The holographic digits above Dante's dresser glowed 12:00 AM. He lay sprawled on his bed, headphones clamped on, eyes tracing patterns on the ceiling. Sleep felt like a distant country. School tomorrow, sure, but the thought barely registered. He needed air. Just had to slip out without waking Mom.
The world outside was a study in stillness—an eerie, profound quiet that made the very air feel frozen. Dante pulled his hoodie up, the soft fabric a familiar comfort, and ghosted through the front door. The night wrapped around him, a thick, silent blanket.
"Man... can't wait to turn eighteen. High City's waiting. That's where things actually happen. Where dreams mean something." The words were a quiet mantra in the vast silence. He walked, aimless and lost in the future, until the biting cold pricked at his fingers.
"Sigh... It's freezing. Should head back before I regret this."
The jarring clang of a pan from the kitchen sliced through Dante's sleep.
"DANTE! WAKE UP! YOU'RE GONNA BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!" Mom's voice, already in full battle cry, jolted him awake.
Groaning, Dante forced one eye open. The holographic digits now read 7:00 AM. "Ughhh, fuck... Knew that walk was a bad idea." His head throbbed.
"DANTE, DID YOU HEAR ME?" Her voice was closer now, threatening to breach the sanctity of his bedroom door.
"I'M UP, MOM!" he yelled back, his own voice hoarse.
"Brush your teeth and eat something before you go!"
"My head's killing me," he grumbled under his breath, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Better get moving before she starts World War Three..."
After a quick, painful breakfast, Dante stepped out into the gray drizzle. The chill seeped into his bones, matching the apathy in his gut. "Screw it... I'm sleeping through class today. It's not like anyone cares anyway." He yawned, a wide, aching stretch.
"Ayy yo, Dante! What's good, bro?" Jake's familiar voice cut through the morning fog, close behind him.
Dante just shrugged. "Same shit, different day."
Jake gave him a mock offended look, his grin wide. "Damn, man. You always sound like a grandpa. No wonder girls don't talk to you."
"Maybe I'm not trying to impress anyone," Dante countered, though the barb still stung a little. "I've got bigger plans. Remember High City?"
Jake threw his hands up in exasperation. "There it is again! Mr. High City. You too good for our little boring town now?"
Dante just walked on, tired of the endless debate. "Forget it. Let's just get to class."
Most of the day, Dante's gaze was fixed out the window, the teacher's droning voice a distant hum. His thoughts drifted, as they usually did, to anything but the lesson. Then something snagged his attention.
Dark shapes. Drifting against the bruised sky, too large, too defined to be clouds.
He leaned closer to the glass, squinting. Were those... figures? Floating? A knot formed in his stomach. No way. He had to be losing it.
A high-pitched shriek ripped through the classroom. "TEACHER! LOOK OUTSIDE!"
Panic erupted. Desks scraped, chairs clattered as students surged towards the door, a tidal wave of fear. But Dante didn't move. A prickling dread crawled up his spine. Something felt profoundly, terrifyingly wrong.
He grabbed his bag, his knuckles white. "We need to go. Now."
As they sprinted from the school, Jake's voice, strained and high, shouted from behind him. "DANTE—LOOK UP!"
Dante wrenched his head skyward. The shadowy figures were no longer indistinct. They were raising their arms, a synchronized, horrifying gesture. The clouds above them began to churn, coalescing into a blinding, swirling fireball, radiating an impossible, silent heat.
"JAKE—MOVE!" Dante screamed, shoving his friend forward with a surge of adrenaline.
Then, everything went white.
Heat. Pressure. Silence.
When Dante finally surfaced, a searing pain lanced through his skull. Something heavy, crushing, pinned him down. A warm, metallic liquid dripped onto his cheek. He groaned, the sound raw and unfamiliar. "Ugh... what... hurts... so bad."
He blinked, his vision swimming, and through the haze, saw Jake's limp body slumped across him. "Jake... hey. Wake up."
No response.
He struggled, pushing with all his might against the dead weight. Jake's body slid away, revealing… nothing. Where his friend's head should have been, there was only a jagged, bloody emptiness.
"No, no, NO! JAKE!" The scream tore from his throat, ragged and guttural.
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed its way into his chest. The town was a inferno, ablaze with impossible speed. Screams, distant and fading, echoed through the smoke. Bodies, twisted and broken, littered the streets like discarded dolls.
Then he remembered.
"Mom!"
He ran. Bleeding, stumbling, the ground uneven with debris. A desperate prayer clawed its way through his mind. His house was gone, nothing but a gaping wound of rubble and fire.
"Mom! MOM! Can you hear me?!" he shrieked, his voice hoarse, tearing through the wreckage with frantic, bloodied hands. His fingers brushed against something—soft, unyielding.
A hand.
Crushed beneath a twisted beam, his mother lay still. Lifeless. Her eyes were closed, as if in peaceful sleep, but the surrounding devastation screamed otherwise.
"No... Mom... please..." He choked on the words, a burning in his throat that had nothing to do with smoke. Tears streamed down his grimy, blood-streaked face as he crumpled to his knees.
"YOU CAN'T DIE LIKE THIS! NOT YOU!" His sobs were silent, swallowed by the roar of the flames consuming what was left of his home.
The sky above darkened, a hellish, bruised purple, and then the rain began. Not a gentle shower, but a relentless downpour, mixing with the smoke and ashes, creating a thick, acrid mist. Military trucks rumbled in the distance, their sirens wailing a mournful dirge. Airships, massive and dark, circled slowly overhead.
But Dante didn't move. He just sat there—drenched, broken, and a cold, terrible fury began to bloom in his gut.
Something inside him snapped. A heat, not from the surrounding fire but from deep within his chest, began to rise. Dark. Primal. It pulsed with a terrible energy.
"Whoever did this..." His voice was a whisper, raw with a new, dangerous resolve. "...I'll find you."
He clenched his fists, the rain running down his face like tears, indistinguishable from the blood and soot.
"I'll kill you," he growled, the words a promise etched in fire. "I'll kill every last one of you."