Chapter 10: Play Games, Find Out
The raw fury radiating from Dante froze mid-stride. Damien’s taunt – "He’s MINE!" – hung in the sulfurous air, but something else sliced through the infernal heat. A presence, ancient and cool, like moonlight on obsidian. It settled over the ruined cell, momentarily dampening the crackle of Sapphire’s blades and Damien’s snarled curses.
Dante didn’t turn immediately. His wings, vast and leathery, tightened around Dabi, shielding him. The incandescent white fire in his eyes flickered, banked but not extinguished. Over his shoulder, his voice was a low, dangerous rumble, stripped of its earlier boom but vibrating with suppressed power. "Mother."
Standing just beyond the shattered doorway, amidst the settling dust and debris, was a woman. Tall, impossibly elegant, draped in flowing robes the color of midnight smoke that seemed to absorb the harsh corridor light. Her hair was a cascade of purest silver, framing a face of breathtaking, ageless beauty. Eyes like polished amethysts regarded Dante’s monstrous form – the horns, the wings, the blazing eyes – with a weary, profound sadness. Hela.
"Dante," her voice was soft, melodic, yet carrying an undeniable weight. It cut through the residual chaos like a knife. "Why are you in your full form?" Her gaze flickered past him, taking in Sapphire’s defensive stance, Damien’s furious glare, and finally, lingering on the bleeding human cradled against Dante’s chest. A flicker of something unreadable – pity? understanding? – crossed her features. "Please," she breathed, the sadness deepening, "don’t tell me we have to cage you again?"
Dante finally turned, slowly, deliberately. He kept Dabi shielded within the curve of his wing. His blazing eyes met hers. For a fraction of a second, the white fire flared, then shifted, bleeding into a deep, luminous pink. A silent communication passed between them, millennia of history conveyed in that single chromatic shift.
Hela’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. She understood. The pink wasn't rage; it was primal protectiveness, a father’s desperation twisted through infernal power. Her gaze softened further as it settled on Dabi’s battered form. "The human," she stated quietly.
"He needs healing," Dante growled, the Detroit grit thick in his voice despite the demonic resonance. "Now." It wasn't a request. It was a command from a king, laced with the raw plea of a lover.
Hela inclined her head, a graceful gesture. "Yes." She took a step forward, her presence seeming to cleanse the immediate air of sulfur, replacing it with the scent of frost and distant stars. "I can mend him."
Dante’s grip on Dabi tightened fractionally, then loosened as he carefully shifted the young man’s weight. He lowered Dabi gently towards the filthy floor, but Hela raised a slender hand. A shimmering platform of pure, cool light coalesced beneath Dabi, lifting him a few inches off the blood-stained concrete. Dante reluctantly withdrew his wings, though he remained crouched protectively close, his crimson gaze fixed on Dabi’s face.
Dabi groaned, blinking against the sudden, gentle light emanating from Hela. His vision swam, pain radiating from every cut, every bruise. He saw the ethereal woman, felt the unnatural coolness soothing his burning skin. His gaze found Dante’s monstrous visage – the horns, the fierce eyes, the power radiating off him like heat from a forge. Fear warred with a bone-deep trust. "Dante?" His voice was a shredded whisper. "Where… where you goin’?"
Dante reached out, a clawed hand surprisingly gentle as it brushed sweat-damp hair from Dabi’s forehead. The obsidian talon traced the bruise on his jaw with infinite care. "Don’t worry, firecracker," Dante murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble despite the horns and wings. "Not far." His gaze, still burning crimson, lifted and locked onto Damien, who stood frozen near Sapphire, his broken wrist cradled, his expression a mixture of fury and dawning terror. "Just gotta finish a conversation."
Hela knelt beside the light-platform, her hands hovering over Dabi’s chest. A soft, violet glow emanated from her palms, washing over the shallow, burning cuts Damien’s knife had carved. The flesh began to knit together seamlessly, the angry red lines fading to pink, then vanishing entirely, leaving only smooth, unblemished skin. The deep ache in Dabi’s ribs subsided, the bruise on his jaw melted away like ice under warm water. The relief was instantaneous, profound, washing away the sharpest edges of agony. Dabi gasped, his body relaxing into the cool light. "Fuck," he breathed, staring at Hela in awe. "That’s… handy."
Dante rose to his full, terrifying height. The air crackled anew, thick with impending violence. Sapphire, sensing the shift, lowered her blades slightly, stepping back but keeping Damien in her sights. Damien tried to backpedal, his bravado evaporating. "Dante, wait! Father commanded—"
"Shut," Dante snarled, the single word cracking like a whip. He took a step forward. "The fuck." Another step. Damien stumbled back, hitting the grimy wall. "Up."
Dante was on him. Not a blur this time, but a deliberate, terrifying advance. His clawed hand shot out, not for the throat, but for Damien’s shoulder. Fingers like iron bands clamped down. Dante twisted. A sickening, wet CRUNCH echoed in the cell as Damien’s shoulder joint shattered. Damien screamed, a raw, animal sound of pure agony.
Dante didn’t pause. His other hand grabbed Damien’s upper arm. He wrenched. TENDONS snapped like overstretched rubber bands. MUSCLES tore with audible rips. Damien’s arm came free at the shoulder with a horrific, tearing SPLUTCH, spraying dark, viscous blood across the wall and floor. Damien’s scream escalated into an inhuman shriek, his body convulsing.
Dabi watched, transfixed, healed but trembling on the light platform. Horror warred with a savage, visceral satisfaction. He saw Dante, the King of Hell unleashed, the monster who’d claimed him. He saw the raw power, the utter lack of mercy. And it terrified him. It thrilled him.
Dante dropped the severed arm. It landed with a wet thud. He reached for Damien’s other arm. Damien tried to lash out with his remaining hand, conjuring feeble black sparks. Dante caught the wrist. Snap. Another brutal twist. Another wet, tearing separation. Another severed limb hitting the floor. Damien’s shrieks became gurgling sobs, his body sagging, held upright only by Dante’s grip on his ruined shoulder stumps.
Dante leaned close, his horns scraping the ceiling. His voice was a low, guttural rasp inches from Damien’s ear. "He’s. Mine." Each word punctuated by Dante driving a knee hard into Damien’s stomach, forcing the air and bile from his lungs. Dante released the shoulder stumps. Damien collapsed onto the bloody floor, writhing amidst his own severed limbs, mewling like a broken animal.
Dante stood over him, breathing heavily, wings mantled, drenched in his brother’s dark blood. The crimson fire in his eyes burned with cold, relentless fury. He looked down at the ruin he’d made. "Tell Father," Dante spat, the words dripping with venom, "his leverage just became a fucking liability."
He turned his back on the whimpering ruin of Damien. His gaze found Dabi, lying healed on Hela’s light, eyes wide, face pale but alert. The terrifying fury in Dante’s eyes flickered, replaced by a possessive heat that was equally intense. He strode towards Dabi, ignoring Sapphire’s grim nod and Hela’s watchful, sorrowful gaze. He scooped Dabi up from the light platform, pulling him tight against his chest, heedless of the blood staining his own skin.
"Let’s go home, firecracker," Dante growled, his voice rough with adrenaline and something darker. His wings folded around them again, a shield against the world. He didn’t look back at Damien’s twitching form or Hela’s silent observation. He carried Dabi out of the charnel house cell, through the ruined corridor, and into the waiting night.
The transition from the stinking dockside warehouse to the pulsating heart of the Inferno Club was jarring. One moment, cold concrete and blood; the next, throbbing bass, kaleidoscopic neon, and the thick perfume of sweat, expensive liquor, and desperate sin. Dante carried Dabi straight through the writhing mass on the dance floor, his monstrous form now concealed beneath a glamour – just the impossibly handsome club owner again, albeit one radiating a barely contained inferno and carrying a young man who smelled faintly of blood and ozone. Bodies instinctively parted before him, a ripple of unease spreading through the crowd despite the illusion.
He bypassed the gleaming bar, ignored the curious glances from VIP booths, and headed straight for the private elevator tucked behind a curtain of shimmering black beads. The elevator ascended swiftly, silently, depositing them directly into the opulent foyer of Dante’s penthouse sanctuary above the club. The heavy door hissed shut behind them, muffling the club’s heartbeat to a dull throb.
Dante didn’t pause. He carried Dabi straight through the marble-floored expanse, past priceless art and gilded furniture, into the sprawling master bedroom. Moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the rumpled sheets where they’d slept tangled together just hours before – a lifetime ago. Dante laid Dabi down on the bed with surprising gentleness, the silk cool against Dabi’s bare back. Hela’s healing had erased the wounds, but the memory of the pain, the terror, the cold chains, lingered like a phantom chill.
Dabi looked up at Dante. The glamour was gone. The horns spiraled darkly from his temples, the vast wings were half-furled behind him, casting long, shifting shadows. His eyes still burned with that low, smoldering crimson light. He was terrifying. He was magnificent. He was Dante.
"You okay?" Dante’s voice was rough, stripped bare. He knelt beside the bed, one clawed hand resting possessively on Dabi’s hip, the other brushing his thumb over Dabi’s newly healed cheekbone. The Detroit accent was thick, grounding him. "Really okay?"
Dabi swallowed, his throat dry. The adrenaline was crashing, leaving him shaky, wired, and impossibly aware of the raw power coiled in the demon kneeling beside him. He saw the dark blood splattered on Dante’s neck, smelled the iron tang mixed with oud wood and smoke. He remembered the wet sounds of tearing flesh, Damien’s screams. He remembered Dante’s voice: He. Mine. A tremor ran through him, part fear, part something else entirely – a desperate, clawing need.
"Yeah," Dabi rasped, his voice unsteady. "Yeah, I'm... healed. Thanks to...her." He couldn't bring himself to say 'your mom'. "But you..." He reached up, his fingers trembling slightly as they traced the edge of Dante’s jaw, avoiding the horns. "You tore him apart."
Dante’s crimson eyes flared. "He touched you." The words were a low growl, vibrating with possessive fury. "He hurt you. He threatened what’s mine." His hand on Dabi’s hip tightened, claws pricking the skin just enough to sting. "No one does that."
The sting, the possessiveness, the raw violence barely contained – it ignited something deep within Dabi. The fear melted, replaced by a surge of heat so intense it stole his breath. He grabbed the front of Dante’s ruined shirt, pulling him down. "Prove it," Dabi demanded, his voice thick with defiance and desperate need. "Prove I’m yours."
A feral grin split Dante’s face, revealing sharp canines. The crimson fire in his eyes blazed hotter. "Fucking demanding, aren’t you?" He didn’t wait for an answer. He surged forward, crushing his mouth against Dabi’s.
It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. Dante’s tongue plunged into Dabi’s mouth, hot and demanding, tasting blood – Damien’s blood? His own? Dabi didn’t care. He met the invasion with equal ferocity, biting Dante’s lip, drawing a low groan that vibrated through both of them. Dante’s claws ripped through Dabi’s jeans and boxers in one brutal motion, shredding the fabric. Cool air hit Dabi’s cock, already hard and leaking.
Dante broke the kiss, panting, his gaze raking down Dabi’s body. "Fuck, look at you," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "All healed up. All mine." He shoved Dabi’s legs apart roughly. Dabi gasped, spreading willingly, his cock twitching against his stomach. Dante’s clawed hand wrapped around the base of Dabi’s shaft, squeezing just shy of pain. His thumb smeared pre-come over the swollen head. "Still hard for me after all that? Fucking perfect."
He didn’t bother with preparation. Dante spat thickly into his own palm, the sound obscene in the moonlit silence. He slicked his cock – already huge, thick, and flushed dark – with the saliva and his own copious pre-come. The tip glistened, pressing insistently against Dabi’s tight, untouched hole.
Dabi braced himself, gripping the sheets. "Do it," he hissed, arching his back. "Fucking claim me, Dante. Now."
With a guttural snarl, Dante drove forward. One brutal, unrelenting thrust. Dabi cried out, a sharp sound ripped from his throat as the massive cock stretched him impossibly wide, burning friction tearing through him. Dante sheathed himself to the hilt in one stroke, balls slapping against Dabi’s ass. The stretch was agonizing, exquisite, filling him completely. Dante held himself deep, buried inside, his wings flaring wide, casting monstrous shadows that danced on the walls. He looked down at Dabi, impaled beneath him, his crimson eyes blazing with primal triumph.
"Feel that?" Dante growled, his voice raw. He pulled back slowly, dragging his thick cockhead against Dabi’s inner walls, making him gasp and writhe. "Feel how deep I am inside you?" He slammed back in hard, punching the air from Dabi’s lungs. "That’s mine. You’re mine. Every. Fucking. Inch."
He set a punishing rhythm. Deep, brutal thrusts that hammered into Dabi’s core, each one jolting his body up the bed. No finesse. No gentleness. Just raw, possessive fucking. Dante’s claws dug into Dabi’s hips, holding him in place, marking him anew. His wings beat the air with each powerful drive forward, creating a hot, sulfurous wind.
Dabi clung on, overwhelmed, pain blurring into blinding pleasure. Each thrust hit his prostate dead-on, sending electric shocks of ecstasy up his spine. He was filled, owned, used exactly how he needed to be used after the violation. "Fuck! Dante! Yes! Harder!" he screamed, his voice ragged. He reached down, fisting his own cock in time with Dante’s thrusts, the rough friction pushing him closer to the edge.
Dante leaned down, his horns framing Dabi’s face. He captured Dabi’s mouth again in a biting kiss. "Come for me," he commanded against Dabi’s lips, his thrusts becoming even more frenzied, the bedframe groaning in protest. "Come on my cock. Show me who owns you."
The command, the relentless pounding, the sheer overwhelming force of Dante’s possession shattered Dabi’s control. His back arched violently off the bed as his orgasm detonated. Thick ropes of come spurted over his fist and stomach, pulsing uncontrollably. His inner muscles clenched viscously around Dante’s buried cock, milking it.