving serenity. “They can’t find them. Not Lilith’s sanctuary, not Emerald’s hidden paths, not their shifting domains… nothing.” He jerked his chin at Lilith. “Driving Ezekiel fucking crazy. He hates loose ends.”
A flicker, almost imperceptible, crossed Dante’s face. Ironic. His eldest daughter, the First of Lilith’s namesake, sat right here, sipping a cocktail, while Heaven’s hunters tore their hair out searching for phantoms. The grim amusement vanished instantly, buried under the glacial fury. His gaze remained locked on Sukuna.
“And you?” Dante asked, the question sharp as a blade. “Are you strong enough? To fight them? With us?”
Sukuna straightened, unfolding to his full, imposing height. The air around him seemed to crackle with suppressed, ancient power. The barbed-wire tattoos pulsed faintly. All four eyes blazed with fierce, defiant light.
“Yes.” The word was simple. Final. A statement of brutal fact. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. They want to turn me into their weapon against you? Against this?” He gestured dismissively at the room, the club, the family Dante had built. “Fuck them. I might be a curse, but I’m my fucking curse.”
Dante held Sukuna’s gaze for a long, charged moment. The fury still simmered in his eyes, a contained inferno. But beneath it, something else flickered. A cold, calculating acceptance. A predator assessing the danger, the tools at hand. The silence stretched, thick with the unspoken history between them and the imminent storm gathering just beyond the club's neon-lit walls. He didn’t look away. The only movement was the slow clenching and unclenching of his fists at his sides.
The only movement was the slow clenching and unclenching of his fists at his sides. Dante’s gaze remained locked onto Sukuna’s four intense eyes, the air crackling with millennia of shared history and mutual, simmering hatred. Dabi watched them, leaning back against the cool bar surface, the adrenaline from their earlier encounter still buzzing under his skin.
He saw the way they stood, coiled springs of power and resentment. Dante’s posture screamed rigid control, every muscle tense beneath his ruined shirt, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone. Sukuna, monstrous and imposing, radiated a cold fury, the barbed-wire tattoos seeming to writhe faintly on his skin, his lower eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
They couldn’t stand each other. That much was volcanic, ready to erupt. Dabi knew Dante had lost his best friend, his lover in Sukuna, watching him devoured by the curse he became. He knew Sukuna, trapped in the monstrous shell Dante had been forced to create, held a deep, burning resentment for the killing blow. Seeing Sukuna now, even cursed, was like Dante staring at Azazel's ghost all over again.
Yet, for a long, suspended moment, the hatred vanished. It didn’t fade; it was simply eclipsed. The overwhelming, immediate threat – Ezekiel, Castiel, Metatron – became the only thing that mattered. It was a brutal, pragmatic understanding that settled over them, colder than the stone of Dante’s sanctum. Their mutual annihilation could wait.
A silent acceptance passed between the ancient enemies. Dante gave the barest nod, a fraction of an inch. Sukuna’s eyes, all four, blinked slowly in acknowledgment. The tension shifted, transforming from personal vendetta into cold, focused strategy. Survival demanded an alliance forged in hellfire.
Dante finally broke the gaze, turning sharply. His voice, low and commanding, cut through the heavy silence. "Vincent. Sapphire. KJ. Xavier. Lilith. Emerald." The named individuals snapped to attention instantly. "Weapons. Now. Plan."
They converged near the heavy mahogany table, pushing aside glasses and bottles. Sukuna strode over, his heavy tread vibrating the floorboards. Dante remained standing, a dark pillar around which the others gathered. Dabi stayed near the bar with Hawks and Shoto, observing, the scent of spilled liquor and ozone still sharp in the air.
"Ezekiel wants control," Dante stated, his finger tapping a precise point on the table’s surface. "He wants the curse unleashed here. On us. On my family." He looked directly at Lilith, then towards the shimmering space where Emerald’s presence was felt rather than seen. "He can’t track you two. That's his weakness. His frustration."
Lilith arched a perfect eyebrow, swirling the crimson liquid in her glass. "He craves predictability. Order. We are… chaos." A faint, chilling smile touched her lips.
"Exactly," Dante said, a predatory gleam in his molten eyes. "We use that. We give him bait he thinks he can catch." He pointed at Lilith. "You. Stroll through the Veiled Gardens near the old cathedral ruins tomorrow. Noon. Make it look accidental. Let the celestial stench catch you."
Emerald’s voice, soft and seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, resonated. "And I’ll be the shadow he glimpses in the Whispering Markets. Fleeting. Untouchable. Driving him mad."
Sukuna grunted, crossing his four arms. "He'll bite. He's arrogant. Sees patterns where he wants them. He’ll think he’s cornering them separately."
"Good," Dante said. He turned to Vincent, KJ, and Xavier. "You three. Deep cover. Wait for my signal." He made a sharp, complex gesture in the air, a flare of dark energy momentarily visible. "The moment Ezekiel commits, when he reveals his hand fully, you hit them from the dimensional seams. Shatter their formation."
Vincent nodded curtly, his hand resting near the holster beneath his tailored jacket. "Understood. Maximum disruption." KJ cracked her knuckles, a feral grin spreading. Xavier simply inclined his head, his eyes calculating vectors and angles.
Dante’s gaze settled back on Sukuna. "You and I. We’re the anvil. We wait. Hidden. Until they spring the trap on the bait. Then we show them the jaws of hell."
Sukuna’s lip curled, revealing sharp teeth. "They’ll come prepared, Dante. Ezekiel doesn't travel light. He’ll bring his Seraph Guard. Fallen blades. Maybe even a Choir of Annihilation if he’s feeling ambitious. He’ll come with an army."
The corners of Dante’s mouth lifted in a smile that held no warmth, only the promise of annihilation. His molten gold eyes burned with ancient, terrifying power. He straightened to his full height, radiating a dark majesty that seemed to fill the entire room, to vibrate the very foundations of the Inferno.
"Then," Dante said, his voice a low rumble that resonated in Dabi’s bones, colder and more dangerous than any shout, "we’ll come with a bigger one." He snapped his fingers, and the ambient light dimmed further, shadows deepening into pools of liquid darkness. "This ends tomorrow. For good." The finality in his tone was absolute, chilling the overheated air.