Chapter 111: Redo
The thick scent of sex and spent power still clung to the velvet drapes in Lute’s sanctum, a heady counterpoint to the ever-present sulfur drifting up from Hell’s lower levels. Lute stretched languidly on the bed, admiring the play of hellfire light on Dante’s motionless lavender form beside her. He lay on his back, eyes open and vacant, staring at the writhing figures carved into the obsidian bedposts. Hers. Utterly. Completely. The memory of his brutal claiming after Abadon’s annihilation sent a fresh coil of heat low in her belly. But the echoes of a hundred tortured demons dissolving into ash felt… insufficient. She craved a demonstration of his power on a grander scale. Proof, writ large across the landscape of Hell itself, of what she commanded.
She traced a sharp nail down Dante’s sternum, feeling the terrifying power thrumming beneath his skin, cold and waiting. "Again," she breathed, her voice thick with command and leftover desire. "But this time… tear down the Obsidian Spires. All of them. Reduce them to dust."
Dante didn’t hesitate. He was on his feet in a blur of motion, the Blade of the First Sin materializing in his grip as shadow bled from the air around him. Without a backward glance, he dissolved into smoke and shadow, streaming through the walls of the Inferno toward the distant, jagged peaks piercing Hell’s bruised sky.
Lute smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. She rose, pulling on a sheer robe that concealed nothing, and walked towards the balcony overlooking the lower city. She wanted a front-row seat to the demolition.
---
High above the writhing mass of the Inferno Club, deep within its shielded heart, Adam paced. The lingering phantom chill of Dante’s departure days ago hadn’t left him. Sukuna leaned against a pillar carved to resemble a tormented soul, his crimson eyes narrowed. Dabi was conspicuously absent, scouring the lower archives for any whisper of Lute’s leverage.
"Fucking radio silence," Adam muttered, running a hand over his buzzed scalp. "He’s been gone tearing down those spires for hours. That’s not just torture, that’s razing a fucking district."
Sukuna grunted. "He’s a weapon. She’s testing range."
The air shimmered, resolving into two figures. Asmodeus, the Sin of Lust, looking uncharacteristically grim in sleek, dark armor that caught the low light, and Fizzarolli, his imp companion, perched nervously on his shoulder, eyes wide.
"Oz," Adam acknowledged tersely. "Fizz."
"Adam," Asmodeus nodded, his voice lacking its usual playful lilt. His gaze flicked to the distant, shuddering horizon where plumes of obsidian dust blotted out the crimson sky. "She’s pushing him. Harder. Further."
"No shit," Adam snapped. "What the fuck are we supposed to do? Watch as he tears Hell apart chunk by chunk?"
Asmodeus stepped closer, his expression grave. "We intervene. Now. Before she pushes him to something that can’t be undone. Before he unmakes a layer."
Adam barked a harsh laugh. "Intervene? With that? You saw what he did to Abadon! He’s Lute’s attack dog!"
"He’s fighting it, Adam," Fizz piped up, his voice small but urgent. "Underneath. We felt it. When he… when he took the spires. There was a flicker. Like a scream from inside a locked box."
Asmodeus nodded. "The binding is absolute, but it’s twisting him. Grinding him down. It takes monumental will just to be under that kind of compulsion, even broken. That strain… it’s a crack. Tiny. But maybe exploitable." He looked pointedly at Sukuna. "You hit him. Hard. Not to kill. Just… disrupt. Knock that fucking focus off balance. Make the bindings strain."
Sukuna’s lips peeled back in a feral grin. "With pleasure."
Asmodeus turned to Adam. "And you. You talk. Get in his face. Use that name. Dante. Remind him. Not of the Scourge. Of himself. Before the chains."
Adam stared, incredulous. "You’re fucking insane, Oz. He’ll tear my fucking head off before I get a word out!"
"Maybe," Asmodeus admitted, his eyes deadly serious. "Probably. But he recognized you before. In the penthouse. There was a second, a fucking microsecond, where he saw you. Trust me. It’s the only play." He gestured towards the balcony. "He’s finishing the last spire. He’ll return through the main concourse. That’s where we ambush him."
Adam looked from Asmodeus’s desperate certainty to the horizon where a final, thunderous crack echoed, signaling the fall of the last Obsidian Spire. Dust plumed like a funeral shroud. He swallowed hard, the taste of fear and bourbon ashes in his mouth. "Fuck. Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting your fucking boudoir, Oz."
"Expected," Asmodeus muttered, already moving towards the exit. "Fizz, barrier. Just a nudge. Slow him for Sukuna."
The main concourse of the Inferno Club was eerily empty. Patrons had fled the tremors. Neon signs flickered erratically. The music had died, leaving only the low groan of stressed stone and the distant wails of displaced demons. The air choked with fine grey dust.
A vortex of shadow and smoke coalesced near the shattered remains of a marble bar. Dante materialized. He stood amidst the debris, the Blade held loosely at his side, dripping molten shadow. Obsidian dust coated his lavender skin like ash. His eyes, fixed straight ahead, held nothing. Vacant green voids. The air crackled with spent, destructive power and the suffocating weight of the binding.
Now.
Sukuna moved faster than sight. He wasn’t there, then he was, erupting from behind a toppled column. Not a killing blow. A focused, concussive blast of cursed energy, amplified by his Domain, aimed not at Dante’s body, but at the space around his head – a psychic hammer blow designed to shatter focus.
It connected.
Dante’s head snapped sideways. A flinch. Microscopic. But his vacant stare flickered. For a fraction of a heartbeat, the absolute, machine-like focus imposed by Lute’s command wavered. His grip tightened convulsively on the Blade’s hilt.
Adam was already moving. He didn’t think. He launched himself across the debris-strewn floor, fueled by pure adrenaline and a desperate, stupid hope. He slammed into Dante with all his strength, not trying to wound, just to pin. He wrapped his arms around Dante’s chest from behind, locking his hands, planting his feet wide, leveraging every ounce of his strength. He felt Dante’s power, terrifying and immense, coiled beneath the dust and muscle, threatening to explode and vaporize him.
"Dante!" Adam roared, his voice raw, inches from Dante’s ear. "Dante, look! Fucking look around you!"
Dante stiffened. The Blade trembled in his hand, dark energy sputtering erratically. He didn’t throw Adam off. Not immediately. A tremor ran through his massive frame. His head slowly started to turn, a jerky, mechanical movement fighting against an invisible vise.
"Remember the fucking Detroit Dive Bar?" Adam yelled, spitting dust. "Remember draining that shitty well whiskey? Remember laughing when that wannabe demon lord tried to shank you with a butter knife? That was you, Dante! Not this! Look at this fucking mess!" Adam’s grip tightened, knuckles white. He could feel the binding spell warring, a physical pressure crushing inwards, forcing Dante’s will back into submission. Dante’s muscles bunched, a low, guttural growl starting deep in his chest – not human, not demon, pure animal fury fighting chains. "Fight it, you stubborn bastard!" Adam pleaded, his voice cracking. "Look at me! Look at what she's making you do!"
Dante’s head jerked fully around. His vacant green eyes locked onto Adam’s face. For a terrifying second, there was nothing but the Scourge’s programmed annihilation. Then, deep within the void, a spark. A flicker of agonized recognition. His lips moved, forming a single, strangled word that fought its way through the crushing pressure of the binding spell: "A... Adam...?"
The growl intensified, becoming a ragged snarl of pure, internal agony. Dante’s free hand, clawed fingers twitching, rose slowly, trembling violently, not towards Adam, but clawing at his own chest, as if trying to rip out the compulsion buried within. The Blade of the First Sin flared erratically, casting jagged shadows. He was at war. The ancient Prince of Hell, the Pale Scourge, fighting the chains inside his own mind, held momentarily at bay by Adam’s desperate grip and the echo of a name. His vacant eyes were shattered windows, showing a glimpse of the tortured soul screaming within the prison of his own power. He was doing everything in his power not to hurt Adam, and the effort was tearing him apart.
Lute watched the distant plume of dust settle from her balcony, a slow smile spreading across her face. The raw power on display, the reduction of ancient, defiant architecture to nothing… it was intoxicating. Far more satisfying than the tortures. Proof. Absolute proof of her dominion. Arousal, sharp and demanding, coiled low in her belly, hotter than the hellfires below. The sight of Dante, the unstoppable force, returning from such annihilation… she needed him. Now. Not just to command. To take. To feel that terrifying power subdued beneath her, inside her.
She turned, the sheer robe fluttering, and walked back into the crimson gloom of her sanctum. She didn’t have to wait long. Dante materialized near the balcony entrance, stepping silently through the stone wall. He was coated head to toe in fine grey ash, the Blade sheathed in shadows at his side. The vacant green stare was fixed forward, waiting.
But Lute saw it. The subtle tension in his shoulders. The faintest tremor in the ash-covered fingers. A disturbance. A ripple in the perfect stillness of her weapon.
Her eyes narrowed, then hardened. Someone had dared touch what was hers. Someone had interfered. Rage, cold and possessive, surged through her, mingling violently with the lust. She needed to reassert control. Absolutely. Viscerally.
"Clean yourself," she commanded, her voice icy.
The ash coating Dante dissolved instantly into nothingness, revealing his pristine lavender skin once more. He stood like a statue awaiting orders, but the unnatural stillness felt brittle.
Lute closed the distance. She didn’t purr. She didn’t tease. She grabbed his face, her nails digging into his jaw, forcing his vacant eyes to meet hers.
Lute’s nails bit deep enough to draw beads of lavender blood. "Someone touched you," she hissed, the words laced with venom and possessive fury. The faint tremor in his muscles, the ghost of Adam’s voice echoing defiance – it was an insult. A challenge. Her control, absolute moments ago, felt momentarily thin. Rage ignited, fusing with the simmering lust his destructive return had stoked. She needed to brand her ownership back onto him.
"Fuck me," she commanded, the order stripped of any seduction, pure demand. "Now.Hard. Remind this cunt who owns you."
The binding seized him instantly. His vacant eyes stayed fixed on hers, but his body reacted. A low growl, devoid of pleasure, rumbled in his chest. His hands, thick and powerful, grabbed her hips. Not pulling her close, but yanking her body upwards with brutal force. Her robe ripped apart under his grasp, shreds falling away like dead skin. He spun her, slamming her front-first against the cold, black-marble wall beside the balcony arch.
"Bend," he snarled, the word a guttural scrape forced through the binding’s filter. He kicked her feet apart, wide. His knee jammed between her thighs, forcing her stance wider still. Lute gasped as the cold stone bit into her cheek, her breasts crushed against the unyielding surface. She felt the thick, blunt head of his cock, already slick, grinding against her asshole, demanding entry. Not her cunt. There. Punishment.
"Fuck yes," she spat, pushing back against him, welcoming the violation. "Take it, you fucking beast! Remind me!" She needed the pain, the degradation, the visceral proof of his enforced submission. Her weapon.
He didn’t hesitate. No spit. No gentle pressure. He drove forward with a single, piston-like thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in her tight ass in one brutal stroke. Lute screamed, a raw sound of agony and dark triumph tearing from her throat. The stretch was searing, a white-hot lance of pain that stole her breath. He didn’t pause. He pulled back almost entirely, the ridges of his cock scraping her sensitive inner walls, then slammed back in with devastating force. Again. And again. Setting a relentless, punishing rhythm against the marble. Each thrust hammered her cervix through the thin barrier, a deep, bruising impact that shook her entire frame. The slap of his hips against her ass was loud, rhythmic violence.
"Harder!" she shrieked, the pain blurring into a twisted, overwhelming sensation of possession. "Fuck this asshole raw, Dante! Make it hurt, you bastard!" Her fingers scrambled against the smooth stone, finding no purchase. He grunted, a low, animalistic sound, and obeyed. His thrusts became jackhammer blows, driving her body against the wall with bone-jarring force. One hand tangled viciously in her hair, yanking her head back, arching her spine painfully. The other clamped down on her hip, fingers digging deep into the flesh, holding her immobile for his assault. She felt every thick inch, the brutal stretch, the scrape, the relentless battering deep inside. It wasn’t pleasure; it was domination. Absolute. Terrifying. Hers. A choked sob escaped her as her body betrayed her, a violent orgasm ripped through her purely from the intensity of the violation, her inner muscles clenching spasmodically around the invading cock, milking it as she screamed wordlessly against the marble.
He didn’t slow. Didn’t acknowledge her climax. He fucked her ass through the convulsions, his pace unwavering, mechanical. When the tremors subsided, leaving her gasping and slick with sweat and tears, he maintained the brutal rhythm. His breathing grew ragged, a harsh counterpoint to the wet slap of flesh. He felt huge, impossibly thick, stretching her beyond endurance with every drive. "Gonna wreck this filthy hole," he rasped, the binding twisting his voice into a dark parody of command. "Gonna fill it." His hips pistoned faster, losing the machine precision, becoming desperate, savage shoves.
"Yes!" Lute panted, pushing back with what little strength she had left. "Breed my ass! Pump it full! Mark me!" She felt him swell, the head grinding against her deepest recess. He slammed home one final time, burying himself impossibly deep. A ragged, inhuman roar tore from his throat as he came, thick, scalding jets of cum erupting into her depths, flooding her colon with searing heat. The force of his release triggered another brutal, empty orgasm that racked her body, a shuddering echo of his possession. He held himself buried, pulsing, filling her until cum leaked out around the base, dripping down her trembling thighs. He collapsed forward slightly, his weight crushing her against the cold marble, his chest heaving against her back. The scent of sex, sweat, blood, and his release hung thick. Power thrummed. Control re-established. Hers.
The harsh, rhythmic slap of Dante’s hips against Lute’s ass echoed off the cold marble walls, punctuated by her choked gasps and his guttural growls. Sweat and the coppery tang of her blood where his claws gripped her hip mingled with the thick scent of sex and violation. He pistoned into her ass with brutal, mechanical efficiency, each deep, punishing thrust driving the air from her lungs. Cum leaked down her trembling thighs, evidence of his enforced ownership. Hers. The weapon, resharpened.
Adam slammed his fist against the cracked obsidian pillar, dust puffing into the stale air. The distant tremors had finally ceased, leaving an ominous silence over the ruined concourse. Sukuna picked shards of broken glass from his forearm, crimson eyes scanning the settling debris. Asmodeus materialized beside them, Fizzarolli clinging tight to his shoulder, looking pale.
"He went back to her," Oz stated flatly, his voice devoid of its usual theatrical lilt. "After that… that ripple? He’s unstable. The bindings are fraying him. We have one shot."
Adam whirled. "One shot? Oz, he nearly broke me in half just thinking about resisting! He just tore down mountains!"
"Exactly," Oz snapped. "He’s a bowstring pulled too tight. One more snap might unravel the knot. Sukuna, hit him. Not to wound. Unbalance him. Like before, but harder. Shatter that fucking focus."
Sukuna cracked his neck, a feral light in his eyes. "Where?"
Oz pointed towards the private wing access. "He'll come back to her eventually. We ambush him in the Spine Corridor. Tight space, nowhere to blur."
Adam felt cold dread pool in his gut. "And me? Stand there and get eviscerated?"
"You talk," Oz insisted, gripping Adam’s shoulder. "Get in his face. Remind him. Not the Scourge. Dante. Your Dante. The stubborn bastard who runs a nightclub and hates paperwork. Use the names. Sera. Zeph. Azazel. Whatever it takes. Fizz, prep a containment shimmer. Not strong. Just… sticky."
Adam swallowed the lump of terror. "This is suicidal."
Oz’s smile was grim. "Welcome to Hell. Move."
The Spine Corridor lived up to its name – a narrow, ribbed passageway of fused bone and weeping stone deep within the Inferno’s foundations. The air hung heavy with the stink of ancient sorcery and the cloying residue of Lute’s perfume. They waited in suffocating silence, pressed against the slick walls. Adam’s heart hammered against his ribs. Sukuna was a coiled spring, every muscle taut. Oz and Fizz were barely visible, shrouded in illusion.
A ripple in the air, then Dante solidified mid-stride. Ash still dusted his boots. His vacant green gaze swept forward. Utterly focused. Utterly hers.
Now. Oz’s psychic command was a whip-crack.
Fizz’s shimmer flared – a sudden, viscous thickness in the air around Dante, like sinking into chilled tar. It lasted a microsecond, just long enough.
Sukuna exploded from the shadows not in front, but from above, dropping like a meteor. Not a blast. Pure, focused physical force. His fist, wreathed in crackling cursed energy, slammed into the side of Dante’s head with a crunch that echoed in the narrow space. It was a hammer blow on an anvil.
Dante’s head snapped sideways violently. His knee buckled. He staggered half a step, the unnatural, machine-like precision shattered by the sheer kinetic disruption. The vacant stare blinked, flickering violently between green and a sliver of stormy amethyst. Recognition warred with annihilation protocols.
Sukuna didn’t let him recover. He landed, pivoted, and drove his other fist upwards in a devastating uppercut directly under Dante’s jaw. Bone met bone. Dante’s head snapped back. His knees gave out entirely. He crashed onto the hard stone floor with a heavy thud, momentarily stunned, the Blade of the First Sin clattering beside him, fading into shadow.
Adam moved on pure instinct. He threw himself forward, landing heavily on Dante’s chest, knees pinning his arms. He locked his hands around Dante’s wrists, pressing down with all his strength. He felt the terrifying power coiled beneath the lavender skin, a nuclear reactor threatening meltdown. Dante thrashed, a low, animal snarl tearing from his throat, his eyes flashing erratically – green, amethyst, green.
"Listen to me, you stubborn fuck!" Adam roared, spittle flying, his face inches from Dante’s. The amethyst flickered again, holding for a fraction longer. "You need to fucking fight this shit! Fight it harder than you’ve ever fought anything in your fucking life!"
Dante snarled, arching under Adam. His right arm ripped free from Adam’s grip with terrifying ease. Clawed fingers shot up, clamping around Adam’s throat. The points dug in, sharp, threatening to pierce skin. Adam choked, but he didn’t flinch. He saw it – the tremor in Dante’s arm, the raw agony contorting his face beneath the snarl. He was holding back. Fighting the command to simply crush Adam’s windpipe.
"You think your boys would’ve wanted to see you like this?" Adam rasped, the words squeezed out against the pressure. He saw the amethyst flash stronger. "Sera and Zeph would be terrified! And you know it!" A pause, letting the names sink claws deep. "What about Azazel?" The grip loosened. Just a fraction. A sliver of give.
Adam pushed. "Dante, you need to fucking snap out of it! You have people! People who love you! Care about you!" He hesitated, the words raw and terrifyingly true. "I’m one of those people. I’m right here. Fight this shit!"
Dante’s eyes flared pure, violent amethyst. They held. Vibrating with strain, but holding. The clawed hand on Adam’s throat trembled, the pressure easing further. The snarl died in his throat, replaced by a ragged, desperate gasp.
Behind them, bathed in sudden emerald light, Hela raised her hands. Ancient, guttural syllables spilled from her lips, weaving a spell of unraveling. The air crackled. Dante screamed. A raw, agonized sound that scraped the bones of the corridor. His body arched violently, muscles locking, veins standing out like dark rivers on his lavender skin. The amethyst light in his eyes blazed like a dying star, then… snapped.
Silence. Deafening silence. Dante collapsed back onto the stone, limp. His eyes, wide and unfocused, were deep, shattered pools of amethyst. The vacant green was gone. Utterly. He stared up at the dripping stone ceiling, his chest heaving, his expression one of profound, devastated horror. Broken. Distraught.
Adam’s own breathing was ragged. He slowly released Dante’s other wrist. The clawed hand fell limply from his throat. Tears pricked Adam’s eyes, blurring the image of the broken Prince beneath him. He didn’t think. He leaned down, pressed his lips to Dante’s. It wasn't passionate. It was gentle. Deep. A grounding touch, a lifeline thrown across an abyss. Lingering. A silent affirmation: You’re here. You’re back.
Adam pulled back just enough to see Dante’s eyes focus, truly focus, on his face. Raw pain swam in their violet depths, mixed with bewildered recognition. "Thank you," Adam whispered, his voice thick. "For fighting."
Then, like a dam bursting, the pain in Dante’s eyes ignited into something else. Unadulterated, volcanic rage. The memory of chains. Of violation. Of being used. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. He shoved Adam off him with startling strength, scrambling to his feet. He swayed for a second, the amethyst eyes blazing like hellfire, scanning Adam, Sukuna, Oz, Hela, Fizz. His gaze landed on Oz.
"Lute," Dante rasped, the word a curse, a promise. "I'll be back." He didn't vanish. He turned and ran, a blur of terrifying speed down the corridor, towards Lute’s sanctum.
They followed, a grim, silent pack. Adam’s heart hammered against his ribs, fear for Dante warring with the need for vengeance. They burst through the scorched archway into Lute’s private chambers. The scent of sex and blood was thick.
Dante already had her. He’d crossed the room in an instant. One lavender hand was locked around Lute’s throat, lifting her off her feet, slamming her back against the crimson velvet drapes. Her eyes were wide, panicked, disbelieving. She clawed uselessly at his wrist. The binding was broken. Her control shattered.
"Y-you…!" she choked out, terror warring with fury.
Dante’s face was a mask of pure, homicidal fury. The Blade materialized in his free hand, molten shadow dripping from its edge. He raised it, ready to cleave her head from her shoulders. The air crackled with annihilating intent. He was going to erase her.
Then he froze. Absolutely rigid. His blazing amethyst eyes widened fractionally. His head tilted, just so. Listening. Feeling. Adam saw it. Saw the rage falter, replaced by utter, bewildered shock. Beneath Lute’s frantic, hammering heartbeat… there were others. Two tiny, rapid, fluttering rhythms. Echoing from within her.
"Fuck," Dante breathed, the word barely audible. The Blade dissolved. He opened his hand. Lute dropped like a sack of stones to the floor, gasping, clutching her throat, eyes wild with terror and confusion.
Adam, Sukuna, and Oz surged into the room, weapons drawn, hellfire and cursed energy crackling. Sukuna leveled a clawed hand at Lute. "Do it, Dante! End the bi—"
"Stop," Dante commanded, his voice hoarse, strained. He didn't take his eyes off Lute, crumpled on the floor.
Sukuna snarled. "Stop? After everything? She needs to die!"
"Not yet," Dante said, the words clipped, tight. His gaze remained locked on Lute, a storm of fury and dawning, horrifying comprehension raging behind his eyes.
Oz stepped forward, frowning. "Dante? What the fuck is the hold up?" His Sin-heightened senses pricked. He tilted his head, listening intently. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face. "Holy shit," he breathed, staring at Lute’s abdomen.
Adam and Sukuna exchanged confused, frustrated glances. Adam demanded, "What? What the fuck's going on?"
Dante finally tore his gaze away from Lute, looking directly at Adam. His expression was unreadable, a terrifying blend of fury and something else… something shattered. He pointed a trembling finger at Lute. "Tell them," he rasped, the fury bubbling back to the surface. "Tell them what one of your favorite things to command me to do was. Before the torture. After the destruction." His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Tell them."
Lute curled in on herself, shaking her head, pressing a hand protectively over her stomach. Her defiance was gone, replaced by raw, animal fear. She stayed silent.
Dante took a single, predatory step towards her. "Tell them!" The roar shook the room. He lunged, grabbing her throat again, hauling her upright. "Tell them how you used me! Or I rip it out of you and let them hear it scream!"
Lute whimpered, her eyes darting wildly between the furious faces. "I… I commanded him!" she gasped out, her voice high-pitched with terror. "To… to fuck me! Hard! Whenever I wanted! However I wanted! My… my weapon… to use!" The words tumbled out, a desperate confession. "He was mine! To command! To take!"
Sukuna stared, disgust twisting his features. "So fucking what? He was bound! She was a monster! What does that have to do with not killing her now?!"
Adam frowned. The pieces clicked. The commands. Dante’s shock. Oz’s reaction. The way Lute’s hand instinctively covered her belly. He focused, pushing his senses beyond the pounding of his own heart, beyond Lute’s terrified gasps. He listened. Really listened. And then… he heard them. Faint, rapid, insistent. Two tiny heartbeats. Nestled within the trembling woman on the floor. His blood ran cold.
Sukuna threw his hands up. "Why the fuck am I the only one lost here? What are you all hearing?!"
Adam turned to Sukuna, his face pale, his voice flat with stunned horror. "Listen."