Chapter 49: Truth
The heavy door to Dante’s private suite clicked open, admitting Vincent and Sukuna. The harsh fluorescent glare from the hallway sliced across the dimly lit interior before vanishing as the door sighed shut. Inside, the only light came from the muted cityscape bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in cool blues and grays.
Dabi was sprawled across Dante’s chest on the low, wide couch, one arm flung possessively over Dante’s waist, his breathing deep and even, face relaxed in the utter peace of exhaustion. Dante lay propped against the armrest, his own eyes hooded but open, tracking their entrance. The stark white bandages across his torso were a brutal counterpoint to the intricate ink swirling over his shoulders and down his arms.
"Out again," Vincent murmured, setting a brown paper bag and a large bottle of water on the low glass table. The scent of grilled meat and spices momentarily cut through the lingering medicinal tang in the air. Sukuna lingered near the door, a silent, watchful shadow, his gaze flickering between Dante’s face and the sleeping Dabi.
"Like a fucking light," Dante rasped, his voice rougher than gravel. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb the weight on his chest. His fingers, tracing idle patterns on Dabi’s bare shoulder, were the only sign of life beyond the slow rise and fall of his breathing. "Tries to stay awake, but his body’s done. Can’t blame him."
Vincent sank into an armchair opposite, the leather sighing. "We got you that shawarma you were craving. And water. Lots of it." He nodded towards the bottle. "You need to hydrate."
Dante acknowledged it with a faint tilt of his chin. His gaze, however, remained distant, fixed on some point beyond the glass, beyond the city. The silence stretched, thick and expectant, broken only by Dabi’s soft snores. Dante swallowed, the sound thick and painful in the quiet.
"Vincent," he said, his voice dropping even lower, forcing the other man to lean forward slightly. Sukuna took an almost imperceptible step closer. "There’s... one more thing. Something you need to hear. Sukuna too. But it doesn’t leave this room. Swear it." His eyes, when they finally met Vincent’s, held a raw, ancient vulnerability that made the air feel suddenly colder.
"Of course," Vincent said instantly, his own voice tight. "You know you can tell us anything. Always."
Sukuna gave a single, sharp nod. "Silent as the grave."
Dante took a shuddering breath, the movement jostling Dabi slightly. The younger man murmured, nuzzled deeper into Dante’s neck, then stilled again. Dante watched him for a long moment, an expression of agonized tenderness warring with a deep-seated horror on his face.
"Before I vanished," Dante began, the words scraping out. "Before Lucifer’s goons grabbed me... Dabi went missing first." He paused, gathering the tattered shreds of composure. "I tore the fucking city apart looking for him. Couldn’t find a trace. Not a fucking whisper." His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on Dabi's shoulder. "Then... I got a message. A fucking invitation. Downstairs."
He closed his eyes briefly. "Found him. In Father’s... audience chamber. Lucifer had him." A muscle jumped in Dante’s jaw. "He’d done a number on him. Nothing... permanent. Not like..." He gestured vaguely at his own torso. "...Not like this. But he was fucked up. Scared. Confused." Dante’s voice hardened. "Lucifer of course had a proposition. A simple fucking trade. I stay. Dabi goes free. Right then. Unharmed."
Vincent went rigid. Sukuna’s stillness became predatory.
"What choice did I fucking have?" Dante’s laugh was a hollow, broken thing. "I agreed. Told him yes. Anything. Just let Dabi go, unharmed. Lucifer smiled. That fucking smile." Dante’s eyes snapped open, blazing with a cold, impotent fury. "Before I could fucking blink, before I could even look at Dabi properly... someone jabbed a needle in my neck." He touched the spot unconsciously. "Cold. Fucking instant. Lights out."
He stared at the ceiling now, unseeing. "Don't know how long I was gone. Woke up... somewhere else. Cold stone. Darkness. Couldn't move. Chains. Heavy, biting chains." He flexed his wrists as if feeling the phantom weight. "Then... Cain walked in."
The name hung in the air like a physical blow. Vincent flinched. Sukuna’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the back of a chair.
"That first day..." Dante’s voice was barely a whisper now, stripped of all bravado, all Detroit swagger. Just raw, exposed agony. "He started... enthusiastic. Tore my fucking wings out." He shuddered violently, a full-body spasm Dabi must have felt even in sleep, as the memory surged. "Right in fucking front of Dabi."
Vincent made a choked sound. "What?"
"Lucifer," Dante spat the name. "He brought Dabi down. Made him watch. Stood him right there, like... like fucking theatre. Cain wanted... an audience." He swallowed convulsively, his throat working. "After... after the wings... Cain..." Dante stopped. The silence screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut again. Dabi stirred slightly against him. When he spoke again, the words were dragged over broken glass. "He... forced himself on me."
Vincent froze. Sukuna’s breath hissed out between his teeth. Dante didn’t open his eyes. A single tear escaped, tracing a slow path down his temple into the dark hair at his temple.
"Right there," Dante choked out. "Chained. Bleeding. Dabi watching... horrified. Cain... hurt me. Bad. Got off on it. On the... the power. On Dabi seeing." The words were tumbling out now, jagged and harsh. "After... after he was done... he kept going. More torture. Different tools. More pain. Hours? Days? Fuck knows. Cain eventually got bored. Left me hanging."
He sucked in a ragged breath, forcing himself to continue. "Then he came back. Lucifer. Smirking that fucking smirk. Dabi was still there. Pale. Shaking. Looked like he was gonna puke or pass out. Lucifer... he looked Dabi right in the eye. Told him he could go. Back to his life. Back to pretending." Dante’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "But. If he ever... ever... told anyone. A soul. About what he saw. About where I was. What happened..." Dante paused, the memory tightening like a vice around his chest. "He said he'd kill me. Slowly. Make it last. And he'd make Dabi fucking watch every... single... second. Watch as he ripped me apart. Piece by fucking piece."
The silence that followed was absolute. Suffocating. The city lights outside seemed too bright, too garish against the darkness of the revelation. Vincent looked physically ill, his face ashen. Sukuna’s expression was carved from stone, but his eyes burned with a cold, demonic fury Dante rarely saw in the usually controlled warrior.
Dante finally opened his eyes, red-rimmed but dry now, the tear long gone. He looked down at Dabi’s sleeping face, his thumb brushing a stray lock of dark hair back with heartbreaking gentleness. "He remembers," Dante murmured, the sound almost lost. "Every fucking second. That's why... why he never said anything. The nightmares... the fear... it wasn't just guilt over me being gone. It was... that. Lucifer's little insurance policy." He let out a shuddering sigh that seemed to empty him completely. "He watched them break me... to save me."
The silence after Dante's revelation hung thick and poisoned. Sukuna moved first, a blur of contained fury, his fist crashing into the reinforced concrete wall beside the doorframe. Dust and fine cracks spiderwebbed outwards from the impact, the sound like a gunshot in the heavy quiet. Dabi flinched violently in his sleep, whimpering, fingers digging into Dante’s bandaged skin before settling again, breathing ragged.
"Fucking bastard!" Sukuna snarled, his voice a low, guttural rasp vibrating with pure, demonic rage. He spun back towards the room, eyes blazing crimson embers in the gloom, fixed on Dante’s pale face. "Lucifer. Cain. All of them. We go now. We rip that fucking pit apart stone by stone. We peel that fucking smug smile off his face with a rusty spoon!"
Vincent surged up from the chair, planting himself between Sukuna and Dante. "Are you insane? It’s suicide, Sukuna! Charging headfirst into Hell? Against the Morningstar himself? Even with Dante weakened, it’s impossible!" His voice cracked, fear warring with his own simmering anger. "They want us to try something stupid. It’s a trap!"
"Impossible?" Sukuna barked a laugh, sharp and hollow. He shoved past Vincent, looming over the couch, the raw heat of his fury radiating like a furnace. "Nothing’s impossible if we gather enough firepower. Call the old alliances. The Grigori remnants. Lilith’s brood. Fuck, even some of the lower-pit factions hate his guts more than we do!" His hand slashed through the air. "We burn it all down. For him!" He stabbed a finger towards Dante. "For what they did!"
Vincent grabbed Sukuna’s arm, his grip iron-tight. "Sukuna, listen to yourself! Dante’s barely holding together! You think throwing ourselves into that grinder helps? We lose. We die screaming, and Lucifer wins. Again." His gaze flickered to Dante, then back to Sukuna, pleading. "Think!"
Deep beneath the volcanic rage, beneath centuries of hard-edged pragmatism and the carefully cultivated persona of the ruthless enforcer, something primal and almost forgotten twisted inside Sukuna. Seeing Dante so broken, hearing the unspeakable violation endured while helpless, watching the King of Hell flinch at a name – it scraped against a part of him he’d buried after their own violent, passionate, ultimately destructive entanglement centuries ago. It wasn't love, not anymore, not the consuming fire they’d once shared. But a sliver, a stubborn, un-fucked sliver of whatever remained of his soul, ached for the broken figure on the couch. It fueled the inferno of his wrath, making it personal, deeper than duty.
"Enough talking!" Sukuna roared, wrenching his arm free. His demonic aura flared, casting jagged shadows on the walls. "I don’t give a fuck about odds! He broke him, Vincent! He made him watch! He fucking raped him in front of…" His voice choked off, the image Dante painted too vivid, too vile. He slammed his fist down on the glass table, cracking it. The food container jumped. "We end him. Now."
"Stop."
The word cut through Sukuna’s tirade like a blade. Low. Quiet. Utterly devoid of inflection. Dante hadn't moved, hadn't opened his eyes. He still cradled Dabi’s head against his neck. But the command vibrated with a residual, bone-deep authority that momentarily froze both men.
Dante slowly opened his eyes. They weren't blazing with anger or brimming with tears now. They were flat. Empty. Ancient. The eyes of something impossibly old that had seen too much, endured too much, and had finally been pushed beyond rage into a chilling, exhausted acceptance.
"Just... stop," Dante repeated, his voice a dry whisper. He looked past Sukuna’s fury, past Vincent’s fear, his gaze fixed on the fractured glass tabletop. "It's done. It's over. Lucifer..." He paused, drawing a shallow breath that didn't seem to reach his lungs. "He's in the cage. The deepest pit. Sealed with sigils even he can't break. Obsidian chains. Celestial wards. He isn't getting out. Not ever."
Vincent sagged slightly, relief warring with the horror still etched on his face. "The Cage? You're sure?"
"Positive," Dante murmured, the ghost of a bitter smile touching his lips. "I made sure. Before I crawled back here." His gaze finally lifted, meeting Sukuna’s still-blazing eyes. The ancient emptiness in Dante’s stare seemed to douse some of Sukuna’s fire, replacing rage with a profound, unsettling discomfort. "No crusades, Sukuna. No glorious last stands. Cain is dust. Lucifer is caged. It’s... finished."
Sukuna stared back, the crimson light in his eyes flickering, then dimming. The tension in his massive frame didn't leave, but the violent intent bled out, replaced by a hollow frustration that felt infinitely worse. That tiny, aching sliver deep within him recoiled at Dante's utter resignation. He looked away first, a muscle jumping in his jaw, his gaze landing on the shattered glass on the floor. He said nothing. The silence returned, heavy and final, broken only by Dabi’s soft, troubled breathing. Dante closed his eyes again, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly in Dabi’s hair, anchoring himself to the only warmth left in the room.