Dante moved down the corridor, his eyes sunken from two sleepless nights.
He eased the door open. His mother was sleeping, her breath steady but fragile.
A doctor whispered to him :
— "Her condition's improving. The pain has lessened, she's eating a little better… but the blindness remains."
— "It is impossible for blindness to remain even if I am not in the best of my power..." Dante clenched his jaw. "So that's it…"
He stayed by the bed for a few minutes, his hand resting over hers. No words, just the weight in his chest.
...
By this foggy morning, he walked out of the hospital and made his way to the old district.
The warped sign of The Last Drop groaned in the wind. Dante pushed the door — wood creaking in protest.
The drunks at the counter looked up : some muttered, others just stared.
— "It's him again?" slurred an old man, half gone with drink.
— "A kid in this dump, twice in a row… doesn't feel right."
— "You think he's working for the cops?"
Dante ignored the whispers and walked straight to Belloq's table.
The man sat hunched in the back, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other massaging his swollen eye.
Dante pulled out a chair and sat, silent.
On the wall, the TV crackled:
"…another fire last night. Authorities suspect a possible criminal organization retaliation. Police are still searching for leads…"
Belloq slammed his hand on the table.
— "Goddammit, kid!" He leaned in, rage flashing in his eyes. "It was you, wasn't it? All those fires… You trying to burn this whole city down?"
Dante folded his arms, his stare cold.
— "I've got my reasons. You want to hear them… that'll cost ten thousand Sol."
He held out his palm, impassive.
Belloq rubbed his temples, exasperated.
— "You'll drive me insane… Why'd you come back, huh? What do you want now?"
Dante inhaled, ready to drop it:
— "I want information on Caled—"
— "Shut the fuck up!" Belloq barked, his face hardening.
The whole bar froze. The half-asleep drunks turned their heads, whispers cutting through the air.
— "He said Caled…? Something?"
— "Khaled, maybe…?"
— "Why's he insulting him…?"
Belloq shot up, stool screeching across the floor.
— "All right, out! Everybody out, we're done for tonight!" he shouted.
— "What? But I still—"
— "Out, I said!"
The drunkards grumbled, cursed, but staggered toward the door.
— "Always trouble in this damn bar…" one muttered.
— "Told you, that kid's bad luck." spat another.
Belloq waited until the last man stumbled out. Then he gestured to the bartender :
— "You too. Go smoke a cigarette or two."
The bartender started to protest, then caught Belloq's dark glare and disappeared through the back. Belloq turn off the old TV with a sharp flick.
At last he came back, planting both hands on the table in front of Dante.
— "You got a death wish, kid?" His voice was low, rumbling. "That name… don't you EVER say it. The Caledrons run this city.
And when I say run, I don't mean a figure of speech. Every brick, every alley, every damn glass of water you drink… it belongs to them."
Dante frowned.
— "How… can one family have that much power?"
— "Because they're the founders, dammit!" Belloq slammed his fist down. "When Duraand was just a piss-poor village, they came outta nowhere with gold spilling from their pockets.
Built the factories, rigged the games, bought off the cops and the judges. Officially the city belongs to the crown. Off the record… they're the kings."
He leaned closer, his voice trembling with barely checked fury.
— "And believe me, kid, anyone who crosses them doesn't live long enough to tell the tale."
Dante stayed silent for a few beats, thoughts churning.
— "So… it's them. Everything leads back to them."
He raised his eyes.
— "The owner of Chrysalide told me a name. I'm looking for someone. Malek Caledron. He's the one who paid triple to curse my mother, isn't he?"
He dumped a pouch on the table. Coins spilled, clinking under the bar's dim light.
— "Forty thousand Sol," he said coldly. "The money I took from those dens."
Belloq froze, eyes widening.
— "Forty…?" A nervous laugh escaped him. "Wow, kid, you're richer than me after a month… But even with that, I can't help you. I don't fancy my throat slit."
The dry click of a revolver broke the silence.
Dante had drawn so fast it seemed the weapon had always been in his hand.
He shoved the barrel into Belloq's mouth, eyes like ice.
— "Listen close." His voice was low, deadly. "If you'd given me that name at the start, none of this would've happened. But now those bastards are all dead, there's no going back."
He pressed harder, metal grinding against Belloq's teeth.
— "That bastard Malek cursed my mom. And you're going to talk."
Belloq shook, hands raised.
— "Goddamn brat… Looks like a kid, but feels like a demon."
Through clenched teeth he growled :
— "Gray District… There's a loan office… Cinder Bank and Associate."
Slowly, Dante pulled the gun back, holstered it without a word.
His eyes stayed cold as rain. He rose and started for the door.
— "Kid!" Belloq croaked behind him.
Dante stopped, hand on the handle.
— "You don't get it. The Caledrons are giants. Keep this up, and it won't just be your mother who dies. You, your whole bloodline—they'll erase you. You're taking insane risks. Charging in blind."
Dante turned slightly, his profile caught in the light.
— "But if I do nothing, they'll take my mother, then my sister. And then me. They're all I have left… If I lose that…"
He opened the door, cold wind rushing inside.
— "… I'll never forgive myself."
...
GreyDistrict : Cinder Bank & Associate — Loan and inheritance.
In the gray district there is a building dominating all the other, architecture reminiscent of an old bank. The sign in golden letters read :
Cinder Bank & Associates — Loan and Inheritances.
In the hallway leading to his office, Malek walked slowly, his cane tapping against the floor now and then — though he didn't really need it.
His black suit was perfectly tailored, a well-groomed cut with a trail of woody cologne lingering in his wake.
He's the perfect gentleman, he's even called "the treasurer of Duraand".
He has a lot of power over the city's money flow and the key to the wealth of the glorious Caledrons.
The closer he drew to his office, the heavier the air seemed to grow.
He set his hand on the handle… and froze.
— "Hm. Something's off."
A chill crawled up his neck like a sixth sense. Still, he smirked faintly.
— "My instincts have never failed me…" he murmured.
He opened the door, stepped in, shut it behind him with a sharp click. His hand reached automatically for the switch.
Suddenly, a gust of air brushed against him, raising goosebumps.
— "Strange… I don't remember leaving the window open…"
He started toward it — then felt the cold press of a gun barrel against his neck.
The silence was suffocating. Malek didn't move. And then, against all expectation, he burst into hysterical laughter.
— "Oh… oh, marvelous! Finally!" He raised his hands in mock surrender. "So this is the end I've been waiting for."
He spun around abruptly, grabbed the gun, and jammed it against his own forehead. His eyes glittered with restrained madness.
— "Do it. Go on, shoot! You think I'm afraid? I'm sick of this miserable life! Come on, kill me!"
But his smile faltered when he saw who held the weapon. Not some seasoned assassin, nor a rival. A boy — a strangely familiar boy.
The kid's gaze was dark, his arm trembling but steady. Hatred burned in those blood-red eyes.
— "…A brat?" Malek muttered, half-amused. "Who are you? Who sent you?"
— "I'm nobody," Dante said, voice low and raw. "and i'm here to settle the score with the bastard who cursed my mother."
Malek chuckled, mocking, then strolled away calmly, hands clasped behind his back, as if the revolver were nothing but a prank.
— "Ah… yes. I remember now. Annabelle Edwin… lovely woman. Worked at one of my family's factories — until an accident happened." He clicked his tongue. "So… you must be her son."
Dante's finger tightened on the trigger.
— "Why?!" His voice shook with caged fury.
Malek advanced slowly, like a predator, his smile softening.
— "You've grown so much… Last time I saw you, you were still inside your mother's womb."
Dante blinked, thrown off balance.
— "…What are you even talking about?"
— "Ah, of course you're confused. Your mother kept you in the dark. Naturally, you've no idea who I really am to you."
Dante shook his head.
— "Cut the crap."
But Malek kept going, lost in his own words, as if Dante hadn't spoken at all.
— "Still… I'm glad to see you. Even if I'm not proud of what you've done."
Straightening, he regained his superior tone.
— "Tell me, it was you, wasn't it? The one who torched all those curse-offices?"
Dante's silence was answer enough. The barrel stayed trained on Malek.
— "Ah… I'll take that as a yes." Malek sneered. "Shame. Most of them worked for us. Paid their dues. You've made quite the mess, boy."
His eyes darkened.
— "So of course… you understand I'll have to kill you. Nothing personal."
He paused, tilting his head.
— "But before that… tell me. Did you come here for revenge? Or… to know who I am?"
Dante drew a slow breath, fist tightening.
— "Neither. I'm here to cut the problem at its root. And to take back what belongs to my mother. Her sight."
Malek raised a brow, genuinely intrigued.
— "Interesting. Smarter than you look. How did you guess I kept her eye?"
The boy said nothing. Malek smiled.
— "Yes… that's my inner gift.
I can take whatever I want from my customer, in exchange for a service. As collateral until the debt is repaid… or as payment in full.
A debt… a loan, if you will. If you want your mother's sight back, there's only one way. Kill me."
His eyes gleamed with excitement.
— "But that's not all. I have another power… Want to know what it is?"
Dante glared, his mind spinning.
— "Why would she ever 'borrow' anything from this monster ?"
— "Enough," he growled. "This makes no sense. If I have to kill you to give her back her sight… then I'll do it."
Malek burst into genuine laughter.
— "Well said! But…" He pulled his phone from his pocket, spinning it idly in his fingers. "You're forgetting one thing. I can call my men anytime."
Dante fired without hesitation.
The phone exploded in a spray of plastic and sparks. The bullet grazed Malek's finger, blood spurting.
Malek roared, hurling the pieces to the floor.
— "IDIOT! That was a precaution! I'd never need an army to deal with bastard like you… But you've asked for it!"
Dante squeezed the trigger again — click.
Empty.
His eyes went wide, automatically, je hurled the gun aside and lunged, fist cocked.
The ground trembled — barely perceptible —under the pressure of the energy building up in Dante's posture.
A glow flared from between his knuckles, first violet, then shifting into a blazing red. Lightning arced down his forearms.
Opposite him, Malek stood.
Smirking, calm disdain in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, hands clasped behind his back like he was watching a child throw a tantrum.
— "Is that all you've got ? When I'm done with you, I'll make sure your sister go through martyrdom." he mocked.
That was the spark.
Dante launched forward.
A shockwave erupted beneath his feet as he surged ahead, splitting the asphalt in a perfect circle.
But Malek didn't flinch, he vanished.
Not teleportation — just a forward flip executed in less than a blink. In the next instant, he was behind Dante.
His fist drove into Dante's back like a cannonball, launching him through a wall.
The shockwave blasted outward, leaving a gaping hole that opened onto a ledge high above empty air.
Dante barely caught the edge, boots skidding on the floor.
— "Shit…" he swore inwardly. "That was close."
But he didn't even have time to breathe.
He saw Malek, back turned, digging his own fingernails into the flesh of his left forearm.
He didn't even flinch, he seem enjoyed the pain.
Blood dripped, and turned into gold coins —ten of them — each engraved with a seal : a demonic maw inside an inverted triangle.
Dante staggered back, eyes wide. He knew that symbol. Anyone who'd glimpsed Hell did.
It was the currency of the Abyss : The Devil Coin.
Now, he looked… older. New wrinkles crept down his neck, his hair turning silver. The ritual had aged him. But in exchange…
The energy radiating from him was no longer human.
— "He traded years of his life… for immediate power." Dante realized.
But before he could act, Malek moved.
Not just movement—a monstrous leap. His fist, now wreathed in swirling golden aura, smashed straight into Dante's face, staggering him instantly.
— "Too bad… You weren't half bad-looking."
— "Khuhh…!"
Dante didn't even get the chance to cry out before his body was torn from the ledge, sent flying, then smashed into the pavement.
Around them, civilians froze.
They wanted to run — but something primal held them still. As if even the slightest movement meant death.
Malek was already above Dante.
And he struck one kick. Then another, again and again.
Survival instinct kicked in. He caught Malek's ankle just as it came down again and hurled him.
Malek flew across the street and crashed through the window of a ruined bar, bouncing off a table.
But Dante didn't wait, he was already here.
Arms full of bottles—each charged with red energy—and he hurled them one by one at blinding speed.
Malek slashed through them all with a business card.
Just a simple rectangle of paper slicing through enchanted glass like soap bubble and he walked forward.
— "This your big plan? Throwing tantrum attacks like some teenage girl?"
They clashed again—close-range combat, brutally fast.
Dante's fists striking with crimson lightning. Blow after blow landed, each one trailing energy across Malek's body.
And suddenly, Malek collapsed.
Dante jumped, gathering power, and brought a heel down in a crushing axe kick.
The ground split beneath it, a crevasse tearing open.
But just as he thought it was over, tendrils of energy shot out from the dust cloud and impaled his shoulders, dragging him toward the rift and hurling him off the platform.
He felt them drain his life force—massive cords draining his strength.
A blade of energy formed around Dante's hands, cutting the tendrils.
— "That level of Nexus energy control… impressive." Malek thought to himself.
The rails shook. A train was coming. A white light pierced the darkness—blinding.
Dante knelt on the tracks, gasping for breath, arms bloodied and raw.
His life energy was still knitting itself back together after the brutal drain. The train roared toward him.
And Malek watched from the platform, smiling like an executioner savoring the inevitable.
But then… the smile faltered. Because Dante smirked.
— "Sovereign March."
Everything stopped.
The train screeched to a halt, passengers screaming inside—but on the rails, there was no body.
— "What?!" Malek gasped, stepping back.
Dante reappeared behind him, eyes glowing red. In his hand, a jagged shard of glass plunged toward Malek's heart.
But it shattered on impact with his shoulder blade. Not because Dante missed.
Because Malek wasn't human anymore.
His skin was metal-hard. One of the ten Devil Coins burned out, vanishing in a flash of light.
— "Eigth left." Dante muttered, leaping back, mind racing.
— "Surprised?" Malek laughed, eyes wild. "Each coin lets me rewrite my own rules."
Dante stood still, assessing. Rushing in blindly was suicide against someone who'd traded their life for raw power.
Malek waited. Motionless.
Around them, metro passengers finally ran, hid in the cars, crying, praying—realizing they were caught in something beyond comprehension.
Dante glanced at them. He couldn't afford a single mistake.
— "Explain your power." he said coldly.
Malek raised an eyebrow. Then grinned, like he'd been waiting for this.
— "Gladly," he said, raising his hand—now showing eight coins. "Each coin is create from a sacrifice : years of my life. One coin per year. They let me twist probability, boost my strength, my defense."
— "I didn't expect him to actually reveal his weakness..." Dante said to himself. "And how far will you go ?"
— "Far enough to kill you."
— "So i just have to buy time."
But Malek wasn't finished. He raised five coins, spinning them in his palm.
A black vortex opened—and from it emerged an ancient briefcase, wrapped in black chains and marked with a golden seal :
The Coffret of Mammon.
Dante's eyes widened.
— "You didn't…"
— "The Karmic Balance." Malek confirmed, unlocking the case.
A golden light burst out. A massive scale erupted from the case, slamming onto the ground and growing until it towered over them.
At the top, Mammon's — Treasurer of Underworld and Demons of Injustice — face was carved in gold.
— "Behold the Karmic Balance," Malek declared like a preacher. "It judges your deeds. Rewards or punishes accordingly. Hope you've been good, Dante… or you're screwed."
— "So his "secondpower" is just the benefit of a pact. He is definitely not a hybridawakened..."
But Dante just smiled, a smile that chilled Malek to the bone.
— "Fool," he whispered. "You don't even know the game you're playing."
He knew what Malek didn't : the Balance was a trap. A rigged artifact loyal only to its true master. Anyone else risked chaos—or worse.
The Balance glowed violently. Red lightning burst forth. The plates dipped —a red bolt struck Malek head-on.
— "Aaaaaargh..." He screamed in agony, writhing in pain, collapsing to the ground.
Then a black beam hit Dante. But instead of har m— it filled him with monstrous power.
The Blessing of Greed.
A short-lived boost. Use it wisely—or pay the price. Dante steadied himself.
— "Even if you had the blessing," he said to the trembling Malek, "you'd never control it."
Malek's body shook. His arms barely held him. His face was sagging, skin slack, hair gray—aged by his own ambition.
From the platform, Dante watched, calm and calculating.
Every heartbeat, every muscle—he read Malek's body like a book.
— "He's already fought others before me. His reserves are running dry. His resonance is unstable. Skin degrading… At this rate, five years left. Maybe less."
Still… Malek grinned while he got up with difficulty.
— "You must be wondering how much time I have." He showed the remaining coins evaporate. "One year...yeah... I lived in excess but at least I had fun."
His skin immediately filled with wrinkles, his hair completely whitened, his eyes were like gaping holes. He looked like a rotting corpse.
He opened the case again — this time, no weapon, no coin.
Just… papers. Bank documents floated into the air, swirling around him.
— "You know what these are, Dante?" he asked solemnly. "My contracts with Mammon. Every debt, every favor I've ever taken. They all have weight. And now…"
He extended his hand. The papers flew toward Dante.
— "…you'll pay the bill."
The first scroll—golden—slammed against Dante's chest.
Instantly, he felt his power drain. His bright red energy dimmed.
— "What the—?!"
FWAP. FWAP. FWAP.
Three… four… five more scrolls latched onto him. Each one taking away a piece of his speed, his strength, his focus.
Dante staggered, his heartbeat raced.
In front of him, Malek rose into a swirling barrier of paper.
The scrolls encased him, forming a floating cocoon that shut the world out. Inside, he chanted in a demonic tongue.
A final attack.
Dante felt it like a seismic pulse. Malek's energy wasn't just destructive—it was obliterating.
— "No. I can't… let him finish this."
Every step toward the barrier became heavier. His knees buckled under the weight.
Then, he spoke—not as a opposent, but as a man.
— "Stop…" he said, voice cracked with effort. "You don't have to be the bad guy, you have one year left to live life to the fullest... You can always know true meaning of happiness."
He reached out and touched the barrier. His fingers barely grazed it before a wave of razor-sharp energy slashed them back. But he held on.
— "I'm begging you. This isn't pity. It's not because I think I've lost or I fear your attack. It's because… you still have a choice to die in peace."
But Malek didn't listen.
His eyes were closed. His mind, far away. The aura around him intensified.
— "Are you that keen to die ? That means you haven't known anything truly fun on earth.
I have a very lovely mother and sister. As far as I can remember, I had moments of joy with them around a slave meal. But I was happy.
This isn't to blame you for trying take all this away from me, but to let you know that despite everything you've done wrong to us, I forgive you. Even if we will die together in this miserable place."
The papers kept tearing his hands but he kept bleeding for the sake of forgiveness.
— "What a man... You were raised well. Unfortunately it's too late for me, I'm just paying my karma and nothing and no one can stop it."
The energy emanating from Malek had faltered slightly, but the light emanating from him was growing stronger and stronger as if the explosion was imminent.
— "I didn't expect you to be so strong. I heard you were a weak, depressed kid, but I'm facing a war machine." He coughed up blood, and continued. "Before I die, I have to tell you something...
I never held a grudge against your mother, but there's someone who does. Not just her, but you and all your beloved...
Don't feel guilty, saving me won't change anything.
You still have the chance to run away and leave all these lives behind. Find him before he finds you."
The light shone brighter, a sign that the explosion was more than imminent — there was no turning back.
— "Good night, my nephew."
— "Nephew...?!"
That's when Dante realized—he wasn't going to stop him alone.
— "I'm sorry... I won't let all these innocent people die."
And at that moment…
Ginny appeared. A shadow slithered across the floor, rising like vapor.
Without a word, her body shifted—stretching, expanding—until she took the form of a massive shadow dragon.
Without hesitation, she dove straight into the barrier, devouring it, Malek and all.
Dante placed a hand over his side, red light beneath his fingers.
— "Come back to me quickly."
And they vanished...
...
A few seconds later, in the subway…
— "Phew..."
Dante was just recovering from his fight, slowly catching his breath when suddenly...
Cracks spidered along the station walls. Clocks ticked backward, colors bled from the world.
And at the center—Mammon.
Its body was arachnid—eight golden legs, an abdomen riddled with closed eyes.
— "You can't even speak, can you ? Even your soul has frozen before me." Its voice didn't come from a mouth… it sound inside Dante's consciousness.
Dante stood frozen, throat clenched. His mortal body refused to move—but inside, his will burned.
On his forehead the number awakened for the first time, it was a painful fire.
They were active as if reacting to the spiritual pressure of this Cauchemar—In other words, demon.
— "I recognize this curse… You're not just another awakened. You're…"
Mammon's many eyes widened.
— "...Kang Soo Jin. The Demon's Nightmare," he whispered. "The Uncrowned."
He tilted his head with amusement.
— "And look at you now… Trapped in a body not your own, wearing a seal feared even by cosmic entities."
Mammon stepped closer, eyeing the glowing numbers on his forehead : 6666666. Seven sixes.
— "The Dante Seal…" he murmured, like a collector admiring a sacred relic. "One of the punishments reserved for intruders… those who enter Hell without invitation or sanction."
Finally, Dante found his voice—rough.
— "…Tell me more."
— "You should know by now, Soo Jin… Nothing is free. Especially not here. But I'll give you answers. Why? Because we have…"
Mammon's eyes burned red.
— "…a mutual enemy."
Dante frowned at the name he hadn't yet heard but already suspected : Klein.
— "I'm listening. But name your terms."
— "Three favors," Mammon said. "I'll call on you three times. You'll do what I ask—no questions, no refusals."
— "I refuse anything that involves my beloved, my life, my soul, my blood, or my conscience."
Mammon grinned—almost admiring.
— "Still arrogant. I accept your terms."
Mammon extended one leg. A black-gold card appeared in the air, marked with a red M.
— "You may ask three questions."
Dante inhaled.
— "What is the Dante Seal ?"
Mammon nodded, like he'd waited eons for that question.
— "It's a limiter—placed on your return to this world. After your death, a council of Beyonders gathered. Some wanted you cast into Gehenna forever. Others… wanted you back, but weakened, so you wouldn't tip the balance. The compromise was the seal. It stunts your growth… and it attracts those who want to make sure you never become… you."
— "Then who allowed me to return at all?"
Mammon chuckled.
— "Our dear Gula. A fragment of your soul. Because you are one… the Book of Life couldn't determine if you were truly dead. It's also why this world still exists—a world without an heir collapses."
Dante clenched his fists.
— "Second question: What do you mean by 'heir' ?"
Mammon paused.
— "…Your current vessel isn't ready to hear that," he said quietly. "But you were never fully human. You are the heir to what was once called… the Nameless Throne."
Dante swallowed hard.
— "Third question. How do I reclaim my full power ?"
Mammon tilted his head again, amused.
— "If I rely on the divine comedy, you must defeat the embodiment of the Seven Deadly Sins. Each holds a piece of you. When all seven are reclaimed…"
He smiled darkly.
— "You'll become Kang Soo Jin again. And you'll be worse than the end of the world to those who betrayed you."
Mammon — and its treasures — began to dissolve, his spider-like form fading into mist.
— "Are you the only one who knows who I am ?"
Mammon's laughter was like an avalanche of gold coins.
— "No. But only a few could guess if they know about your seal. It would take… superhuman insight. Or divine sight. But relax. Stay low, and they'll never know."
— "We'll meet again—when I ask for my first favor."
He vanished and the world returned to normal.
Dante straightened. His eyes, once fierce, now carried a hint of unease.
He pocketed the black card. He'd only asked two questions. The last remained.
— "Seven sins, huh ? I already know who Gluttony is…" he sighed.