Chapter 16: Game Plan
The heavy scent of ozone and spent magic hung thick in Dante’s cavernous war room, a stark contrast to the usual decadent aromas of the mansion. Sunlight, weak and filtered through stained glass depicting fallen angels, sliced across the massive obsidian table where Dante stood, palms flat on its cool surface. Around him, tension vibrated like a plucked bass string.
His daughters, Lilith and Emerald, perched on the edge of identical high-backed chairs. Lilith radiated restless energy, her crimson eyes darting, fingers tapping a silent rhythm on the polished stone. Emerald, calmer but no less intense, watched her father with unnerving stillness, her jade gaze missing nothing. Just behind Dante’s shoulder, Sukuna leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His presence was a live wire, a contained storm of ancient power and simmering resentment barely banked since his unexpected return. He watched the room, gaze lingering with predatory interest on Dabi, who stood near the arched windows with his own unlikely cohort.
Dabi leaned against the cold stone, arms crossed, radiating skepticism. Beside him, Hawks idly preened a crimson feather, Shoto observed with detached calculation, Deku fidgeted nervously, Bakugo scowled with his usual volcanic intensity, Shigaraki picked at his neck with a scowl mirroring Bakugo’s, and Toga bounced on her heels, eyes wide and disturbingly gleeful. Vincent, Xavier, KJ, and Sapphire completed the ring, their expressions ranging from grim resolve (Vincent) to wary apprehension (Xavier).
"The fuckin' choirboys," Dante’s voice cut through the low murmur, thick with Detroit grit. "They want leverage. They want them." He jerked his chin towards Lilith and Emerald. "Think they can turn my daughters, use 'em against me. Pricks always did like a pretty hostage, makes 'em feel righteous."
Lilith snorted, a sharp, derisive sound. "As if. Their holy water burns my tongue just thinking about it."
"They underestimate the spark," Emerald added softly, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
"Damn right they do," Dante agreed. He pushed off the table, turning to the larger group. "So, we use that. Lil, Em, you’ll be the bait. Out in the open, by the western fountain at sunset. Look vulnerable." He grinned, a flash of sharp teeth. "Make it convincing."
Sukuna pushed off the wall. "And we," he purred, his voice like gravel smoothed in velvet, nodding towards Dante, "will be the jaws of the trap. Close enough to spring, hidden by the garden maze."
Dabi shifted, uncrossing his arms. "And what about us? Standing around looking pretty while the angels try to kidnap your kids?"
"Backup," Dante stated, meeting Dabi’s defiant gaze. "You, your crew, my siblings – pushed back further, near the old stables. Hidden. If things go south, if they bring more firepower than expected, you hit 'em hard and fast. Hit 'em dirty. No rules, no mercy. This ain't a fuckin' duel."
Bakugo barked a laugh. "Finally, someone talking sense! Blow their holy asses to kingdom come!"
"Kacchan!" Deku squeaked, looking horrified but also... reluctantly determined.
Shigaraki scratched his neck furiously. "Crumbling angels... sounds therapeutic."
Hawks sighed dramatically, fluffing his wings. "Messy, but effective. Fine. What’s their usual MO? Shiny swords and self-righteous speeches?"
Dante paced, the heavy soles of his boots echoing. "Typically. But with Lil and Em as targets? They might get creative. Xavier?"
The tall, scholarly demon adjusted his spectacles, consulting a leather-bound tome that hadn’t been there a moment before. "Records indicate Archangel Michael favors frontal assaults with Seraphim lancers. Gabriel leans towards containment fields and light-binding. Uriel... unpredictable. Favors psychological warfare. Potential for illusions, fear projections." He snapped the book shut, it vanishing in a puff of sulphurous smoke. "Expect overwhelming force initially, seeking a quick snatch-and-grab."
KJ cracked her knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the tense room. Sapphire traced a glowing sigil in the air that faded slowly. "Illusions we can counter," Sapphire murmured. "Light-bindings... trickier."
Vincent, silent until now, spoke, his voice like grinding stone. "Weapons?"
Dante gestured to racks along the far wall that shimmered into existence – gleaming obsidian blades crackling with dark energy, heavy shotguns etched with wards, sleek pistols humming with contained power. "Arm up after. For now, we plan. Stats, numbers, weak points."
The discussion dissolved into a chaotic symphony of voices – Bakugo demanding the biggest gun, Deku frantically suggesting non-lethal takedowns (quickly shouted down), Shoto analyzing elemental vulnerabilities, Toga giggling about collecting angel feathers. Lilith argued tactics with Hawks, Emerald calmly debated magical countermeasures with Sapphire. Vincent and Xavier conferred in low tones about structural weaknesses in angelic formations.
Amidst the strategic cacophony, Dante felt a familiar, unsettling presence shift beside him. Sukuna’s hand brushed the small of his back, a touch that burned through the thin silk of Dante’s shirt. Dante stiffened imperceptibly. Sukuna leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Dante’s ear, his voice a low vibration felt more than heard beneath the noise. "Your new pet bristles. Jealous creature."
Dante didn’t turn. "He’s got fire. Useful."
Sukuna chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. "Fire needs direction. Or it consumes everything." His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of Dante’s pants. "You seem tense, Old Flame. All this... planning. Too much thinking. You used to act."
Dante grabbed Sukuna’s wrist beneath the table, fingers digging in like steel. "Times change, Sukuna. Got more than just myself to lose now."
Sukuna’s eyes, crimson slits, gleamed with predatory amusement. "Do you?" He twisted his wrist with impossible strength, breaking Dante’s grip and instead grabbing him by the front of his shirt. "Prove you haven’t gone soft." He jerked his head towards a shadowed archway leading deeper into the mansion’s private quarters. "Now."
The command, laced with ancient power and old memories, struck a chord Dante hated to acknowledge. A primal chord drowned out by centuries of responsibility. He saw Dabi watching them, cobalt eyes narrowed, sensing the shift. Dante met his gaze, a silent, unreadable message passing between them – apology, warning, possession? Then Dante allowed Sukuna to pull him away, disappearing into the dim corridor, leaving the war council buzzing behind them.
The heavy oak door slammed shut behind them, muffling the distant sounds of argument. Sukuna didn’t lead Dante to a bedroom; he shoved him into a small, windowless antechamber lined with tapestries depicting scenes of damnation. The air was thick with dust and the scent of old magic.
"Fuck you think you're doing?" Dante growled, shoving Sukuna back. "We got a war to plan!"
Sukuna slammed him against the stone wall hard enough to rattle Dante’s teeth. His eyes were molten fury. "You had me!" he snarled, spittle flying. "You had everything! Power, purpose, me! And you threw it away for what? Playing house? Playing king?" His hand flew to Dante’s throat, not quite choking, but threatening. "You let them think I was dead!"
Dante met his fury, his own crimson eyes blazing. "You chose the abyss, Sukuna! You walked away chasing power I wouldn't give you! Don't pin your fucking choices on me!" He brought his knee up hard, aiming for Sukuna's groin.
Sukuna twisted, taking the blow on his thigh with a grunt. He retaliated by driving his fist into Dante’s stomach. The air whooshed out of Dante’s lungs. They grappled, a whirlwind of controlled violence – punches blocked, kicks deflected, the crack of knuckles on bone and the thud of bodies hitting stone echoing in the small space. It wasn't a fight to kill; it was millennia of betrayal, longing, and raw, untamed power colliding.
Sukuna got leverage, spinning Dante around and pinning him face-first against the cold wall.
"Get the fuck off me!" Dante roared, trying to buck him off.
Sukuna’s forearm pressed like an iron bar across Dante’s shoulders, grinding his cheekbone into the rough tapestry depicting some poor soul’s eternal torment. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of dim light piercing the gloom. "Gave up on me!" Sukuna hissed, breath hot and furious against Dante’s ear. "Just fucking buried me! Moved on like I was nothing!"
Dante strained, muscles bunching under his silk shirt, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Choice? You think I had a fucking choice?" He drove his elbow back, catching Sukuna solidly in the ribs. The grip loosened just enough for Dante to twist violently, shoving Sukuna backwards into an ornate side table. It shattered, sending shards of dark wood skittering across the flagstones. "I fought for centuries, you stubborn bastard! I tore through realms! I bled! I begged powers that make your cursed energy look like a fucking sparkler!"
Sukuna surged up, ignoring the splinters. His fist connected with Dante’s jaw, snapping his head sideways. The coppery tang of blood flooded Dante’s mouth. "Bullshit!" Sukuna roared, eyes blazing crimson, tattoos writhing like living shadows under his skin. "You wanted an easy out! Couldn't handle the fucking mess I became! Admit it!"
"Easy?" Dante spat blood onto the stones, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He saw the raw, feral pain beneath Sukuna’s rage, a wound festering for millennia. It mirrored the hollow ache that had lived in his own chest since Sukuna vanished into the consuming dark. "There was nothing easy! You were gone, Sukuna! Not dead, gone. Hollowed out. A fucking void screaming for power that would burn what was left of you to ash!" He didn't attack again. He lunged, not with fists, but with sheer, focused will. One hand clamped onto the side of Sukuna’s head, fingers digging into the temples beneath the shock of pink hair.
"Get the fuck off!" Sukuna bellowed, trying to wrench free, but Dante’s grip was unbreakable, fueled by desperation and millennia of bottled anguish.
"Remember!" Dante commanded, his voice cracking like thunder in the confined space. Power, ancient and deep as the Pit itself, pulsed from his palm – not an attack, but an unlocking. "Remember the fucking fight!" Images, sensations, raw emotions ripped through the mental barrier Sukuna had built. Dante’s voice echoing in the emptiness, raw and desperate. Dante’s hands slick with ichor and tears, stitching together fragmented soul-shards again and again, only to watch them unravel. The crushing despair as Sukuna’s consciousness retreated deeper, further away, consumed by the insatiable hunger for dominion that promised only annihilation. The bone-deep exhaustion Dante carried for ages, the solitary vigil over a lover turned into a howling abyss. The moment Dante finally had to step back, not from giving up, but from realizing his efforts were only feeding the void, destroying the last fragile embers of the man he loved. The agonizing choice: preserve the faintest possibility of Sukuna’s return one day, or watch him devour himself entirely.
Sukuna convulsed. A ragged gasp tore from his throat. The fury in his eyes flickered, replaced by shock, then dawning, horrifying comprehension. He saw the sheer, brutal effort. He felt the echoes of Dante’s grief, a tsunami threatening to drown them both. The memories weren't gentle; they were shards of glass forced into his mind, each one cutting away the lie of abandonment. He saw the depth of his own descent, the terrifying emptiness he’d become, far beyond any rational reach. The rage, hot and blinding just moments before, sputtered. It didn't vanish, but it fractured under the weight of undeniable truth. His struggles ceased. He went utterly still in Dante’s grasp, breathing hard, chest heaving.
Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by their ragged breaths and the settling dust. Dante slowly released his grip, his own hand trembling slightly. He didn’t move away, watching Sukuna’s face, the play of shock, shame, and reluctant understanding warring in those ancient eyes. Sukuna blinked, his gaze focusing slowly on Dante’s bloodied face, then dropping to the shattered table and the scuffed stone floor. He sucked in a long, shuddering breath, the crimson fire in his eyes dimming to smoldering coals.
He straightened. No apologies. No tender reunion. Just a hard, pragmatic acceptance settling over him like armor. He met Dante’s gaze, his voice rough but devoid of the previous venom. "Alright." He turned sharply towards the door leading back to the war room. "Let’s plan this fucking war." He didn't wait for a response. He shoved the heavy door open and strode out, leaving Dante alone amidst the wreckage of their past, the taste of blood still sharp on his tongue.
The heavy oak door groaned shut behind Sukuna, sealing Dante in the suffocating silence of the antechamber. Dust motes swirled in the single weak beam piercing the gloom, illuminating the shattered remnants of the side table. Dante spat a mouthful of coppery blood onto the cold flagstones, the metallic tang sharp against his bruised jaw. He leaned back against the wall, the tapestry rough against his torn silk shirt, breathing hard, the echoes of Sukuna’s anguish and his own centuries-old grief a physical weight on his chest.
The quiet stretched, broken only by his own harsh breaths and the distant, muffled chaos of the war council. He pushed off the wall, wincing as bruised ribs protested. He needed to get back. Needed control. The door clicked open silently. Dabi stood just outside, leaning against the opposite wall in the dim corridor, arms crossed, cobalt eyes narrowed, burning with a possessive fury Dante recognized instantly.
"Busy?" Dabi’s voice was low, dangerous, dripping with acid sarcasm. His gaze raked over Dante’s split lip, the blood smeared on his chin, the disheveled clothes. "Looked like a real heart-to-heart in there."
Dante didn’t answer. He took two swift strides, grabbed Dabi by the front of his shirt, and slammed him hard against the stone wall beside the doorway. The impact knocked the breath from Dabi with a sharp grunt. Dante crowded him, their bodies flush, his forearm pressing hard against Dabi’s collarbone, pinning him. He could feel the rapid hammering of Dabi’s heart against his own chest. "Jealous?" Dante growled, his voice rough, Detroit grit scraping over the words. His eyes, still blazing crimson from the fight, locked onto Dabi’s defiant glare. "He’s the past. You’re here." He dipped his head, his breath hot against Dabi’s ear. "Right fucking now."
Before Dabi could form a retort, Dante crushed their mouths together. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming, punishing, a release of the violence still thrumming in his veins. Dabi fought the kiss for a heartbeat – a twist of his head, a muffled curse against Dante’s lips – then surrendered with a guttural groan, biting back just as hard. Dante tasted blood again, mingling with the unique flavor of Dabi – smoke and defiance. His hands slid down, gripping Dabi’s hips hard enough to bruise, grinding their straining cocks together through the layers of denim and silk. Dabi arched into the brutal friction, a filthy moan escaping him as he tangled his fingers in Dante’s dark hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss.
Dante broke the kiss, leaving Dabi gasping. He spun him around roughly, shoving his chest hard against the cold stone wall. "Don’t fucking move," Dante snarled, the command vibrating with power. His hands were already at Dabi’s belt, tearing the buckle open, yanking the jeans and boxers down over his hips in one brutal motion. Dabi’s sharp intake of breath was lost as Dante spat roughly onto his fingers, the sound obscene in the narrow corridor. He didn’t wait, didn’t prepare. He pushed two fingers straight into Dabi’s tight hole, dry and demanding."Fuck! Dante!" Dabi choked out, his body bowing, knuckles white where he braced against the wall. "Christ, you bastard—!"
"Shut up," Dante ordered, working his fingers ruthlessly, stretching him, the friction punishing. He could feel the muscle clench and resist, then yield. He leaned over Dabi’s back, biting the nape of his neck, a sharp sting that drew another cry. "You wanted my attention? You fucking got it." He added a third finger, scissoring them roughly. Dabi whimpered, pushing back against the invasion, his cock rock-hard and leaking against the cool stone.
Dante withdrew his fingers, slick with spit and precum. He fumbled with his own fly, shoving his pants down just enough to free his thick, heavy cock, already flushed and dripping. He pressed the swollen head against Dabi’s stretched entrance, a hard, insistent pressure. "This what you need?" Dante growled, grinding against him, the tip catching on the tight ring of muscle. "This gonna prove whose you are?"
"Yes!" Dabi hissed, pushing back desperately. "Fuck, Dante, just fuck me! Stop playing—!" His plea was cut off by a ragged shout as Dante shoved forward in one brutal thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt in one slick, burning slide. Dabi’s body seized, every muscle locking tight around Dante’s invading length, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. Dante held himself buried deep for a second, savoring the clenching heat, the raw stretch, the choked gasps vibrating through Dabi’s frame. "Tight fucking hole," Dante grunted, his voice thick with lust. He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, feeling every ridge drag against Dabi’s sensitive walls, then slammed back in with piston-like force.
He set a punishing rhythm immediately, no finesse, just raw, driving power. Each deep thrust hammered Dabi against the unyielding stone, the slap of skin on skin echoing down the corridor. Dabi braced, taking it, his moans turning into choked gasps, then low, continuous groans of pure animal pleasure. "Fucking take it," Dante snarled, gripping Dabi’s hips hard, nails digging in. He leaned in, teeth scraping Dabi’s shoulder blade. "You feel that? That’s mine filling you up. Say it."
"Yours!" Dabi panted, pushing back hard to meet each thrust, his cock trapped and aching against the wall. "Fuck, yours... Dante... harder!" Sweat slicked their skin, the smell of sex and violence thick in the air. Dante pistoned into him, the angle deep, hitting that spot inside Dabi that made his legs tremble. Dabi’s cries grew louder, more desperate, echoing the ragged sounds tearing from Dante’s own throat. The friction was exquisite agony, the sheer dominance of the act, the reclamation after Sukuna’s challenge, driving Dante towards the edge. He could feel Dabi tightening impossibly around him, the telltale tremors rippling through his body. "Gonna... gonna come..." Dabi gasped, voice breaking.
Dante reached around, wrapping a strong hand around Dabi’s leaking cock, stroking him roughly in time with his own brutal thrusts. "Come," Dante commanded, his voice a guttural rasp against Dabi’s ear. "Spill it all over this fucking wall. Show me." The dual stimulation was too much. Dabi shouted, a raw, broken sound, his body locking as thick ropes of cum splattered against the dark stone, his channel clamping down rhythmically on Dante’s length, milking him. The intense pulsing triggered Dante’s own release. He buried himself deep one final time, grinding hard as he emptied himself, hot seed pumping deep into Dabi’s clenching heat with a low, possessive growl that vibrated through both of them.
He stayed buried for a long moment, both men panting harshly, slick with sweat, pressed against the cold stone. Dante slowly withdrew, a soft groan escaping Dabi at the loss. He turned Dabi around roughly, claiming his mouth again in a deep, possessive kiss, tasting blood, sweat, and salt. "Mine," Dante murmured against his lips, a final statement. He adjusted his clothes with quick, efficient movements, the King snapping back into place despite the dishevelment. He grabbed Dabi’s chin, forcing eye contact. "Pull yourself together. War meeting. Now." He turned and strode towards the war room door, leaving Dabi leaning against the wall, breathing hard, jeans pooled around his ankles, cum cooling on the stone beside him.
The cacophony hit Dante like a physical wave as he shoved the war room door open. Arguments still swirled – Bakugo yelling about tactical explosions, Deku trying to mediate, Toga humming while sketching crude angel dismemberments on a parchment. Lilith and Emerald watched with detached amusement, while Sukuna stood near the shattered obsidian table, arms crossed, his gaze cold and unreadable as it flickered from Dante’s bloodied face to the doorway where Dabi was slowly, deliberately pulling his jeans back up. Dante ignored the lingering stares, the sudden hush that fell over the room as they took in his appearance – the split lip, the bruised jaw, the predatory energy radiating off him. He walked straight to the head of the massive table, the sound of his boots like drumbeats on the stone floor.
"Enough!" His voice cut through the lingering chatter like a blade, the sheer force of his presence silencing the room instantly. All eyes snapped to him. He scanned the faces – his siblings, tense and ready; his daughters, watchful; Sukuna, impassive; Dabi’s crew, a mix of wary and eager. "Sunset’s coming. Time’s up for debating angelic fucking feelings." He slammed a fist onto the obsidian surface, the impact resonating. "Here’s the play. Listen hard, 'cause we ain't running it twice."
He pointed a finger tipped with a sharp, black nail towards Lilith and Emerald. "You two.Distraction. Be at the west fountain when the light hits that ugly cherub statue. Look bored. Look tempting. Let Ezekiel see he could maybe, just maybe, snatch you." His daughters nodded, identical smirks playing on their lips.
He shifted his gaze to KJ, Sapphire, Vincent, and Xavier. "You four. Hidden in the garden maze archways. Right flank. Stay cloaked. Stay quiet. You don't move until I fucking scream, or Lilith gives the signal. Which is..." He looked at Lilith.
She flicked her wrist, a tiny, almost invisible crimson spark dancing on her fingertip for a split second before vanishing. "That."
"Got it," KJ said, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the table. Sapphire gave a silent nod, her fingers already tracing faint defensive sigils in the air.
Dante’s eyes locked onto Dabi, who had finally joined the group, leaning against the wall near Bakugo, his expression carefully neutral despite the flush high on his cheekbones. "Dabi. You, Hawks, Shoto, Deku, Blasty," he gestured at Bakugo, "Hands-for-face," he nodded at Shigaraki, "and the stab-happy pixie," Toga gave a cheerful wave. "You’re left flank. Behind the fucking rocks near the old stables. Deep cover. You do not come out swinging until the holy shit hits the unholy fan and this whole thing goes loud. Understand? You wait for the chaos. Then you hit 'em like a goddamn freight train."
Dabi met his gaze, a flicker of challenge still in his eyes, but he gave a curt nod. "We'll be there."
"Damn right you will," Dante growled. He turned to Sukuna. The air crackled between them, heavy with their unresolved history, but Dante's voice was pure, cold command. "Sukuna. You’re with Ashburn." As if summoned by name, a low, rumbling growl echoed from the shadows near the door, and two massive shapes detached from the gloom. Ashburn, Dante’s hellhound-wolf hybrid, a towering fifteen-foot beast of midnight-black fur, molten amber eyes, and teeth like obsidian daggers, padded silently forward, his breath steaming in the cool air. Beside him, equally enormous but pure white with eyes like glacial ice, Tyrant materialized, his silent presence radiating lethal cold. "Take the black one," Dante ordered Sukuna. "Stay in the shadow of the east tower. Out of sight. You and Ashburn are the hammer. If Ezekiel decides he wants a full-on fucking brawl instead of a snatch-and-grab, I get the army moving," he gestured vaguely towards Xavier, who nodded, already mentally coordinating the legions of Hell, "and you and that beast hit their flank. Hard. Obscene violence. Make 'em regret every fucking choice that led them here."
Sukuna’s lips curved into a thin, predatory smile. He didn’t look at Dante, his gaze fixed on Ashburn, who lowered his massive head slightly in acknowledgment. "Obscene violence," Sukuna echoed, the words a dark promise. "My specialty."
Dante turned back to Lilith and Emerald. "As soon as you’ve finished pissing off the winged prick, the moment he takes the bait or gets too close... teleport out. Don't wait, don't play. Vanish. He’ll be pissed. He’ll come straight for me." Dante spread his arms, a fierce grin splitting his face, baring teeth. "And I'll be waiting. Right in the fucking courtyard." He let the silence hang for a beat, thick with anticipation and the scent of impending violence. "Any questions?" His voice was a low rumble that dared them to speak. No one did."Good. Arm up.Positions. Sunset’s coming. Let’s send some angels screaming back to their fucking clouds."