Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

THE BLACK ROSE:
LeBlanc lingered in the Black Rose chamber. A stark, white room devoid of color. Her gaze stayed fixed on the wall as her hand traced smooth, deliberate motions, weaving shadows into a shape with her magic.

“Every path we take seems only to draw us closer to chaos.” The voice was soft, yet edged. She turned slightly at the sound.

Vladimir entered, idly rolling a sphere of blood between his fingers. His eyes followed hers to the wall, where the silhouette of a wolf was taking form. Mel Medarda, rendered in shadow.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, “we should think instead of the opportunities that have drifted to us.”

“Unforeseen turns are the nature of any path.” LeBlanc replied, her tone calm, her attention never wavering from her work.

But when Vladimir recognized what she was shaping, displeasure darkened his face. “Yes. And yet that, my dear, is a step too far. Even for us.”

She cast him another glance, cool and deliberate. “Piltover was a lesson, Vladimir. Calamity is always near. Sometimes, its arrival is merely closer than we expect.”

Her work completed, the shadow solidified into a new shape of a Darkin glaive, ominous in the chamber’s white glow.

“Our next move must be bolder.” She said. “Not safer.”

“Safer?” Vladimir echoed, his voice sharp with irony. “If not for the spawn of Sparda, the Herald and the elder Medarda would have damned Runeterra. And in its ruin, our true foe and his dark angel would have been unleashed.”

“Mm. Yes.” LeBlanc said simply, a wisp of amusement in her tone. “We owe him gratitude, even if he strayed from the design we laid before him with Ambessa.”

Vladimir’s eyes narrowed. “And what assurance do we have he won’t unravel us again? As he did a year past… with that little mage girl in Zaun?”

LeBlanc’s smile deepened, though her gaze remained fixed on the shifting shadow before her. 

“Because this time, he and his wayward partner have chosen to chase what was lost. His other half…” Her voice dropped, velvet and final. “This the moment we move.”

JINX:
Jinx looked down at Warwick, his claws raking at her legs as he tried to climb. She glanced back up at Vi. The platform groaned under their combined weight, bolts snapping loose one by one.

“Always with you, sis.” Jinx said softly.

Vi’s eyes went wide. Her gut twisted. She knew what that meant. But it was too late for her to do anything. 

Jinx slammed her fist against the glowing gemstone core of Vi’s Atlas gauntlet. Sparks burst, the gem cracked, and the gauntlet powered down. With its grip gone, the heavy gauntlet slid free. And began dragging Jinx and Warwick with it.

Time seemed to stretch as they fell. The roar of the battlefield vanished. All Vi could hear was her own scream ripping out of her throat.

Jinx, falling, let out a shaky breath. Her eyes softened. A small, broken smile tugged at her lips as tears streamed free. She turned toward Warwick, no, Vander. Not the monster clawing at her, but the man who once carried two terrified little girls out of a massacre. Who held them when the world burned. Who made them believe they could be safe, if only for a night.

“Thanks for saving us, dad…” she whispered.

She cradled his beastly face as if it were still human, and slipped a Chomper from her belt. Its light glowed red, corrupted by the demonic gemstone she had fused into it. She yanked the pin without hesitation.

The world erupted. A blast of red and blue fire swallowed Jinx and Warwick whole, ending them both in an instant. But from the heart of the explosion, a single pink streak streaked free, arcing into the Hexgates shaft before vanishing.

The streak of pink light tore from the heart of the blast, a comet in the void, trailing sparks as it shot into the Hexgate’s vast ventilation shafts. The wards and conduits screamed as the surge of energy passed, metal buckling under the shockwave.

Inside, the light sputtered. The streak faltered, and what emerged was not whole. Jinx’s body, torn and broken, tumbled through the shafts. Half her skin was charred raw, bone gleaming white beneath seared muscle. One arm hung useless, her legs twisted, smoke still rising off her hair. She coughed blood, laughing and choking all at once.

“Guess… I’m harder to get rid of than I thought,” she rasped, her voice shredded.

The pain was endless, blistering. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer smashing against her ribs. She pressed her forehead against the cold steel wall, leaving a smear of blood and soot. She should have been dead. She wanted to be.

And then, heat surged through her veins, alien and familiar at once. Dante’s blood, mingled with hers stirred like wildfire. It crawled across her ruined flesh, knitting sinew, sizzling against bone. The burns crackled, blackened skin flaking away as new tissue grew in its place, raw and pink.

It was slow. Agonizing. Her body twitched violently as the demonic essence rewove her frame, every nerve screaming. The healing was imperfect as she had jagged scars carved her arms, patches of her skin never quite smoothing. But it kept her alive. It refused to let her go.

She dragged herself deeper into the shafts, leaving a trail of blood that sizzled where it fell. Each movement was a war. Each breath tasted of smoke and iron. But she was moving. Still here. Still alive.

And as the firestorm behind her died, her cracked lips twisted upward, into something between a smile and a snarl. “Sorry, sis… not done yet.”

Jinx jolted awake with a ragged gasp, her good hand clutching at her chest. The roar of fire, the screams, the sight of Warwick’s face, it all tore away like smoke, leaving only the soft hum of engines and the groan of wood and steel.

The blimp rocked gently in the night sky. Its lanterns swayed, casting pale orange light across the cramped cabin. She sat slumped in a hammock, a bandage wrapped tight over her left eye, her left arm strapped in a sling. Sweat slicked her skin. The phantom heat of the explosion clung to her as if she’d never left it.

Her fingers brushed instinctively at her neck, finding the two pendants resting against her collarbone. The first, the worn bullet Dante had pressed into her palm back in Snowdown nearly a month and a half ago. She squeezed it like a lifeline. The second, colder and heavier, the broken blue shard of the perfect amulet. The piece of something whole, something that belonged to Vergil long before she met Dante, and he had entrusted it to her days ago, as their blimp cut its path away from Piltover’s ashes.

The whole world thought they were dead. That was the point. Her idea, her trick. She could still hear Vi’s scream in her skull, even if it had been days since the war in Piltover against Ambessa and Viktor’s Glorious Evolution.

“You awake?”

The voice pulled her from the spiral. Dante leaned in the doorway, one arm braced against the frame. His coat was stripped off, his shirt rolled at the sleeves, scars bare in the lanternlight. He held two mugs, one steaming faintly. His eyes, always sharper than his smirk, studied her like he already knew the answer.

Jinx swallowed hard, shifting in the hammock. 

“Dreamt it again,” she muttered, her voice cracking at the edges. “Boom, fire, sis screaming… me playing hero.” 

She let out a breathy laugh that died before it reached her lips. “Except I lived. Guess even my head can’t keep its story straight.”

Dante set the mugs down on a crate, then crouched beside her. He didn’t reach out, not yet. Just sat there, heavy with silence. 

“Sometimes,” he said finally, “your head makes you relive the worst so you don’t forget why you’re still here.” 

His gaze flicked down at the amulet resting against her chest. “And why we’ve got somewhere to go.”

Jinx fiddled with the shard, letting it swing on its chain. She gave him a sidelong glance, mismatched eyes glinting beneath her bandage. “You really think finding your brother’s gonna fix all this? Fix you?”

Dante’s smile was small, wry. “No. But it’s the only shot I’ve got.”

For a moment, the hum of the blimp was the only sound. Jinx leaned her head back against the hammock ropes, her lips curling in a crooked half-smile. “Guess we’re both chasing ghosts, huh?”

Dante’s eyes softened, just a fraction. “Guess so.”

“So…” Jinx drawled. “How much juice does this flying bathtub actually have?”

Dante’s eyes flicked to the control panel, then quickly away. “…Don’t ask.”

Jinx narrowed her eye. “Dante. Please don’t tell me we’re about to fall outta the sky.”

He smirked without missing a beat. “Hey, you’re the one who insisted on the blimp. I just agreed to steer the damn thing.”

“So what, you’re blaming me?” Jinx shot back, throwing her good arm wide. “You’re the guy with the sword and the swagger, shouldn’t you also know how to fly a balloon without turning it into a death trap?”

“It’s a blimp, not a balloon,” Dante corrected flatly, gripping the controls.

“Oh, sorry, mister technicalities! Next time I’ll call it a majestic floating coffin!”

Dante groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Three months together, and somehow you’ve gotten even louder.”

“Three months together, and you’re still terrible at dates,” she fired back, jabbing a finger at him with her slinged arm. “Snowdown? You bought me a bullet! Our ‘romantic getaway’? Now I’m in a sky-hog with duct-taped engines!”

“Hey,” he countered, pointing a finger right back, “this ‘sky-hog’ is keeping us off everyone’s radar. You want luxury or survival?”

Jinx leaned back, grinning crookedly. “Why not both? You’re supposed to be the big-shot demon hunter, Dante. Spoil your girlfriend a little.”

He smirked, eyes still on the sky ahead. “Spoiling you usually involves explosions and property damage. Thought I’d give the world a break.”

Jinx snorted, half a laugh and half a scoff. “Old man excuses.”

“Old man?” He arched a brow, finally glancing at her. “Really? Calling me old because I’ve got white hair again. Blue, I’ve been putting up with your chaos since you were barely taller to ride a ride. You don’t get to pull the age card.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned in close, her mismatched eyes gleaming, teasing. “And yet here you are. Stuck with me. Guess you’re just whipped.”

Dante gave a slow, amused exhale. “…Yeah. Guess I am.”

For a moment, silence settled, softer than their words, just the steady thrum of engines and the creak of ropes. Jinx blinked, caught off guard by how easily he said it. 

She fumbled for a comeback, then just let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Idiot.”

He smiled faintly. “Yours.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. Jinx fiddled with the pendants at her neck, tracing the worn grooves of the bullet with her thumb. The amulet shard pressed cold against her skin, grounding her. For once, her mind wasn’t buzzing with noise, it was… still.

Her voice came out softer than she meant. “Y’ever wonder what they’re doing? Back home, I mean.”

Dante tilted his head. “Which ‘they’ are we talking about?”

“You know.” She glanced away, pretending to study the lantern light swaying above. 

“Ekko, Zeri… Vi, Caitlyn. After all that mess with Ambessa and Viktor’s shiny nightmare machine… just feels weird not knowing. Like maybe they all…” she trailed off, her throat tight.

Dante leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, studying her with that quiet patience he rarely showed anyone else. “You think they’re gonna miss us?”

“I don’t know.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t even know if they’d care if I was gone. Not really. Whole world thinks I blew myself to bits… which, ha, not far from the truth.” 

Her good hand tugged at the edge of her bandage, then dropped. “Feels like I’m haunting them, and I ain’t even dead.”

Dante didn’t say anything at first. He just reached forward, covering her hand with his own. His grip was firm, grounding, the kind of touch that didn’t ask for permission but gave it anyway.

“Listen,” he said quietly. “Whether they care or not doesn’t change one thing: you’re still here. With me. And that’s what matters right now.”

Her eyes flicked to his, searching for a crack in his calm. She found none, just that strange mix of steel and warmth that was always Dante.

Jinx swallowed, the lump in her throat heavier now. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “But easy’s never been your style anyway.”

She let out a small, broken laugh, and before she could stop herself, she leaned forward. Dante met her halfway. The kiss wasn’t frantic or fiery. It was slow, steady, like they had all the time in the world. When they pulled apart, Jinx rested her forehead against his chest, closing her eye. For once, she wasn’t thinking about what she’d broken, who she’d lost, or what waited ahead. Just the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear, reminding her she was alive.

“…Guess I really am stuck with you, huh?” She murmured.

Dante chuckled, low in his throat. “Yeah. You are.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jinx didn’t mind the idea of being stuck.  

The steady hum of the engines lulled them into silence. Jinx stayed tucked against Dante’s chest, the beat of his heart grounding her in a way nothing else could. It was rare, too rare that she let herself feel safe.

Then the cockpit filled with a shrill, grating beep-beep-beep. Red lights flashed on the control panel.

Jinx flinched, then groaned. “…Seriously?”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “Low fuel alarm.”

She stared at him, then balled her good fist and thumped it against his chest. “You knew!”

“Hey!” He protested, rubbing the spot with mock offense. “It’s not like I planned it.”

“You didn’t plan not to, either!” Jinx snapped, though there was more exasperation than anger in her voice.

He sighed and walked to sit on the pilot’s chair, he then leaned back. “Relax. We’ve got a few hours. More than enough to figure something out.”

Jinx rolled her eye, then hopped off the hammock. She dug both hands into Dante’s long red coat until her fingers closed on something crinkled. With a victorious grin, she yanked out a folded map of Runeterra.

“You hide everything in these pockets,” she muttered, spreading the map across the console.

“Comes in handy,” Dante said with a shrug.

“Mmhm. Until I fish out a half-eaten sandwich or something.”

Her finger trailed across the expanse of Runeterra, tapping at different points, muttering under her breath. “Nope, nope… definitely nope… ugh, more Noxus…” 

She squinted, then jabbed at a small mark along the coast. “Here. Morris Island. Port town. Fuel. Booze. Food. Everything we need.”

Dante froze. Just a flicker, but she caught it. His smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing at the name like it was a wound reopened.

“…You okay?” Jinx asked carefully, tilting her head.

His answer came too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”

But his grip on the wheel was tighter now, knuckles pale in the lanternlight.

Jinx frowned, tapping the map again. “Doesn’t sound fine.”

“Trust me,” Dante said, his voice low, final. “It’s nothing.”

The engines droned on, carrying them toward the shadowed coast. But the name, Morris Island, hung heavy in the air between them, and Jinx could feel in her gut that whatever waited there wasn’t “nothing” at all.

By dawn, the blimp was moored on the outskirts of Morris Island. The port town was alive with the usual morning noise. Such as sailors shouting over crates, gulls circling for scraps, and the faint crash of waves against the piers. Compared to Piltover’s brass-and-gear skyline, Morris Island was simpler. Weather-worn stone streets, wooden rooftops patched with tar, oil lamps. A working town. A breathing town.

Jinx tugged her hood lower as they moved down the street, her sling tucked close to her body. People barely gave them a second glance. Thing such as outsiders weren’t uncommon, so long as they had coin to spend.

“Place looks… boring,” Jinx muttered, kicking a loose pebble as they walked.

“Good,” Dante replied, his coat swaying at his heels. “Boring keeps us alive.”

They ducked into a diner just off the main square. The bell above the door gave a tired jingle, and the smell of frying bread and salted fish hit immediately. It wasn’t much, just a handful of tables, a cracked counter, and a few old men sipping bitter coffee. But it was warm, and quiet.

Jinx slid into a booth, dropping the handful of coins they had onto the table with a clatter. 

“All the riches of Noxus,” she quipped. “Think we can buy half an egg with this?”

Dante smirked, settling across from her. “Half an egg, maybe. But I’m calling dibs on the yolk.”

She scrunched her nose at him, then leaned back against the seat, fiddling with her necklaces as she watched a waitress shuffle over. “Been a while since I ate somewhere that doesn’t explode halfway through.”

The waitress gave them both a tired smile, scribbled down their order—“the cheapest you’ve got”—and shuffled away.

For a moment, the two of them sat in the quiet clatter of the diner. Jinx glanced around at the simple folk, the fishermen and dockworkers, the ease of it all.

“…Weird,” she said softly. “Feels almost normal.”

Dante’s eyes lingered on her bandaged face, then shifted to the window where the town square bustled with morning life. His voice was low when he answered. “Yeah. Almost.”

But Jinx noticed he hadn’t touched the map since the night before. And every time someone said “Morris Island,” she caught that same flicker in his expression.

The waitress dropped off two chipped mugs of coffee and a plate with bread and salted fish. Jinx immediately tore into the bread, chewing like she hadn’t eaten in days. Dante, though, just watched her for a moment, leaning his elbows on the table.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked finally.

Jinx looked up mid-bite, blinking at him. “Whatcha mean?”

“Physically. Mentally. Both.” His tone was even, but his eyes didn’t waver. “You’ve been healing fast these last few days, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy.”

She tore another piece of bread, shrugging with her good shoulder. “Arm still aches. Eye itches like crazy under this stupid bandage. Sometimes I wake up and my skin feels like it’s still burning.” 

Her voice dipped quieter. “But… it’s better than it was. Way better.”

Dante nodded softly. “And in here?” 

He tapped his temple.

Jinx swallowed, suddenly finding the cracks in the table very interesting. 

“…Sometimes it feels like I’m still falling, y’know? Like the dream keeps tugging me back down. But then I wake up and—” she reached up, fingering the bullet pendant—“you’re still here. So I guess that counts for something.”

For a moment, the air between them was steady, warm. Then Jinx gave a crooked grin. “Also, I kinda miss our sexy time.”

Dante raised a brow, sipping his coffee. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with a mischievous little snort. “Been, what… two weeks? Three? Feels like forever.”

“More like twelve days,” Dante corrected dryly. “And you need rest more than anything else right now.”

She groaned, throwing her head back against the booth. “Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” he countered, smirking. “But keeping you in one piece comes first. Once you’re healed, then we’ll talk.”

Jinx pouted, sticking her tongue out at him. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t collect interest.”

Dante chuckled, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

For a few moments, all that filled the space was the clink of dishes and the low murmur of dockworkers at the counter. It was almost peaceful and even almost normal.

But even as Jinx teased, she caught the shadow still lingering in Dante’s eyes whenever he looked past her, out toward the harbor.

Dante had just started tearing into the bread when the door creaked open. A man in a worn coat paused mid-step, his eyes locking on Dante. Something flickered across his face. A mixture of recognition, shock and then he stepped inside, heading straight for their booth.

“Anthony?” The man said softly.

Dante froze, mid-bite, and slowly looked up. “Huh?”

Jinx’s eye darted between them, fingers tightening around her mug.

The man came closer, his voice trembling. “It’s me. Ernest. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

Dante closed his eyes for a beat, leaning lazily back in the booth, his expression unreadable. “How about you explain how you ‘remember’ someone you’ve never met?”

Ernest’s lips curled into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Still the same tone. That cranky attitude, I’d know it anywhere. There’s no mistaking you.” 

His eyes softened, but there was weight behind them. “I get why you wouldn’t want to remember. That night was… horrific. But at last, you’ve come back. And now—” he leaned in, lowering his voice “—I can finally clear your name. You and your mother. I’ve found proof, Anthony. Irrefutable proof it was a demon that caused it all. You’ve got to believe me.”

Dante’s jaw tightened at the name “Anthony,” but his face stayed neutral. Only Jinx, sitting across from him, noticed the subtle tremor in his hand as it curled against the table.

It was only then that Ernest’s gaze shifted to Jinx. His brows lifted at the sight of her sling, then at the bandage covering her left eye.

“Oh, my apologies,” he said quickly, almost tripping over his words. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. You must be in pain. What’s your name, miss? And what happened to you?”

Jinx froze, caught off guard by the directness. People usually stared at her, sure, but rarely with that kind of… soft concern. She blinked once, twice, then darted her eye around the diner. Her gaze snagged on a crooked sign above the counter that read Hazel’s Place.

“Hazel,” she blurted. “Name’s Hazel.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed faintly, but he said nothing.

Jinx fumbled for an explanation, waving her good hand. “This? Eh, bar fight gone sideways. Didn’t duck fast enough. You know how it is.”

She forced a grin. “But I’ve had worse.”

Ernest nodded sympathetically, though his eyes lingered with quiet worry. “I’m sorry to hear that. It looks painful.” 

Then his expression softened further, flicking between the two of them. “And you’re with Anthony?”

“Yup,” Jinx said quickly, leaning across the booth and resting her chin in her hand. “Me and Tony, partners in crime. Thick as thieves.”

Across from her, Dante’s jaw flexed as he gave her a sharp sidelong glance. Anthony. His eye roll was small, but it carried the weight of a groan he refused to make out loud.

Jinx caught it and smirked, almost daring him to contradict her.

Ernest’s eyes lingered on Dante, like he was staring at a ghost that had finally stepped out of the grave. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Before Dante could open his mouth, Jinx leaned forward, grinning wide enough to show teeth. “Memory’s not his strong suit. Trust me, I’ve had to remind him of his own birthday twice.”

Dante shot her a sideways look, but she kept right on going.

“Besides, we don’t usually get to sit down for a nice breakfast without, y’know, explosions or assassins ruining it. So maybe we just… don’t dig up the past while I’m trying to enjoy my bread?” She tore off another chunk dramatically and stuffed it in her mouth.

Ernest blinked, clearly thrown off by her energy, but his focus slid back to Dante. “Anthony—”

“Tony,” Jinx cut in smoothly, slapping the table for emphasis. “Call him Tony. Way cooler. Don’t you think so, Tony?”

Dante pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slow.

Ernest gave a small, apologetic smile at her antics, but his voice softened again, carrying something earnest under the words. “I understand. But Anthony… when you’re ready, meet me. Please. I’ll be at the old watchtower on the east pier. It’s important.”

Dante didn’t answer. Didn’t nod, didn’t even twitch. Just stared back, unreadable.

Jinx leaned over and snatched the last bit of bread off the plate. “Thanks for the concern, Ernie, but me and my Tony here have places to be. Boats to catch, skies to conquer, you know how it is.” 

She shoved the bread in her mouth, muffled: “Good talk though!”

She stood, tugging Dante’s sleeve with her good hand until he rose with her. Together they stepped past Ernest and out into the sunlight.

The door jingled shut behind them, leaving Ernest standing in the diner, watching their backs vanish into the crowd. His hand tightened into a fist, but his eyes stayed soft.

Dante, meanwhile, walked in silence, jaw clenched, coat swaying with each step.

Jinx glanced up at him, her voice teasing but low. “So, Anthony, old buddy, gonna tell me what that was all about, or do I get to make up stories until you break?”

Dante didn’t answer. His silence said more than words could.

Dante carefully peeled away the old bandage from Jinx’s eye, his touch steady despite the raw, bloodshot skin beneath. The socket was slowly knitting back together, the faint glow of healing still there, but it twitched at the faintest glimmer of light.

“I’ve got you, babygirl,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lightly along her cheek before setting the fresh bandage in place. But the way her good eye lingered on him made his brow furrow. “You wanna tell me something?”

Jinx chewed her lip, then exhaled. “Still thinking about what that guy said. Y’know… Ernest.” 

She fiddled with her sling as she spoke. “You did go by Tony when we were kids. And Tony’s short for Anthony.”

Dante’s hands stilled for just a second before he tied the bandage off.

“And he picked you out of a crowd, like… boom, no hesitation. Not everyone’s got white hair and just happens to pick Anthony as their fake name. Especially not as a kid.”

Dante leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. “…So?”

Jinx tilted her head as she gave him that sly little grin, the one that always meant she wasn’t gonna let this drop.

“So, Anthony…” she sing-songed, poking his chest with her free hand. “Last night I drop one little name. Morris Island and suddenly you’ve been looking at every brick and alley like they’re old friends. Kinda funny, don’t you think?”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “You’re imagining things.”

“Ohhh no, I’m not.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping into something softer, but sharper too. “You’ve been chewing on ghosts all day. And you still haven’t told me what you were even doing between thirteen and eighteen, while I was stuck with Silco and his creepy bedtime stories about power.”

He glanced away, adjusting the strap of her sling almost just to keep his hands busy. “Doesn’t matter.”

Jinx smirked. “It matters to me. I mean, c’mon, five whole years? That’s like… forever. I tell you all the dumb crap I did growing up. You don’t think I wonder what you were up to?” 

She tapped her temple, eye narrowing playfully. “Don’t make me start painting my own version in here, ‘cause spoiler alert, it’s gonna involve brooding, bad haircuts, and you writing sad poetry on Morris Island.”

That actually made his lip twitch, but he stayed quiet.

Jinx leaned back, staring at him for a beat. Then her voice softened, teasing giving way to something more raw. “…I’m not asking ‘cause I wanna dig up stuff you hate. I’m asking ‘cause I wanna know you, Dante. The real you. Even the messy, ugly, Anthony parts. Especially those.”

Dante let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down his face before finally meeting her eye. “We’ll talk to Ernest. Later. If he’s right and there’s a demon involved… that’s what’s got my attention.”

Jinx arched a brow, lips curling into a sly grin. “Mhm. Always the demons first. Even before your poor, half-broken girlfriend.” 

Her voice dipped into something sultry, a purr under the words. “Guess I should start growing horns if I want top priority…”

Before she could lean closer, Dante moved. Smooth, sudden, pinning her gently against the mattress with one hand braced at her side. His other hand slid up, fingers combing into her short, choppy hair. 

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmured, his smirk brushing against hers.

Her breath caught as his fingers trailed through the uneven strands, still cut close like Vi’s old style. He tugged lightly, making her grin widen despite herself.

“You still rockin’ your sis’s haircut,” Dante teased, his voice low, almost fond. “Gotta say, though… looks a hell of a lot better on you.”

Jinx’s grin widened as Dante’s hand tightened in her hair, her good eye half-lidded, teasing right back. “Mmm, careful, babe. You know I like it when you get bossy.”

Dante leaned in, lips brushing dangerously close to hers, his weight holding her down just enough to make her heart race. “Yeah?” 

His smirk was a whisper against her skin. “You sure you can handle that right now?”

She hooked her legs around his waist, sling and all, pulling him closer with a mischievous glint. “Guess we’ll never know unless you try, Sparda.”

For a heartbeat, the air between them sizzled, his breath hot, her pulse skipping. His fingers traced down her neck, across the bandage on her shoulder, lingering where her skin still bore the ache of burns. She winced ever so slightly, and Dante stilled.

The fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer. He pressed his forehead against hers, exhaling slowly. 

“…Babygirl, you can barely walk without limping. And you know how I get when things get… heated.” A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Last thing I’m gonna do is break you more.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillow. “Ugh, you’re the worst tease. You start revving the engine and then slam the brakes? Rude.”

Dante chuckled, brushing his hand through her choppy hair again, softer this time, almost absentminded. “Yeah, well. Consider it motivation to get back on your feet faster.”

Her pout melted into a small smile as she nestled against him. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re responsible.”

He kissed the corner of her bandaged temple, murmuring low, “And you’re lucky I’m crazy about you. Otherwise, I’d have run from this mess a long time ago.”

Her good eye glimmered, teasing through the warmth. “Please. You’d miss me too much. Admit it.”

“Yeah,” Dante smirked, tucking her closer. “I would.”

DANTE:
Later that day, they found Ernest waiting at the edge of the pier.

Jinx walked with her hood pulled low, a fresh bandage peeking from beneath the fabric, her arm still strapped in a sling. A pistol rode snug against her hip, hidden in the folds of her jacket.

Beside her, Dante carried a weathered guitar case slung across his back, Force Edge tucked inside, Ebony and Ivory resting beneath his coat like silent companions.

“I’m glad you came, Anthony. Old pal,” Ernest greeted warmly, stepping toward them before glancing at Jinx. “And you too, Hazel. Come on, follow me.”

He turned and began to walk, his stride sure, as if expecting them to fall in line.

Jinx shot Dante a quick look. His eyes stayed locked on Ernest, unreadable, tension pulling at his jaw. Without saying a word, she reached out with her good hand and laced her fingers through his.

Dante didn’t look at her, but his grip tightened all the same.

They moved through the narrow streets, the evening air carrying the scent of salt and old stone. Dante’s eyes wandered over the buildings they passed, familiar outlines etched with years of distance.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m not Anthony.”

Ernest gave a quiet laugh, not mocking, but almost wistful. “I get it. You need to keep your name buried here. But you don’t have to worry, there aren’t many left who even remember what happened six years ago. To most folks, it’s a half-forgotten rumor.”

He glanced at Dante, his smile tinged with something sad. “Which leaves me the odd man out. The eccentric who won’t let go, still chasing the truth while everyone else shrugs it off. But I don’t care. Because I know what really happened. And I intend to prove it.”

Jinx finally broke the silence, her voice cutting through the steady rhythm of their footsteps. “Okay, okay, I gotta ask, what exactly did happen here?”

Ernest’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t slow his pace. His voice was steady, almost rehearsed. “Six years ago… when Anthony and I were fourteen, nearly fifteen, Morris Island burned.” 

He gestured faintly toward the skyline, where blackened husks of old buildings still stood among newer repairs. “A great fire. It swallowed the town whole. Most of the people died. The few who lived… well, some swore they were attacked before the fire by demons. A horde of them.”

Jinx tilted her head. “Demons? In a fishing town like this?”

He nodded gravely. “But no one believed them. Their words were dismissed as hysteria. And in the end, blame fell elsewhere.” 

His voice lowered, weighted with anger. “On Anthony. On his mother. Both of them were humiliated, shunned, treated as pariahs. Forced to leave with nothing.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Jinx slowed her steps, her good eye flicking to Dante. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked up, he just kept walking, his face unreadable. But she knew.

Because Dante had already told her about his real mother. About the fire that took her when he was only eight. About how he had no one to watch over him when he ended up in Zaun. How he’d survived alone between nine and thirteen, scraping by in the gutters until they crossed paths again.

Yet here Ernest was, talking about a different fire. A different mother. One Dante hadn’t breathed a word about.

Jinx’s stomach knotted, questions burning on her tongue. She squeezed his hand tighter, trying to catch his eye.

But Dante just kept walking.

Jinx opened her mouth, ready to press Dante, but shut it again when Ernest turned toward him with a smile.

“Our teacher,” Ernest said softly. “She’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Your teacher?” Jinx echoed, brow arched. She glanced at Dante, but he just kept walking, his expression locked down.

She huffed under her breath, shaking her head as she hurried to keep pace with the two of them.

The three of them stepped into the nursing home and followed Ernest down a quiet hall. He stopped at a door and opened it gently, revealing an old woman sitting upright on her bed, her hands folded in her lap.

“Miss Margaret,” Ernest said warmly, “I knew you’d be happy to see Anthony again.”

Her cloudy eyes lifted, and her lips curved faintly. 

“Anthony…” she whispered.

Dante sighed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Sorry to disappoint you, old lady, but this guy just won’t stop calling me that.”

Ernest chuckled softly at the remark. “Seems like Anthony doesn’t want anyone knowing who he really is.”

Margaret tilted her head, her voice delicate but steady. “Can you blame him? So, Anthony… how is your mother doing?”

Dante didn’t flinch. “She’s dead. Been dead a long time.”

A shadow crossed her face. “Oh. I’m… sorry to hear that. I always wished I could’ve eased her pain, back then. She carried so much sadness… so much despondence in her final days.”

Ernest stepped closer to the old woman’s side. “Miss Margaret, there’s someone else you should meet. Anthony’s… companion. Hazel.”

Jinx blinked, then lifted her good hand in a stiff little wave. “Uh… hey.”

Margaret’s gaze settled on her and widened at once. “Oh, my dear… what happened to you?”

Jinx shifted in place, tugging at her sling. “Ah, same story I told your buddy Ernest. Got in a bar fight and didn’t move out the way.”

Margaret’s brows rose, clearly surprised. The women of Morris Island were reserved, quiet, none carried themselves with the wild spark Jinx did. She studied her a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. “You’re… very different from the women I’ve known here. Bold. Sharp-tongued.”

Her eyes flicked back to Dante. “But perhaps that’s fitting. He was always violent, even at a young age. It makes sense you’d be drawn to one another.”

Jinx snorted, glancing at Dante with a grin. “Ha! See? Even granny here gets it. Makes perfect sense.” 

She leaned against him playfully. “Guess I really am your match, huh?”

Dante rolled his eyes but didn’t shake her off.

“Miss Margaret,” Ernest said gently, “you agree it’s time we tell Anthony, don’t you?”

The old woman gave a slow nod. “Yes. That’s why we’ve worked so hard all these years. To atone for our sins, for making your mother suffer as we did. We’ve carried that guilt too long.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, his tone flat and edged. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ernest turned to face him fully, his expression earnest, voice steady. “I told you before, didn’t I? I finally found the proof. The fire, the destruction of this town, it wasn’t the work of any person. It was all caused by a demon.”

The three of them stepped out of the nursing home, the evening air cooler now, carrying the faint tang of salt from the sea.

“Ruins?” Dante asked again, his tone edged.

“Yes,” Ernest replied simply.

Dante’s gaze flicked toward him. “You’re not planning on dragging that demon out of the ruins, are you?”

Ernest chuckled softly, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “You’re sharp as ever. See right through me. But don’t you understand? The important thing isn’t the risk, it’s clearing your name. Clearing your mother’s. That’s what matters.”

Dante said nothing. His silence was heavy, unreadable. Jinx glanced at him, but even she didn’t speak this time.

They reached Ernest’s home on the hillside just outside town, the whole port spread beneath them like a painting. Inside, the place smelled faintly of dust and old books, its walls lined with memories.

Jinx paused at a frame on the mantle. A photo of a much younger Dante, fourteen at most, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ernest and Miss Margaret. Her good eye lingered on it, tracing the boyish face she barely recognized.

Ernest entered the room with a tray, two glasses of red wine balanced carefully. He offered one to Jinx.

She raised her hand awkwardly. “Uh, sorry. Don’t drink. Even if I could, I probably shouldn’t…” 

She gestured at her bandages with a wry grin. 

Ernest nodded understandingly and turned to Dante, pressing the glass into his hand. “Then at least you. Brings back memories, doesn’t it? The toast may be six years late… but here’s to seeing you again, Anthony.”

Dante accepted it without a word. He lifted the glass, sipping slowly, though his eyes drifted back to Jinx, who was still staring at that frozen image of his past.

The front door creaked open, and a woman about their age stepped inside, halting when she spotted the strangers in her home.

“Oh! Ernest, you’re back already?”

“Welcome home,” Ernest said warmly, resting a hand on her back. He turned toward the pair in his living room. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Elise.”

Elise’s eyes widened as they fell on Dante. She lifted a hand to her mouth, almost in shock. “Oh my. He’s… a lot bigger than you made him sound in your stories.”

Jinx snorted, stifling a laugh behind her hand, her mind immediately running somewhere inappropriate.

Ernest chuckled, unbothered. “Well, of course. All my stories were about when we were boys. Time doesn’t stand still.”

“Oh…” Elise lowered her hand, though her gaze lingered curiously.

“And this,” Ernest added, “is his companion, Hazel.”

Jinx raised her good hand in a casual wave. “Hey.”

Elise’s eyes slid over her and lingered. Jinx’s hip windows left no doubt she wasn’t wearing underwear, and the if it wasn’t for the oversized hoodie that concealed the bandages wrapping her chest and exposed waist, then she’d be showing off. In a town where most women were modestly dressed, Jinx stood out like a flare in the night.

Jinx caught the look, smirk tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I know. Not exactly Morris Island chic, huh?”

Elise’s smile wavered, caught somewhere between courtesy and unease as her eyes trailed Jinx’s bare-hipped outfit and the rough edges that set her apart from every woman in town.

“It’s… very nice to meet you,” Elise said carefully, smoothing her skirt as if to remind herself of her own composure. “You have a… unique style.”

Jinx tilted her head, smirk tugging wider. “That’s one word for it.”

For a moment, Elise just studied her, something almost like curiosity flickering beneath the polite mask before she clasped her hands together. “Well, I should get started on dinner—”

Ernest gently touched her arm, shaking his head. “No, love. I’ll take care of it tonight. Why don’t you stay here and visit with Anthony and Hazel? I’m sure they’d like the company.”

Elise hesitated, casting another quick glance at Dante, then at Jinx, who was now sprawled comfortably in her chair, smirk never leaving her lips. Finally, Elise gave a small nod, seating herself across from them, still clearly intrigued despite her attempts to appear reserved.

Elise folded her hands neatly in her lap, stealing little glances at Jinx’s wild attire and the cocky ease she carried herself with. For a moment she looked ready to pull back into the safety of polite silence until Jinx leaned back, stretching her good arm across the chair with a grin that dared anyone to say something.

“You really don’t care what people think, do you?” Elise asked suddenly, her voice softer now, almost conspiratorial.

Jinx’s grin widened. “Nope. Waste of time, if you ask me. Why? You jealous?”

Elise let out a small laugh she clearly hadn’t meant to. 

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, glancing down at her prim dress. “Ernest’s told me so many stories about you, Anthony. About when you were boys. I always wondered if they were exaggerated, but… seeing you now, I’m starting to think maybe he undersold it.”

Dante raised a brow, half-smirk tugging at his mouth. “Figures he’d talk behind my back.”

Elise shook her head. “No, not like that. He said you were always getting into trouble, reckless, fearless. That half the adults in town didn’t know whether to scold you or admire you.” 

Her gaze softened, landing back on Dante, then sliding toward Jinx again. “And now I see… you keep company with someone just as bold.”

Jinx tapped the table with her good hand, smirking. “Guess trouble likes trouble.”

Later that night, the storm rolled in hard, rattling the shutters and washing the town in silver flashes of lightning. Jinx limped into the living room, tugging her hoodie tighter around herself as Dante set a pillow down on the couch for her.

“I can take care of it,” Jinx muttered, already trying to lower herself down.

“I know,” Dante replied, his tone easy, a faint smile pulling at his lips as he adjusted the pillow anyway.

She paused halfway into her seat, narrowing her good eye at him. She began giving him that look again, the one that was equal parts suspicion and something softer.

“What?” He asked, brow arched, feigning cluelessness but not quite pulling it off.
The thunder cracked again, rattling the glass panes. Jinx shifted on the couch, pulling her legs up under her, her sling awkwardly pressed against the pillow Dante had set for her. She kept her eye fixed on him as he leaned against the armrest.

“You really had a whole different life here, huh?” She said finally, voice low but edged. “Almost two years of… I don’t know. Normal? While I was stuck with Silco. While I had to turn crazy just to stay alive.”

Dante exhaled through his nose, watching the lightning flash through the curtains. “Normal never lasts, Jinx. You know that better than anyone.”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t have it,” she shot back, her good hand tightening on the pillow. “You, or Anthony, Ernest, Miss Margaret. All these little memories I never even knew existed. And you just never told me.”

He stayed quiet. Too quiet. Jinx’s lips pressed thin, her voice dropping to a murmur. “How many more secrets are you keeping from me, Dante? Hm? Should I be bracing myself for another big reveal? Or is this the last one?”

Dante’s jaw flexed. He didn’t answer right away. And then she smirked bitterly, tilting her head. “What’s next? You’ve got some super sexy ex tucked away in this town too?”

For the first time all night, Dante broke eye contact. He looked away, lips parting like he was about to say something, but didn’t.

Jinx blinked, her smirk faltering into wide-eyed shock. “… Wait. Wait. Are you serious?”

Jinx leaned forward, her good eye narrowing in suspicion. “Don’t tell me you actually—”

Dante cut her off with a sharp scoff, waving a hand. “Relax. I don’t have some super sexy ex hiding in the pantry waiting to jump out. You’ve got a hell of an imagination.”

Her stare didn’t soften. “Uh-huh. That sounded way too defensive.”

“Or maybe,” he said, leaning over to tuck the blanket across her lap, “you’re exhausted and picking fights because you hate resting.” 

His tone was casual, but his gaze was steady, almost daring her to keep pushing.

Jinx huffed through her nose, clearly irritated but already sagging into the couch. “…Fine. But you’re not off the hook, mister Anthony-or-whatever.”

“Didn’t think I was,” Dante said with a faint smirk, straightening. He dragged a chair over, the legs scraping softly against the floor, and sat down close enough that his shoulder brushed the couch. His arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes still flicking to her like a quiet guard dog.

Jinx shifted under the blanket, stealing one last side-eye at him before her voice dropped into a grumble. “…Better not be hiding anyone hotter than me.”

Dante chuckled low. “Impossible.”

The storm rattled on outside, but the silence between them settled warm, steady.

Jinx shifted restlessly, tugging the blanket up to her chin like she was trying to stay awake out of spite. Her good eye peeked at Dante, half-lidded but still sharp.

“Don’t even think I’m falling asleep yet,” she mumbled.

Dante leaned back in his chair, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sure. You’re wide awake. Just… ignore the fact your eyelid’s already doing that twitchy thing it does right before you pass out.”

Her nose scrunched. “Liar.”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re a menace even half-dead on your feet.”

“Mm. Better than being boring.” She yawned mid-sentence, then shot him a defiant glare like he wouldn’t dare point it out.

Dante let it slide, just watching her settle deeper into the couch. The firelight flickered against her bandages, her chest rising slow and uneven. She looked fragile in a way that never fit her, like seeing a blade dulled and cracked but still trying to cut.

And that was when it hit him again. That gnawing instinct he’d never been able to shake. He wasn’t just her partner, her lover. He was her wall, her shield, the one thing between her and a world that had already tried to burn her down too many times.

He sighed, running a hand over his face before lowering his voice, just enough that maybe she couldn’t hear it. “Yeah… I’ve got you, babygirl. Always.”

Her lips twitched faintly at the nickname, like she caught it even through the haze of sleep. 

“Better not… screw that up…” she murmured, voice slurring as her eye fluttered closed.

Dante smirked softly, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

And yet, as the storm raged outside, he didn’t move from the chair, guarding her through the night.

Dante soared through the air, Ultimate Devil Form blazing with raw energy. The rift above the Hexgates roared wider, tearing between realms as the legion of demons pressed against its threshold, Nelo Angelo’s shadow looming large.

“Not this time…” Dante muttered under his breath, gripping Sparda tighter. Every shred of power, every fragment of the anomaly that he and Ekko had forged, burned inside his veins. It was tearing him apart, but he didn’t care.

He reached the heart of the rift. Time stuttered, reality shivered as both Hell and the mortal plane strained against his presence. Dante clenched his jaw and thrust Sparda into the rupture.

The sword howled, resonating with his blood. All at once, Dante unleashed the anomaly’s chaotic energy, burning it like fuel, forging it into a seal. The rift convulsed, shrieking as the legion was sucked back, their forms unraveling into nothing. Even Nelo Angelo’s yellow gaze disappeared into the collapsing dark.

The last thing Dante felt was the wind against his face as he shifted back to his human form, white hair whipping wildly, as light swallowed him whole.

The light consumed everything, sound, air, even the weight of his body. For a moment, Dante thought he’d actually done it, burned himself out for good. No coming back. No last jokes. Just silence.

Then came the impact.

Salt water filled his lungs as he gasped awake, coughing violently. He rolled onto his side, spitting out brine and sand, every muscle in his body screaming like he’d been torn apart and glued back together wrong.

The beach stretched out before him, endless gray waves under a sky just starting to bleed with dawn. His Ultimate Devil Form was gone, the anomaly’s energy stripped clean, leaving him battered and human once more. But he was alive. Somehow.

Dante dragged himself to his knees, Sparda still clutched in his hand. Its edge was dim now, as if the sword itself had spent its last reserves sealing the rift.

He stared at the weapon for a long moment before a dry laugh escaped his throat. “Guess we’re both too stubborn to quit, huh?”

He collapsed back onto the sand, hair plastered to his face, the roar of the surf filling his ears. Every nerve screamed, every scar burned, but a deeper ache throbbed in his chest. The world thought he was gone. She thought he was gone.

His lips tightened, eyes closing as the tide lapped at his boots. “Jinx…”

For the first time in years, Dante wasn’t sure if he had the strength to get up again. But he knew he’d have to.

Because if he didn’t, she’d never forgive him.

Dante’s eyes snapped open. For a heartbeat, he was still on that endless beach, waves dragging him under, Sparda heavy in his hand. Then the storm’s low rumble grounded him back in reality. The living room ceiling came into focus, shadows stretching from the fire in Ernest’s hearth.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Just a dream. A memory.

Across the room, Jinx was curled up on the couch, bandaged and stubborn even in sleep, the blanket half-kicked off her legs. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her lips parted in a faint murmur—like she was chasing her own ghosts behind her eyelid.

Dante sat forward in the chair he’d never left, elbows on his knees, letting the weight of the dream sit heavy for a moment. Both of them had “died” that night. Both swallowed by fire and chaos, remembered as ashes and wreckage. And yet, here they were, alive in a stranger’s home, hiding under fake names while the rest of the world mourned them.

He glanced at Jinx again, softer this time.

“…We cheated death, babygirl,” he murmured under his breath. “Don’t know how many more times we’ll get away with it.”

When morning hit, Ernest came into the living room and gasped seeing how early Dante got up, because to his knowledge, Dante or Anthony always woke up later. 

“Tony, you are are an early riser, aren’t you? I’ll put some coffee on.” He began to walk towards the kitchen. 

“Don’t do it.” Dante simple said. “Don’t try to summon that demon.”

Ernest looked at him. “What are you saying?”

“Tell me, what are you planning to do if you are actually able to summon the demon? If normal humans were capable of defeating them, that tragedy that happened six years ago never would have happened. Don’t play tougher than you are.”

Ernest went over to a wardrobe and pulled out a shotgun. “Don’t worry about it. I’m ready.”

Dante didn’t even look at the other two shotguns in the furniture. “That thing won’t even serve as a security blanket. Does Elise have any idea what you’re planning to do?”

“This has nothing to do with her.” Ernest said softly. “You have to understand, Tony. This problem concerns me as well.”

Dante stepped back into the nursing home, the faint smell of rain still clinging to his coat. Miss Margaret sat by the window, her thin hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the gray morning beyond.

“That’s Anthony, isn’t it?” She asked softly without turning.

Dante’s brow furrowed. “How do you know?”

She finally turned, her gaze cloudy but sharp. “You were just here yesterday. Only this time… you came alone.”

“Ernest’s at work. Hazel’s resting.” Dante kept his voice even.

“I see.” Her tone was gentle, almost relieved.

“Tell me where the ruins are,” Dante said flatly.

Her hands tightened slightly on her lap. “Pardon?”

“Ernest is planning to summon that demon.”

She lowered her gaze, guilt creasing her features. “He only wants to clear you and your mother of the accusations. To give peace to her memory.”

Dante’s eyes hardened. “No. That’s not what this is.”

“Anthony…”

“Margaret,” he cut in, his voice quiet but firm, “I’m not Anthony. When I was a kid, yeah, I used that name. But after the fire, after everything, I stopped being that boy. My name is Dante.” 

He paused, exhaling. “If it makes this town feel better, I’ll keep answering to Anthony while I’m here. But right now, I need to know where those ruins are.”

For a long moment, she studied him, searching for the boy she once knew, finding only the man he’d become. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders sinking.

“The ruins lie in the forest beyond town,” she whispered.

Dante inclined his head. “Thank you.”

He turned, walking out with quiet steps. At the door, he paused just long enough to shut it softly behind him, leaving Margaret staring at the window once more.

The dirt path crunched under their boots as the ruins loomed closer through the trees. Jinx adjusted her hoodie, her limp noticeable but her smirk unbothered.

“You really think Ernest playing demon hunter’s stupid?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Dante said without hesitation. “It’ll get him killed.”

Jinx tilted her head. “Funny. I took out two demons on my own, couple years back. Didn’t die.”

That made Dante glance at her. “…Two demons?”

She nodded proudly. “Yep. One was all gooey and stretchy, kept sprouting these sharp tentacles. Hit like a jackhammer, too, busted me in the jaw so hard I saw stars. Other one was this freaky plant snake lady, throwing thorns around like confetti. Real pain in the ass.”

Dante’s expression tightened. “…Go on.”

“So, gooey-boy stabs me in the shoulder, throws me through a wall, right? I’m bleeding everywhere, barely standing. Snake-lady’s about to carve me up. so I bluff.” Jinx grinned, tapping her temple. “Told ‘em I was Silco’s top gun. Said I could get ‘em shimmer if they kept me alive. And get this, goo-boy bought it. Retracted his blade, all serious.”

She snorted. “Then plant-bitch shows up, sees me standing there, and just bam! Shoots a dozen thorns right into goo-boy, ‘cause he was still wearing my face. I pop out from the shadows, Pow-Pow spinning, and shred the plant chick before she can blink. Whole damn floor looked like mulch. One clip, two demons. Easy.”

Dante stopped walking, staring at her. “…Plasma. And Echidna.”

Jinx blinked. “Huh?”

“That’s who you fought,” he said, voice low. “They ran with Rabbit’s crew, remember?”

He studied her, eyes narrowing. “…You actually killed Echidna?”

Jinx’s grin widened, smug. “Hell yeah I did. Sprayed her so full of lead she looked like a garden salad.”

Dante shook his head slowly, half impressed, half annoyed. “…You’re insane.”

“Insanely awesome,” Jinx corrected, bumping her shoulder into him. “Guess I don’t need babysitting after all. So yeah, plant-lady turned into salad, goo-boy almost shit himself, and I walked out still breathing. Not bad for one girl and a gun, huh?”

Dante’s jaw worked, silent a moment. Then he said, “Yeah. I remember. Because a few minutes later, Rudra showed up.”

Jinx blinked, her grin faltering. “…Oh.”

“Wind bastard nearly cut me in half,” Dante muttered, eyes narrowing as memory pulled him back. “I was already half-dead from going full Devil. You pulled the trigger on him, even if the bullet didn’t scratch him. Gave me just enough of an opening to finish him.”

Jinx frowned, shifting her weight. “…And that’s when I found out you weren’t exactly human anymore.”

“Mm.” Dante glanced at her sidelong. “And that you were about two seconds away from blowing my head off when you saw me like that.”

“Duh.” She poked his arm.

Dante huffed, shaking his head. “Point is, you weren’t supposed to survive that day. Not Rudra, not Plasma, not Echidna. Hell, not me either. And yet, somehow, here we are.”

Jinx’s smirk softened. “Yeah… guess we’re both too damn stubborn to stay dead.”

The ruins were alive with a sickly glow. Ernest knelt before the summoning circle, shotgun trembling in his grip as ancient runes lit beneath him. The hellgate pulsed like a beating heart, tearing the sky open with coils of shadow.

From the abyss stepped something massive. Thirty feet tall, wings stretched wide like tattered sails, its skin a deathly gray, its coat as black as coal. Its face was a twisted fusion of predator and nightmare, avian beak forged of jagged metal, crimson eyes burning like coals, ears flared like a bat’s, claws bone-white and long enough to shred stone.

Ernest tried to raise his shotgun. His arms wouldn’t obey. His whole body locked in place, pinned by some invisible weight. Maybe it was fear, sorcery, maybe both.

“D-Damn it… I can’t move,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

The demon’s shadow engulfed him as one massive hand rose, ready to crush him.

And then, Dante was there. A blur of white and steel, Force Edge catching the light as he shoved Ernest out of the way. The ground split where the claw slammed down, sending dirt and stone flying.

Ernest crashed hard to the earth, eyes wide. “Anthony…?”

But Dante didn’t answer. He was already airborne, sword flashing as he brought it down across the edge of the hellgate itself. Sparks and dark flame screamed from the impact.

The demon stepped fully into the mortal plane now, looming above. Its fist swung at Dante in a thunderous arc. Dante met it with his blade, the clash shaking the ruins.

Then, through the monster’s jagged beak, came a voice that was gravelly, distorted, like words grinding through rusted iron. “…Are you Dante?”

Dante blinked, straining against the weight of the blow. “What?”

The demon leaned closer, breath reeking of brimstone. “Are… you… Dante?”

Dante squinted. “Man, I can barely understand you. Sounds like you’re talking through a busted voice filter.”

The demon leaned down, its massive beak clicking as it rasped again, the words half-swallowed by the distortion of its voice.

“…Six years ago… fire… my doing… I sought you, Dante…”

Dante’s grip on Force Edge tightened, his jaw set. “What?”

The monster straightened, wings beating against the storm as its voice grated on like metal grinding stone. “The town… ash and screams… all for you. Blood of… Sparda.”

Dante’s eyes flickered red for a second, that truth cutting through him harder than the demon’s strikes.

From the ground, Ernest pushed himself halfway up, clutching his side. His face went pale as the guttural words sank in clearer to him than to Dante. 

“It… it says the fire was… for you. Dante… it says… you’re—” His head knocked back against the stones where Dante had shoved him, the impact too much. Ernest slumped, unconscious.

“Perfect,” Dante muttered under his breath.

That’s when Jinx stumbled into the ruins, hood down, pistol already drawn. She stopped dead at the sight of the beast towering over them. “Oh, fuck me sideways.”

The demon’s head snapped toward her, guttural voice grinding through another phrase. “More prey…”

“What the hell is it saying?” Jinx called, eye darting between Dante and the monster.

Dante blocked another swipe of its claw, boots skidding across the cracked earth. “Not a clue. I think it’s trying to confess or something.”

Jinx squinted, mocking the demon with a nasally croak. “Rrrghh… Daaanntee… rawr rawr rawr.”

Dante smirked, even as he strained against the demon’s weight. “Yeah, that’s about as clear as I get too.”

The demon reared back, its chest swelling with a molten glow. Dante’s instincts screamed a split-second before the beast vomited a torrent of fire across the ruins. He ducked low, Force Edge cleaving a line through the flames, but the heat still seared the air around him.

“Shit!” Jinx yelped, diving behind a toppled pillar, dragging Ernest’s limp arm with her. Her pistol barked out three sharp shots, pink flashes sparking against the demon’s gray hide. They didn’t do much, barely singed it but at least it turned its head her way.

“Yo, ugly!” Jinx yelled, waving with her good hand. “You sound like you swallowed a harmonica and a blender!”

The demon hissed, firelight spilling from the cracks in its beak. Its wing lashed down, shattering stone, the shockwave sending Jinx tumbling with Ernest clutched to her side. She winced, teeth clenched as her bad shoulder flared in agony.

Dante snarled, intercepting the next claw swipe with Force Edge, sparks exploding. 

“Jinx!” He barked.

“I’m fine!” She shot back, half-laughing through the pain. “Well, mostly fine! Okay, not fine! But still standing!” 

She propped herself against rubble and fired another round.

The demon’s chest began to glow again, heat flooding the ruins. Dante’s eyes narrowed, he knew what was coming.

“Enough!” He slammed his sword into the ground, pushing against the fiery wave to split it apart. Embers still showered past, licking at Jinx’s hood.

He whipped around, red eyes locking onto her. “Grab Ernest and run! This is gonna take me a minute.”

“Run? Excuse me?” Jinx snapped, firing another shot for spite.

“Unless you like being barbecued, yeah.” Dante’s voice was firm but not without a crooked grin. “Go. I’ll catch up after I teach this mumbling freak how to enunciate.”

The demon screeched, the ruins trembling under its massive steps as it bore down on Dante.

Jinx scowled, hating every word out of his mouth, but she slung Ernest’s arm over her shoulder anyway, dragging him toward the treeline. “You better not die again!”

The demon lunged, its massive hand slamming down with enough force to crater the stone. Dante slid sideways, sparks flying under his boots as he let the shockwave carry him into a tight spin. The Force Edge whistled through the air, carving a glowing scar across the demon’s wrist.

“Yeesh,” Dante quipped as blood like molten tar sprayed across the ruins, “ever heard of moisturizer? That dry skin’s a killer.”

The beast shrieked, flapping its wings to launch itself skyward before dive-bombing like a monstrous falcon. Dante just smirked. He drew Ebony and Ivory in a single smooth motion, spinning once before unloading a storm of gunfire into the demon’s face. The bullets sparked and rang against its metal-like beak.

The demon tried to roar, but the garbled, distorted voice came out as a glitching grind, half-snarled words wrapped in static.
“Daaa…n-teeeh… halfff-breeed… myyy… purrr-pohhhh—”

Dante tilted his head. “I’m sorry, what? You sound like a radio stuck between stations.”

It roared louder, the words almost, but not quite, it was still comprehensible. “Fiiiirrrre… waaas… miiiinnn… youuuuu…”

“Ohhh, that’s cute.” Dante holstered his guns, leapt into the air, and drove both boots into the demon’s chest mid-sentence, forcing it back toward the ruined gate. “Gonna need subtitles if you wanna monologue, pal.”

The beast swung wild in rage, claws cleaving pillars in half, stone raining down. Dante backflipped onto the collapsing rubble, sprinted across the falling stones like stepping-stairs, and then launched himself sky-high. His form blurred, devil power flaring, eyes burning crimson.

Force Edge shimmered with demonic energy as he grinned down at the beast. “Lesson one in speaking Dante: if I can’t understand you…” 

He dove. “…shut up and die.”

The blade pierced clean through the demon’s skull, light detonating outward. The beast convulsed, wings thrashing before its body imploded in a rush of ash and fire, the hellgate collapsing with it.

Dante landed smoothly in the dirt, brushing soot off his coat. “Minute’s up.”

Ernest stirred awake to the sharp smell of antiseptic. White ceiling, thin sheets, the steady tick of a clock, he was in a hospital bed. Blinking, he turned his head and saw Elise sitting close, her hand wrapped around his. Relief softened her face the moment his eyes opened.

“Where’s the demon?” He rasped, trying to push himself upright.

Elise gently pressed him back. “It’s alright now, Ernest. There are no demons.”

He shook his head, breath quickening. “No… no, I saw it. I know I did.” His hand fumbled at the blanket, as if searching for the shotgun that wasn’t there. “How did I end up here?”

“You collapsed at the ruins,” Elise said softly, her thumb brushing his knuckles. “Hazel and Anthony brought you back.”

Ernest froze, her words sinking in. “Anthony? No.” His voice hardened. “Dante. His name is Dante. Where is he, Elise? Tell me.”

Her expression faltered. “He just left.”

Ernest’s jaw clenched. He swung his legs over the side of the bed despite the IV tugging at his arm. Elise rose, startled, but he ignored her.

“Ernest, wait—”

He shoved himself to his feet, unsteady but driven, and staggered toward the door.

They were passing down the corridor when Ernest stumbled out and caught sight of them.

“Wait! You demon!” He barked.

Dante halted. Jinx glanced between him and Ernest. Dante didn’t turn; he only kept walking, deliberately slow.

Elise stepped forward, placing a hand on Ernest’s chest. “Ernest, stop. What’s going on?”

Ernest shoved her away with a trembling hand and pointed at Dante like the man held all the town’s grief in his palms. 

“You bastard!” He screamed. “If you hadn’t been here, none of the people in this town would have died. It’s all your fault. You murdered them. That demon burned the place down looking for you! You lied to me and to Margaret. I will never forgive you. Neither will those who died. Do you hear me? Don’t you ever come back here again, if you do, I’ll kill you!”

His voice cracked on the last word, raw with years of blame and fresh with the wound of the ruins. Dante kept walking, expression unreadable, as the corridor filled with the echo of Ernest’s fury.

Moonlight spilled across the quiet port, silver ripples dancing over the water. Jinx and Dante stepped onto a modest little boat, its wood worn but sturdy, with just enough space for a cramped living quarter below deck. For once, it didn’t look stolen.

Jinx dropped into one of the benches, a folded newspaper in her hand, eyes scanning the print in silence. Dante crouched near the ropes, untying the last knot that bound them to the pier. The soft creak of wood and splash of water filled the still night as their boat drifted free.

The boat rocked gently as Dante untied the last rope, the pier shrinking behind them. Jinx sat cross-legged in the small cabin doorway, newspaper spread wide across her lap.

The headline nearly covered the whole front page:

“The Hexgates War — Piltover Stands, but at a Cost”

Her eye darted down the columns. Noxian fleet pounding the coast. Piltover nearly burning, Zaun choking under smoke.

And then the part that made her pause, fingertips pressing hard against the paper as if she could blot the words out:

Two Zaunite figures gave their lives during The Hexgates War. The red-clad gunman. And the mad bomber turned unlikely defender.

Her throat bobbed. She gave a crooked little laugh, brittle at the edges. “Huh. Would ya look at that? We’re big damn heroes… and dead ones.”

Dante leaned on the railing, arms crossed, watching the moonlight break over the waves. “Guess it means we don’t have to send thank-you notes.”

Jinx shot him a look, the paper trembling in her hands. “They think we’re gone, Dante. Vi, Cait… Ekko, Zeri. All of ‘em.”

He tilted his head toward her, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. And that’s the point.”

Jinx folded the paper, hugging it against her chest as if it might slip away. She glanced at Dante, his profile framed by the silver light off the waves. His gaze hadn’t left Morrison Port, the lanterns along the dock already shrinking to specks.

“So…” she finally said, her voice quieter than usual. “How do you feel? Y’know… about what Ernest spat at you. Murderer, demon, all that crap.”

Dante didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, eyes still locked on the port, like he could stare through the distance and see Ernest still raging on the hospital steps. At last, he gave a humorless chuckle. “It’s not the first time I’ve been called a demon, and it won’t be the last. As for murderer… well. Can’t exactly argue the blood on my hands.”

Jinx tilted her head, studying him. “That sounded way less cocky than usual. Almost like you actually care.”

Dante smirked faintly, finally pulling his eyes off the receding lights. “I care enough to keep moving. That’s all that matters.”

Jinx watched him for a long beat, her fingers drumming against the folded paper. Dante could act all unshakable, all devil-may-care, but she knew that look in his eyes, the one where he let the weight creep in, even if only for a second.

She hopped down from where she sat, padding across the little deck. Without asking, she slid in beside him, resting her good hand against his arm.

“Hey,” she said softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’ve always been there when I was falling apart. When the voices got too loud, when I thought the whole world wanted me gone… you didn’t let go.”

Dante glanced at her, the edges of his mouth twitching into something gentler.

“So now it’s my turn,” she added, giving his arm a squeeze. “If Ernest wants to spit blame, let him choke on it. We know the truth. You’ve saved more people than he’ll ever realize.”

For a moment, the only sound was the lapping of water against the boat. Dante exhaled, a slow release of something he didn’t admit he was holding.

“Guess I lucked out,” he muttered. “Got a maniac who refuses to let me brood in peace.”

“Damn right,” Jinx said, flashing him a crooked grin. “You’re stuck with me, big guy.”

They stayed quiet, only the waves slapping against the hull filling the silence. Jinx shifted, brushing her hair from her face before letting out a small sigh.

“Alright, broody, I’m heading to the bunks before I pass out on deck.” She gave him a wink with her good eye, playful even through the weariness. “Don’t take too long to join me.”

Dante’s gaze stayed locked on Morrison Port, unreadable. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jinx studied him for a second, lips pursed like she wanted to argue, but instead she just nodded and ducked below deck, leaving Dante alone with the moonlit sea.

Dante let out a long sigh and pushed himself up, ready to head below deck. But a ripple of energy crawled over his skin. His hand went to Ivory without hesitation, the gun snapping up as a figure shimmered into focus.

LeBlanc, in her truest, most favored guise.

“It’s been a while,” Dante muttered, eyeing her with a half-smirk. “Guess you finally retired the stripper look.”

Her expression didn’t flinch. “It’s been a while, spawn of Sparda.”

Dante cocked a brow. “Oh, so you knew? Funny, you never brought that up back when I was doing your dirty work in Noxus.”

“The Black Rose’s ties to your parents are… complicated,” she said smoothly, her gaze sliding toward Morris Port. “And now you return to your second home.”

Dante tightened his grip on Ivory. “Cut the nostalgia. What do you want?”

“I came only to apologize… and to show my gratitude,” LeBlanc said, her voice calm, deliberate.

Dante tilted his head. “About what, exactly?”

“The girl in Zaun. The young mage. Zeri, was it? I regret our attempt to take her from you. Had we known she was under your protection, we never would have interfered.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “And the gratitude part?”

“You saved Runeterra,” she replied simply. 

“Even if… not in the way we preferred. We had hoped you would rid us of Ambessa, rather than leaving that burden to the younger Medarda. Still…” her lips curved faintly, “…you ended the Herald of the Arcane, silenced his so-called Glorious Evolution, and denied Mordekaiser and his Dark Angel their conquest of the mortal realm. For that… even the Black Rose must give thanks.”

Dante let out a short laugh, spinning Ivory on his finger before holstering it. “So that’s it? A half-assed ‘sorry’ and a pat on the back? Didn’t know the Black Rose did thank-you cards.”

LeBlanc’s eyes narrowed, though her expression stayed unreadable. “Mock if you wish. Gratitude from us is rare.”

“Yeah, I’ll frame it. Real treasure.” Dante stepped closer, gaze sharp. “But let’s cut the crap, you don’t show up just to stroke my ego. What aren’t you saying?”

Her smile was faint, knowing. “You’re still searching for him, aren’t you? Your other half.”

Dante’s jaw tightened for a heartbeat, though his tone stayed dry. “News travels fast. Guess gossip’s another one of your magic tricks.”

“We won’t stand in your way,” she said smoothly. “Whatever paths you walk, the Black Rose has no intention of… interfering.”

“Right. And I’m supposed to trust that?” Dante muttered, eyes narrowing. “Lady, every time you open your mouth it feels like you’re hiding three other things. So here’s my advice, stay out of my way. If you don’t, your little apology tour ends with a bang.”

For a moment, the stormlight caught in LeBlanc’s eyes, reflecting something both amused and dangerous. But she said nothing more.

The night air clung heavy with salt as LeBlanc’s illusion held steady, her eyes sharp on Dante. Her hand rose, not touching, just gesturing faintly toward his cheek — where the faint outline of the Bilgewater sigil inked his skin like a brand.

“You’ll head there next,” she said softly, a razor’s edge beneath the silk. “Bilgewater. To the ones who chained you. The mark still suits you, you know. It tells the story better than any words.”

Dante’s grip on Ivory tightened. “Careful. You’re not the first to point that out. And the last one ain’t talkin’ anymore.”

LeBlanc’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Oh, I’m not mocking you, Dante. Quite the opposite. A slave who became a devil-slayer… it’s almost poetic. The chains forged you as much as your bloodline ever did.”

Dante tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If you came here just to play historian, you wasted your time.”

Her gaze shifted past him, as if she could see through the cabin walls, where Jinx slept below deck. “And then there’s her. Your volatile little spark. Does she know all of it? The blood, the brand, the things you did to survive? Or does she only see the smirk you wear to hide it?”

Dante’s smirk dropped into something harder, sharper. “Say one more word about her, and I’ll make sure you regret slithering out here.”

For a beat, neither blinked. Then LeBlanc’s form shimmered, the illusion beginning to unravel like smoke in the wind.

“You’ll go to Bilgewater,” her voice echoed faintly, almost like a prophecy. “And when you do, remember, you’re not the only one with chains.”

And then she was gone.

Dante stood alone on the deck, the moonlight catching the faint scar on his cheek. He exhaled through his nose, muttering, “Still talk too damn much.”

Dante finally lowered Ivory, holstering it with a grunt. The night was quiet again, only the soft slap of water against the boat’s hull. He dragged a hand down his face, forcing out a breath before heading inside.

The cabin smelled faintly of gunpowder and salt, somehow already theirs despite being borrowed. Jinx had tossed her hoodie aside, sitting cross-legged on the cot with her hood off, pale skin stark against the bandages wrapped around her chest. She twirled one of the straps between her fingers, smirking when she saw him.

“Don't look back
Don't regret
Time's falling out of these hands
I'll let you leave me”

“Don’t give me that look, tough guy. These are for style. I make ‘em work.”

Dante leaned against the doorframe, one brow arched. “Style, huh? Closest thing you’ll ever use as a bra, more like.”

Jinx stuck her tongue out, then patted the space beside her. “Come here, smartass. You look like you’ve been chewed up and spit out.”

With a quiet huff, Dante crossed the room and let himself sink down beside her. She tugged him down further, guiding his head to rest against her chest, right where the steady rhythm of her heartbeat thumped under the bandages.

“See? Functional and fashionable,” Jinx teased, threading her fingers through his white hair.

Dante closed his eyes, letting the edge in him soften as she hummed something low, tuneless but sweet, vibrations running through her chest into his cheek. For once, he didn’t bother with a comeback.

“Every precious time
Let it go
Somewhere away
You will learn, and you'll love, forgive the past and you can move on”

The storm outside, the marks of his past, the weight of LeBlanc’s words. All of it dulled as Jinx’s hum carried him into a rare kind of quiet.

Dante let himself sink into the quiet, cheek resting against her chest as her humming faded into soft breaths. Then Jinx shifted, her good hand brushing his hair back before slipping to the bandage over her left eye.

“Hey… wanna see something cool?” She whispered.

He lifted his head slightly, brows knitting. “Cool or reckless?”

“Both,” she said with a crooked grin. With a tug, she peeled the bandage away. Her eye blinked open slowly. Was it bloodshot, yes, but whole again, alive with its sharp blue gleam.

Dante stared, lips parting just a fraction.

“Tada,” Jinx sang quietly. “No more pirate cosplay. Just gotta deal with the bum arm now.” She tapped the sling with her fingers, then softened. “Guess having a little of your blood in me isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened.”

For a moment, Dante said nothing. He just searched her gaze, his usual smirk tempered into something rare, almost reverent. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t scare me like that again, babygirl.”

Jinx grinned wider, even as her cheeks warmed. “Not making any promises.”

Jinx traced lazy circles on his chest with her good hand, her newly healed eye gleaming mischievously.

“So…” she began, stretching the word out, “if your blood’s knitting me back together… does that mean I’m, like, half-demon now too?”

Dante raised a brow. “You’re not sprouting horns anytime soon, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Aw.” She pouted exaggeratedly, then her grin returned, wicked sharp. “Well… if it means I’ll heal faster, that also means we can get back to sexy time sooner.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re still broken in half and that’s where your brain goes? Why are you so damn horny all the time?”

“Why?” Jinx sat up a little, her smile softening but her voice earnest. “Because you’re my first everything, dummy. First kiss. First real partner. First person who didn’t run away when I showed ‘em all my crazy. You make me feel safe enough to want things I never thought I’d get. You’re the first one who made me want this, want you. That’s why I’m into it.”

For once, Dante didn’t have a snark ready. He just looked at her. really looked and the corner of his mouth lifted, slow and genuine.

“Damn, Bluebell,” he muttered, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “you know how to shut me up when you want to.”

Jinx tilted her head, watching him with that glimmer that always made his chest tighten. “So… once I’m all healed up… you won’t hold back, right?”

Dante smirked, though there was a weight behind it. “That’s the idea. You deserve better than half-measures.”

Her grin spread wide. “Even if you’re in demon mode? With all the scary glowing eyes, claws, and raw power?”

He chuckled low, leaning closer until his lips brushed her ear. “Especially then.”

“Every precious time
Let it go
Somewhere away
You will learn, and you'll love, forgive the past”

That made her shiver, her good hand curling into his shirt. But before she could tease him further, Dante slid his arms around her carefully, shifting her back down onto the bedding.

“Not yet, Bluebell,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over her, his tone softer now. “Your bones still need time. Rest first. Raise hell later.”

She sighed but melted into his touch, her grin lingering even as her eyes fluttered shut. “M’kay… just don’t forget that promise.”

“Not a chance,” Dante whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face before settling in beside her, keeping watch as she drifted off.

Dante leaned back against the small cabin wall, one arm draped protectively around her. Jinx’s breathing had already slowed, soft and steady, the rise and fall of her chest brushing against him with each breath.

He stared at her bandaged arm, the faint scar at her temple where her eye had healed, the way her body still trembled sometimes even in sleep. She’d nearly burned herself out to nothing. She should’ve been gone.

The thought twisted in his chest. He’d promised her he wouldn’t hold back once she was healed, but a darker whisper gnawed at him: what if she couldn’t survive the weight of his world? What if his blood, his demons, dragged her under instead of keeping her alive?

He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze upward, but his arm tightened around her anyway, like if he held on tight enough, he could defy fate itself.

“Go on,
You know Home is always inside your soul
Wherever you go
Whatever you see
I'll be the place
And I'll be your home”

Then, half-asleep, Jinx stirred. Her lips brushed his collarbone as she mumbled, words tumbling out with the softness of a dream. “No matter what… I’ll be your home.”

Dante froze, breath caught in his throat. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. He let out a quiet laugh, low and raw, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Guess I don’t get a choice then,” he whispered.

And in the silence of the storm-tossed sea, Dante finally let himself close his eyes, holding his home close.

Chapter Text

JINX:
The boat creaked gently, waves slapping against its hull as night stretched across the sea. Inside the cramped little cabin, Jinx sat cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with the last of her wrappings. With a sharp tug, she slipped her arm free of the sling and flexed her fingers experimentally. The bandages still hugged her arm tight, but the way her grin spread made it clear she was glad to finally ditch the thing.

“Finally. That sling was making me look frail. And that’s not exactly the vibe I’m going for.” She tossed the cloth aside, then leaned back against the wall, eyeing Dante. “You sure about this, Hellblood? Bilgewater’s not exactly on my bucket list.”

Dante leaned against the opposite wall, one knee bent, arms folded. The dim lantern light caught the faint shimmer of the tattoo etched into his cheek. The old sigil looked like nothing more than a jagged mark to anyone else, but Jinx’s stare lingered on it like it was a wound.

“That thing,” she muttered, pointing with her thumb. “Mercury ink. You told me once. Any normal guy would’ve been six feet under years ago. You’re only standing ‘cause you’re half-Sparda.”

Dante smirked, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah. Guess you could say it’s the best souvenir Bilgewater had to offer. Every time I look in the mirror, I get to remember I survived being their property.”

Jinx tilted her head. “So why go back? You already outlived ‘em, don’t you think that’s enough of a middle finger?”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s not about them. It’s about me. I need closure. Bilgewater’s where I stopped being a kid and learned how to pull a trigger. First place I set foot outside Piltover and Zaun. First place I realized the world was bigger, uglier, and meaner than I could’ve imagined.”

His gaze shifted out the small round window, where the black sea seemed endless. “But it’s also where I became a gunslinger worth a damn. Rebellion’s my blood, sure, but Ebony and Ivory? I wouldn’t be who I am without Bilgewater. Can’t keep running from that part of me.”

Jinx swung her legs off the bed, padding barefoot to stand in front of him. Her good eye locked on his, curious and unblinking.

“You going for closure,” she said, “or revenge?”

Dante gave her a crooked smile, though his eyes betrayed the weight behind it. “Guess I’ll find out when we get there.”

Jinx leaned her hip against the little desk bolted to the cabin wall, her fingers drumming absently against the wood. Her eye drifted down, not on Dante, not on the sea, but somewhere further back.

“You know…” she started, her voice softer than usual, “I always thought about Bilgewater. That night… when I painted the street red, when I accidentally killed Vander, Mylo, and Claggor… when Vi finally gave up on me, I could’ve run there. Could’ve just hopped a ship and been done with Zaun.”

Her lip curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. 

“Would’ve been wild, right? Me in Bilgewater, no Silco, no shimmer. Just another stray with bombs and bad ideas. But…” she shrugged, almost bitter, “Silco found me first. And you know the rest.”

Dante’s gaze lingered on her, the easy grin he usually carried fading. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t joke. Just watched her, because he knew when her voice slipped into that somber tone, the only thing that kept her from unraveling was saying it out loud.

Jinx, catching his stare, suddenly smirked again, like flipping a switch. She dug under the bedframe and pulled out Ebony and Ivory. Holding them up with exaggerated flourish, she tilted her head at him.

“Speaking of bad ideas… guess who made these beauties?” She cocked them in her hands like a show-off gunslinger. “That’s right, me. Built for you. And only you. So don’t you dare forget who your favorite gunsmith really is.”

Dante raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “I’d say they’re my favorite pair of twins… but I already know the comeback you’d make.”

Jinx chuckled, but as she went to spin Ivory in her left hand, her fingers jerked awkwardly. The gun slipped, clattering onto the desk. She hissed under her breath, grabbing her arm with a scowl.

“Damn it. Stupid broken arm.” She flexed her hand, the movement stiff, pained. “You know I’m mostly left-handed, right? Feels like I lost half my aim with this mess.”

For a moment, the smirk cracked, and the frustration bled through.

Dante stepped closer, picking up Ivory and pressing it gently back into her hand. His voice was low but firm. “Doesn’t matter. You built them. You’ll get back to pulling the trigger like nothing happened. Left-handed, right-handed, hell, upside down, you’re still you.”

Jinx huffed, biting down on a grin despite herself. “Yeah, yeah. You just like having me around ‘cause I make your toys and shoot prettier than you.”

“Prettier?” Dante smirked. “Maybe. Better? That’s still up for debate.”

Jinx let Ivory rest across her lap, her fingers tracing the barrel like it was a treasured trinket. She tilted her head at Dante, her grin edging into something softer, more dangerous.

“You know what I like most about this?” She asked, voice lilting. 

“Not just that I made them. Not just that you can’t pull off half your flashy moves without ‘em. It’s that every time you draw  every time you fire. you’re holding a piece of me. My work. My hands. My crazy little blueprints. No matter what happens in Bilgewater, or wherever else you go…” she leaned closer, whispering, “you’re mine. Got it, Hellblood?”

Dante smirked, but instead of firing back with some usual cocky quip, his eyes flicked down to Ebony in her hand. For once, he looked… thoughtful.

“You know,” he muttered, “you remind me of someone.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “Oh? This should be good. Who’s she, your super sexy ex you keep denying exists?”

Dante chuckled under his breath. “Not even close. Nell Goldstein.”

Jinx blinked. “…Who the hell is that?”

Dante leaned back against the cabin wall, crossing his arms. “Back when I started out, when I was fifteen years old, fresh off Morris Island, looking to scrape a living as a mercenary, Nell was… well, she wasn’t a fighter. She was a gunsmith. The best I’d ever met. Maybe the best there ever was.” 

He shrugged, like trying to downplay it.

“I was just some punk kid with a sword and a chip on my shoulder. She didn’t treat me like a soldier, or a customer. More like…” he hesitated, then admitted, “a son. Every gun I used before Ebony and Ivory, her handiwork. She looked out for me when nobody else would.”

Jinx twirled a strand of hair, squinting at him. “So… she was like your gun-mom?”

“Gun-mom.” Dante let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Guess you could say that.”

His smirk softened into something real. “You’d probably like her, actually. She didn’t take shit from anyone. Especially not me.”

Jinx smirked wide, leaning into him with a playful nudge. “So what you’re saying is… you’ve always had a thing for dangerous women who know their way around a gun.”

“Looks that way,” Dante said, lips twitching. “Difference is, she made the guns… you made these. And you’re right, when I draw them, I’m carrying you with me.”

Jinx pressed her cheek to his shoulder, smug satisfaction radiating off her. “Damn right. Don’t you forget it, Hellblood.”

Jinx’s lips curl up like teasing as always. “Alright, Hellblood, you don’t get to drop a whole gun-mom backstory and then clam up. What happened to her? Where’s she now?”

Dante tilted his head back against the wall, exhaling through his nose. “She has a shop in Bilgewater. Place’s called the .45 Caliber Art Warks.” 

His mouth twitched at the name, like it still sounded ridiculous even after all these years.

“.45 Caliber Art… Warks?” Jinx repeated, trying not to snort. “Sounds like a gun store run by a drunk parrot.”

“Yeah, well,” Dante said with a faint smirk, “don’t let the name fool you. Nell’s a legend. Probably the best gunsmith in Runeterra. Present company excluded.”

“Mmhm,” Jinx hummed, pretending to polish Ivory against her shirt. “Good save.”

“Thing is,” Dante went on, tone shifting more serious, “Bilgewater’s got its rules. Ugly, bloody place, but even the cutthroats know not to touch their gunsmiths. You mess with the people who make your weapons, you’re basically digging your own grave.”

He shrugged. “So, odds are, Nell’s safe. Probably yelling at some pirate for tracking mud into her shop while she hammers out cannons and rifles.”

Jinx tilted her head, lips quirking into something softer. “…You sound like you actually believe that.”

“I have to.” Dante glanced at Ebony and Ivory again. “World’s already taken enough from me. If Nell’s still breathing, it’s because she’s too damn stubborn to quit.”

Jinx nudged him with her elbow. “Stubborn gun-mom, stubborn blue-haired girlfriend. I’m seeing a pattern here, Hellblood.”

Dante let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, and I don’t regret a single one.”

Jinx flopped onto the narrow bed, the springs squeaking under her weight. She patted her thigh with her good hand, grinning. “C’mere. Story time.”

Dante blinked, caught off guard. “Story time?”

“Yeah. You know, like a kid’s bedtime tale, except instead of princesses and fairy godmothers, it’s about how my demon boyfriend ran off to pirate-land when he was fifteen.” She patted her lap again. “Pillow’s ready.”

He raised an eyebrow. “…You’ve never asked for this before.”

“Exactly. First time for everything.” Her grin widened, mischievous and daring. “C’mon, big guy, lay down before I drag that white mop of yours here myself.”

Dante sighed through his nose, muttering something about “pushy girlfriends,” but eased himself down, resting his head on her lap. The bed dipped under his weight, and for once, he felt a rare, awkward vulnerability settle in.

Jinx immediately started ruffling his hair with her fingers, deliberately rough at first. 

“Good boy,” she teased, petting him like a dog.

“…You’re enjoying this way too much,” Dante muttered, though he didn’t move.

“Damn right I am. Now… spill it. Fifteen-year-old Dante, new kid in Bilgewater. How’d you end up there? And none of that vague broody crap either. If we’re going back for closure, I want the full story.” Her tone softened just a touch as her fingers stilled in his hair. “What are we walking into?”

Dante stared up at the ceiling of the cramped cabin, jaw tightening as the past clawed its way back. 

“Bilgewater’s not the kind of place you walk into unprepared. It chews people up and spits out bones.” His voice dropped, low and dry. “And at fifteen, I was already half-dead. Made it a lot easier to survive there.”

Her hand resumed its slow, absent-minded petting, the playful smirk returning. “Mm. So what you’re saying is, you were Bilgewater’s stray mutt. Guess it makes sense why you’re letting me pet you now.”

“Keep it up, and I might bite,” Dante said, closing his eyes with a crooked grin.

Jinx chuckled, leaning down so her breath tickled his ear. “Promise?”

“You know I do.” He took a dee breath and closed his eyes. 

DANTE:
The memory opened in Dante’s mind like a curtain being pulled back. Bilgewater wasn’t even on his horizon then. All he knew was Morris Island in ashes, his foster mother’s eyes full of fear, and the weight of Rebellion stuffed into a guitar case nearly bigger than him.

Fifteen, alone, unwanted. He slipped onto a fishing boat under moonlight, the brine stinging his nose, every creak of the boards loud enough to wake the dead.

“Hold up.” Jinx’s voice broke through, tugging him out of the reel. “You mean to tell me that little you lugged that sword around in a case? Bet you looked like a shrimp trying to cosplay as a musician.”

Dante shot her a look from her lap. “First off, I made it work. Second, are you gonna let me tell the story, or narrate it for me?”

She smirked, twirling a strand of his white hair. “I like my version better.”

He groaned but sank back down. The memory resumed.

He’d barely made it three steps into the cargo hold before a deckhand caught him. Calloused fingers grabbed his collar, yanking him into the lamplight.

“Ohhh!” Jinx cut in again. “Did you stab him? Please tell me you stabbed him.”

“…No,” Dante sighed, glancing up at her. “Not everything ends in me stabbing people, y’know.”

She arched a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The flashback flickered back on. The sailor had stared him down, demanding to know what the hell a kid was doing on board. Dante, desperate, had fumbled in his pocket and offered up his only treasure: half a bag of stale jerky.

“Wait, wait.” Jinx leaned over, grinning. “You bribed your way onto a ship with beef snacks?!”

“…Yes.”

“That’s the lamest, most you thing ever.” She cackled, nearly knocking him off her lap.

“Can I please finish this memory?” Dante muttered, rubbing his temple.

“Fine, fine. Go on, Captain Jerky.”

The memory steadied again. The waves lapping, the cramped hold smelling of fish and salt. Weeks passed before the ship finally moored in Bilgewater, and when Dante stepped off those creaking planks, he was just a scrawny kid with a too-big sword and nothing but survival in his eyes.

“Holy shit…” Dante muttered as his boots hit the rickety planks of the bay. The smell of salt, smoke, and blood mixed in the air, gulls screaming overhead. A part of him, was fifteen, ragged, with only a blade hidden in a too-big case and he saw the chaos of Bilgewater as…

“This is amazing,” he breathed.

“Really?” Jinx’s voice cut in, snapping the memory like a thread. “That’s what you said? All dramatic entrance and you go with ‘amazing’?”

Dante cracked open one eye from her lap, giving her a lazy glare. “Hey. For a half-starved fifteen-year-old supe up kid with no clue what the hell he was walking into? Yeah, it was amazing.”

Jinx smirked, tapping his forehead with her finger. “You’re supposed to say something cooler, y’know. Like, ‘Welcome to hell’ or ‘Time to make Bilgewater bleed’ something with teeth.”

He shut his eye again with a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Mm. Sorry to disappoint, Bluebell. Not every moment needs teeth.”

Dante pushed open the tavern door, the stink of stale rum and gunpowder slapping him in the face. Before he could even take a step inside—

BANG!

A shot rang out. He flinched hard, throwing his hands up. “Whoa! No-no-no—!”

The bullet punched into his chest, dropping him flat on the floor, motionless.

The memory shattered with Jinx’s laughter ringing in his ears. She was doubled over, tears welling as she wiped her good eye. “OH BY JANNA! You’re telling me, you stroll into your first Bilgewater tavern and just eat lead? That’s your big badass debut?”

Dante cracked an eye open from her lap, unimpressed. “Glad my near-death trauma’s comedy hour for you.”

“Nah, nah, this is gold. You were building up this big juicy lore dump about your wild youth and then… BAM! Curtain call! Seems to me like you skipping a few beats here.”

He huffed, defensive. “Hey, you remember what you were like at fifteen?”

“I do, actually,” she said with a wicked grin.

“Well, in my defense…” Dante rubbed the back of his neck. “Everything kinda gets jumbled when your life’s a daily circus of demons, magic, monsters nonsense. Forgive me if I don’t keep track of every bullet wound.”

Dante’s eyes fluttered open, a groan slipping out before he let out a short laugh. “Oh, this whole ‘fast healing’ thing? Definitely gonna come in handy.”

He pushed himself off the tavern floor, a little shaky, and yanked Rebellion from the oversized guitar case. It looked clumsy for a beat,  but then, in one smooth swing, he lunged into the brawl. Chairs splintered, bottles shattered, and somehow he ended up with two flintlock pistols. His fingers blurred on the triggers, firing faster than the ancient things were ever meant to shoot.

“Ah, fast fingers~,” Jinx purred in her best sultry tone, instantly snapping the memory apart.

Dante groaned, tilting his head to glare up at her from her lap. “You just couldn’t help yourself to make it dirty, could you?”

“Not my fault it’s true.” She smirked, her fingers absentmindedly combing through his white hair. “So, was that the first time you realized you had the whole regeneration trick? ‘Cause when we met, you played your super strength off like it was just all in the wrist.”

He gave a half-smile. “Eh. When I was five, I already had enough strength to push furniture around. Me and Vergil used to beat the hell out of each other in the backyard till we were a bloody mess.”

“Jeez,” Jinx muttered, blinking. “And here I thought my pillow fights with Vi were bad. How the hell did your mom put up with the two of you?”

Dante’s eyes softened for just a second. “Honestly? No idea.”

The memory kept rolling. Things such as fists, blades, and bottles flying until the flint pistols finally cracked in his hands, the metal splintering from the sheer strain of his shots. Dante had stood there, chest still bleeding but already closing up, staring at the broken weapons like he’d done something wrong.

Back in the present, Jinx snorted. “So that’s when the whole ‘I break guns’ curse started, huh?”

“Yep,” Dante said, his tone flat but amused as he stretched his arms behind his head. “Five long years of always having to buy a new pair. Over and over.”

“Until I made our babies.” Jinx leaned down close to him, her grin sharp, her eyes gleaming with pride. “Ebony and Ivory.”

Dante smirked, looking right back at her. “Yeah. And for once, they’re not the ones falling apart.”

“So… how’d you met this Nell Goldstein, hm?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Okay, so…”

Dante let the memory spool forward. He was fifteen again, two broken pistols clutched in his hands, clothes torn and blood soaking through every seam. The bell over the door of the shop jingled faintly as he stepped inside, the smell of gun oil and black powder wrapping around him like smoke.

Behind the counter, Nell Goldstein looked up from polishing a rifle. Her eyes scanned him top to bottom. She looked at the bleeding kid, oversized guitar case on his back, weapons in pieces.

“You planning to die in my shop, or are you gonna say something first?” She asked, voice dry as desert sand.

Dante had shuffled forward, setting the broken pistols on the counter. 

“Think you can fix ‘em?” His voice cracked halfway through, more nerves than pain.

Nell raised a brow. “Depends. You got money?”

He dug into his pocket, pulling out a few bent coins and a crumpled bill. Barely enough to buy a loaf of bread, let alone a craftsman’s work. He pushed it across the counter with a sheepish grin. “This all I got.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him. Then Nell sighed, pushed the coins back toward him, and muttered, “Kid, you’re a goddamn mess.”

Back in the present, Dante chuckled softly at the memory.

Nell didn’t touch the coins. She just gave Dante another long look, taking in the bandages that weren’t there, the wounds he wasn’t treating, the defiance in his too-young eyes.

“You’re either the dumbest runaway in Bilgewater,” she muttered, “or you’re gonna live long enough to make trouble.”

Dante shrugged, forcing a grin even though he could barely stand. “Can’t it be both?”

That earned him the faintest smirk. She slid the broken pistols off the counter. “Fine. I’ll fix ‘em. But you owe me, kid. Big time.”

Dante blinked. “Like… how big?”

“‘Don’t ask questions you can’t afford the answer to ‘big’.”

The memory faded, and Dante’s eyes flicked open in the boat cabin.

Jinx was already grinning. “So lemme get this straight, you were broke, bleeding all over the floor, and still trying to look cool in front of some lady gunsmith? Baby Dante must’ve been pathetic.”

Dante groaned, tipping his head back against her lap. “I wasn’t pathetic. Just… broke. There’s a difference.”

“You’re still broke.”

“Not my fault,” he shot back, a finger raised, “that I’m always the one paying out of pocket for damage after our little adventures.”

Jinx snorted, smacking his shoulder lightly. “That is your fault, you reckless jackass.”

Dante arched a brow, smirking. “Oh, that’s rich. Coming from you.”

Her mouth opened, then shut again. “…okay, yeah, maybe hypocrite. But still!”

Jinx leaned down over him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Sooo… how much did you actually owe this Nell lady? Couple coins? A new boat? Your soul?”

Dante let out a low chuckle. “Let’s just say I didn’t exactly walk out of there debt-free. She put me to work. Free labor. Fixing scraps, hauling crates, cleaning the shop. Basically, I was her apprentice until I could get my money up.”

Jinx burst out laughing, her voice ringing against the cabin walls. “You? Shop boy Dante? That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

He smirked, tilting his head toward her. “Laugh it up. She was cranky as hell half the time too. Hardass. But… she taught me a lot.”

Jinx poked him in the forehead. “So that’s where you got your own crankiness from, huh? Nell rubbed off on ya?”

Dante raised a brow. “Cranky? I’m charming.”

“Mm-hm,” Jinx teased, ruffling his hair. “Charming in a grumpy-old-dog kinda way.”

Dante rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “Guess it’s a family trait now, huh?”

Dante’s voice eased back into the now, low and thoughtful as Jinx’s fingers threaded lazily through his hair. “That was the first step. The one that set everything else in motion. Bobby’s Cellar was where I met Enzo, only broker willing to give a punk kid with no coin and a death wish any jobs.”

Jinx’s brows arched. “Wait,nEnzo? How the hell did he go from Bilgewater all the way to Zaun?”

Dante gave a faint huff that was almost a laugh. “He’s Enzo. Running away’s the only thing he’s ever been good at. Every time he burns a bridge, he just skips to the next port and sets up shop again.”

Jinx snorted. “Guess that tracks. Still wild he stuck his neck out for you against the Rabbit, though. Doesn’t sound like the ‘run-away guy’ you’re painting.”

Dante’s gaze softened, some distant weight flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah… but that’s Enzo too. He’ll run from anything, except when he knows he couldn’t. That night, he couldn’t.”

Jinx tilted her head, fingers still combing through his hair. “So, besides the whole ‘don’t mess with a gunsmith’ thing… are there, like, sacred pirate rules in Bilgewater? Or is it just ‘stab whoever looks at you funny’?”

Dante smirked faintly. “Nah, it’s chaos but not pure chaos. There are rules. Old ones everyone kinda knows, even if no one admits it. Like…”

He ticked them off lazily on his fingers. “One: never kill in a gunsmith’s shop. Even the dumbest thug knows you need someone to keep your weapons loaded and working. You break that, you won’t live to reload.
Two: debts are sacred. Doesn’t matter if you owe coin, blood, or a favor,’if you run out on it, Bilgewater itself’ll swallow you whole. Every tavern, every back alley, everyone’ll turn on you.
Three: never steal another captain’s cut unless you’re ready to take their ship too. No half-measures. If you want their gold, you better want their crew, their enemies, and their noose.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “And four… always respect the dead. Bilgewater doesn’t forgive graves being disturbed. Too many spirits still linger, too many sea-witches ready to collect.”

Jinx let out a low whistle. “Huh. Sounds like some messed-up pirate code. Kinda classy, in a cutthroat way.”

“It’s the only thing that keeps the city from tearing itself apart in one night,” Dante said. “Not that it doesn’t come close.”

Dante shifted a little, letting his head sink deeper into Jinx’s lap, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. 

“We should rest,” he murmured, voice low, almost a rumble. “By morning… we’ll be in Bilgewater.”

Jinx flopped back onto the bed, one arm behind her head, but she didn’t let him move. “Fine. But you’re staying right there,” she said, keeping his head on her thighs like a pillow.

Dante smirked, eyes half-lidded. “Wouldn’t dream of moving.” 

He pressed a slow kiss against her thigh, then towards the hip window on her pants, the barest brush of warmth against her skin before he closed his eyes again.

Jinx’s grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, but she kept quiet, just humming under her breath while running her fingers through his hair, letting him drift. It was strange, peaceful in a way she wasn’t used to. Usually, her head was noise, her heart beating like a drum she couldn’t turn off. But now? Now it was quiet.

Her eyes lingered on his face, slack with rest, no smirk, no sharp edge, just… comfortable. The most comfortable she’d ever seen him. She felt a warmth coil in her chest, a feeling that wasn’t sharp or loud but steady. Almost scary in its stillness.

“…I think I like this,” she whispered to herself, though she knew he couldn’t hear her. And for once, that was fine.

She let her hand settle on his shoulder, closing her own eyes at last, letting the hum of the boat and the steady rhythm of his breathing lull her into the same rare calm.

Morning broke with a thin band of gold stretching across the horizon. Dante was already on his feet, steady hands guiding the wheel as he nudged the boat toward a narrow inlet hidden between jagged cliffs. The salty air was heavier here, the cries of gulls sharper, and the smell of Bilgewater already creeping in.

The city loomed in the distance. With a sprawl of docks, crooked houses, and ships piled on top of each other like a beast that had grown too big for its own skin. But Dante kept the boat angled away from the main ports, eyes narrowing at the sight.

“Better keep this quiet,” he muttered to himself. “Last thing I need is a warm welcome from Fortune.”

Behind him, there was a thump, then arms suddenly wrapped around his middle.

“Gah—!” Dante stiffened before glancing back, already expecting the grin.

Jinx clung to his back like a kid catching her first ride, chin pressed against his shoulder.

“Morning, captain~.” Her voice was both excited and shaky, betraying the nervous buzz under her smile.

“You’re way too chipper for somebody sneaking into pirate city,” Dante said, though a smirk tugged at his lips.

“I mean, c’mon!” Jinx bounced slightly on her toes, her good arm tightening around him. “It’s Bilgewater! Whole new place, new smells, new people who’ll probably try to kill us. I’m thrilled.”

But he didn’t miss the way her leg jiggled, or how her good eye darted toward the looming sprawl in the distance, just a touch uneasy.

Dante glanced over his shoulder at her bouncing grip. “So which is it? Thrilled, or terrified?”

Jinx’s grin faltered into a twitchy smirk. “…Both.”

“Figures.” Dante eased the boat into the inlet, his voice dry but reassuring. “Relax, I know these waters better than most rats who crawl ‘em. Bilgewater’s got veins and backdoors same as Zaun. But the only difference is, instead of an undercity, it’s a whole damn port city cranked to a hundred. Salt instead of shimmer. Blades instead of fists.”

Jinx tilted her head, her messy bangs brushing his cheek. “So, like Zaun, but everyone’s louder, smellier, and armed to the teeth?”

“Pretty much.” Dante smirked. “You’ll fit right in.”

That earned him a short laugh, some of the nervous twitch in her shoulders easing as she tightened her hold around him for just a moment longer, grounding herself in his calm.

The boat scraped against the worn planks of a hidden dock, its ropes creaking as Dante secured it. Jinx hopped onto the pier with a bounce, her good arm swinging as her mismatched eyes scanned the skyline of Bilgewater—the crooked rooftops, hanging lanterns, and endless sails crowding the harbor.

“So,” she said, tilting her head at him, “what’s first? Nell’s workshop? One of your old hideouts? Or do we just go cause trouble?”

Dante tugged the guitar case that held the Force Edge over his shoulder. “Only real hideout I ever had was Nell’s place. And… I’m not sure I should go there.”

“Why not?” Jinx asked, narrowing her good eye.

He gave a low sigh, gaze wandering the streets. “Trouble has a way of finding me no matter where I go. Last thing I want is to drag it to her doorstep.”

Jinx smirked. “So when you left… things got ugly between you two?”

Dante shook his head. “No. Nell’s solid. Always was. But… my time in Bilgewater didn’t end quiet. Ended battle after battle. Even one of ‘em might’ve even shifted the whole damn city.”

That got her attention. She leaned in, eyes wide. “Wait, wait. Might’ve changed the city? What battle? What happened?”

He smirked, brushing past her with a lazy shrug. “That’s a story for another time.”

“Ugh.” Jinx groaned, throwing her hands up. “You’re the worst lore-dumper ever.”

Dante only smirked, leading the way into the city’s veins. And Jinx walked alongside him, her eyes darting from the bustling markets to the crooked taverns and the sails blotting out chunks of the sky. Voices rose from every corner. There were sailors shouting deals, merchants haggling, pirates laughing too loud with too much drink already in them.

“Huh…” she muttered, tilting her head. “Y’know, this feels a little like Zaun. All loud, crowded, shady corners everywhere. Except…”

Her gaze caught on a line of well-fed dockhands carrying crates. “…people here don’t look half as desperate. No shacks made of scrap. No kids chewing rocks ‘cause it’s all they got. Guess folks here aren’t starving.”

Dante nodded, his pace steady. “Bilgewater’s ugly, yeah, but it runs on trade. Coin flows in and out like the tides. You can scrape by here, even if you’ve got nothing but guts and grit.”

Jinx folded her arms. “So basically, Zaun with fewer people coughing themselves to death in the gutters.”

“Pretty much.” Dante smirked faintly. “Here, the ocean keeps you alive. In Zaun… it’s the chemicals trying to kill you every day.”

She snorted, kicking a loose pebble down the street. “Yeah, no wonder you stuck around here so long.”

The closer they got to the heart of Bilgewater, the more the air thickened with fish oil, salt, and rum. Dante’s sharp ears picked up the whispers first, low chuckles, a whistle, boots scuffing behind them in a rhythm too deliberate to be random.

One thug’s eyes lingered on the mercury-ink sigil inked into Dante’s cheek. Another’s gaze drifted lower, catching the faint gleam of Jinx’s pistol tucked beneath her jacket. Both exchanged a grin like they’d just smelled blood in the water.

Dante didn’t even bother looking back. He could feel the weight of their stares, the way sharks circle a boat. Instead, he slowed just enough to lean toward Jinx. “We got coin on us?”

“Some,” Jinx said, bouncing on her heels like she was already itching for a fight.

“Good.” Dante smirked, brushing past the smell of old rum leaking out from the swinging doors of a tavern. “Let’s eat first. Im starving.”

Without another word, he pushed inside a tavern. The thugs outside exchanged glances, then slinked after, shadowing them through the door.

The tavern was loud in that Bilgewater way that had dockhands shouting over dice, tankards crashing together, the air thick with rum, sweat, and fish grease. Dante and Jinx had found a spot in the corner, a plate of fried eel between them and a jug of ale on the table.

Dante ate with a calm rhythm, savoring each bite like it was the first proper meal in days. Jinx, by contrast, was restless, one leg bouncing under the table as her sharp eyes darted around the room, taking in the tattooed sailors, the brine-stained pirates, the half-pickled locals.

That was when the dockside thugs shuffled in. Six of them, their boots still wet, their voices too low to be harmless. They didn’t bother hiding the way they looked at Dante, the ink on his cheek was enough to stir old rumors and when their gazes shifted to the pistol holstered under Jinx’s jacket, their smirks grew hungry.

Dante noticed. He didn’t even stop chewing.

“Ignore ‘em,” he muttered through a mouthful of eel. “They’ll either get bored or get stupid.”

Jinx tilted her head, grin growing. “I like stupid.”

Minutes stretched. The thugs got bolder, circling closer until they boxed Dante and Jinx in. One finally stepped forward, reeking of cheap rum and salt. His scarred lip curled as his eyes roamed Jinx from head to toe.

“Well, well… what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place like this?” he drawled, leaning close. “How ‘bout you ditch this dumbass here and come sit with real men?”

Dante kept eating. Didn’t even glance up.

Jinx’s grin sharpened, but before she could snap back, the thug reached out and brushed his fingers along her shoulder.

That was the mistake.

Jinx’s eyes lit up pink like powder catching flame. In a blink, her good hand had her pistol out and cocked, the muzzle pressed under the thug’s chin.

“Touch me again,” she purred, voice dripping with mock-sweetness, “and I’ll paint the ceiling with your brains.”

The tavern went silent. Dice stopped rolling. Tankards froze mid-swing.

Dante finally sighed, setting down his fork. “Knew it was only a matter of time…”

He shoved a boot under the table and kicked. The heavy oak slab shot forward like a battering ram, slamming into three of the thugs and toppling them onto their backs in a spray of food and ale.

Chaos erupted instantly.

Knives flashed, bottles shattered, fists flew. Dante stood smoothly, chair skidding back as he cracked one thug across the jaw with the butt of the Force Edge, then pivoted to kick another square in the ribs. He fought with lazy precision, like he was more annoyed than threatened.

Jinx, meanwhile, was laughing. Every shot she fired rang through the tavern, each one perfectly placed, not to kill, but to maim, to send a thug sprawling with a smoking hole in his hand or shoulder. Between bursts of fire, she darted down to snatch coin purses off the groaning bodies.

One thug swung a broken bottle at Dante’s head. He ducked, sighed again, and slammed the thug’s face straight into the bar counter, leaving him out cold.

When the chaos settled, the tavern was wrecked. The tables were overturned, the floor littered with unconscious bodies. Jinx crouched over one thug, rifling through his coat until she found a pouch heavy with gold. She whistled, tossing it up once before pocketing it. 

“See? Dinner and drinks are on them,” Jinx chirped.

Dante brushed a fleck of eel off his coat and went back to his plate, spearing the last bite. 

“You know,” he muttered, chewing, “there was a world where we could’ve just finished eating in peace.”

“Boring world,” Jinx sang, stuffing another coin purse into her jacket.

The tavern was still groaning in the aftermath when Dante and Jinx stepped out into the salt-heavy night air. Behind them, the door sagged half-broken on its hinges, laughter and curses echoing faintly from inside.

Jinx tossed a gold coin in the air and caught it, swinging her legs with a skip as she walked beside Dante. “That was fun. Dinner and pocket change. Honestly, you should take me out more often.”

Dante rubbed the back of his neck, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’re a menace. That wasn’t dinner. That was daylight robbery with extra steps.”

“Correction.” She held up the heavy pouch she’d snatched. “That was profitable daylight robbery with extra steps.” 

She bumped her shoulder against his arm. “Besides, you don’t look too mad about it.”

He sighed, eyes scanning the wharf where the moon silvered the water. “Mad? Nah. Just tired of always leaving broken furniture behind me.”

“Mm. Sounds like someone I know,” Jinx teased, and when he gave her a look, she stuck out her tongue.

They walked in silence for a stretch, only the crunch of boots against the damp wood filling the quiet. Finally, Jinx glanced up at him, expression shifting from mischief to something softer. “So… about this Nell woman.”

Dante arched a brow. “What about her?”

“You said she was like… what? A mother figure?” Jinx kicked a loose pebble, sending it clattering into the water. “From the way you talked about her, sounds like she’s the only decent adult you had after everything. If she’s still here, I kinda wanna meet her.”

Dante slowed, his steps growing heavier. His cheek itched where the Bilgewater tattoo rested, a mark he couldn’t scrape away no matter how much he’d tried years ago. “It’s… complicated. I left with saying goodbye on a letter. Trouble was already on my heels. I figured walking out was the only way to keep her safe.”

Jinx snorted. “You always think leaving people keeps ‘em safe. Spoiler: it doesn’t.” 

She tugged at his arm with her good hand, pulling him just enough to meet her gaze. “If she really was like a mom to you, don’t you think she deserves to see you’re alive? Besides…” 

A grin crept back onto her face. “I wanna meet the cranky old gunsmith who had to put up with baby Dante bleeding all over her shop.”

He tried to frown, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the smallest twitch upward. “You don’t let up, do you?”

“Never,” she said proudly. “Now c’mon. You gonna keep dragging me through your tragic backstory without giving me the best part? Meeting the woman who patched you up, gave you guns, and probably yelled at you more than I do?”

Dante looked out across the crooked skyline of Bilgewater, its lanterns glowing like a nest of fireflies, and exhaled slowly. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Nell doesn’t suffer fools.”

“Lucky for me,” Jinx winked, “I’m irresistible.”

He shook his head, chuckling low. “Sure. Let’s go see Nell.”

The walk to Nell’s shop wound through crooked alleys and docks half-rotted with salt, every lantern casting long shadows that seemed a little too familiar. Dante’s boots hit the wood with steady rhythm, but his eyes kept straying to corners, the old places he used to fight, places he used to bleed. He could almost smell the smoke of gunpowder from fifteen years ago, still hanging in the air.

Jinx noticed. She always noticed. “You’re twitchier than me, and that’s saying something.”

“Old ghosts,” Dante muttered, scanning the street as though the past might step right out of it. “Bilgewater doesn’t change. Just keeps the scars under fresh paint.”

“Mm.” Jinx twirled a coin between her fingers. “Good thing you like scars.”

He gave her a sideways look. She just smirked, and he let it go.

Soon, the crooked sign came into view: .45 Caliber Art Warks. The bold lettering was half-faded, the paint peeling, but the weight of memory hit Dante like a punch to the gut.

Jinx tilted her head, squinting. “Wait. ‘Warks?’ Was that supposed to say ‘Works?’”

Dante’s jaw tightened, a groan almost escaping him. “Don’t. Ask. I asked once. Never again.”

That earned her a grin that made her look far too proud. “Oh, I definitely gotta ask now.”

He ignored her, stepping up to the door. His hand hovered over the iron knob, but his grip faltered. It wasn’t demons or slavers that rattled him… it was the thought of seeing her. The one person in Bilgewater who’d treated him like more than a weapon.

He exhaled slowly, trying to bury the nerves. But just as his hand closed over the knob, he felt it so small, warm, and steady, her hand slip into his free one. Jinx’s eyes were softer than he’d seen all night. 

“You got this,” she said simply. No manic grin. No teasing. Just her.

For the first time since they hit the port, Dante’s chest unclenched. He gave her hand the faintest squeeze back, then drew in a long breath and pushed the door open.

The bell above the door gave a sharp little chime as Dante stepped inside, Jinx close behind.

“We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to...
I go back to us”

The smell hit him first. The oil, powder, scorched metal. It hadn’t changed a bit. Every wall was still lined with racks of guns in varying states of disassembly, gears and half-finished barrels spread across benches like some mechanical battlefield.

From behind one of those cluttered worktables came Nell’s voice was gruff, clipped, and irritated. “I said, I’ll tell you when I’m done, Sar—”

She turned mid-sentence, a rag in her hand, spectacles perched low on her nose. The dual pistols gleamed under the lamplight beside her were moderate, golden, unmistakably from a certain Miss.

But her words froze in her throat the instant her eyes locked onto Dante. 

Time seemed to stall. Her face, hardened by years and soot, drained of its usual irritation, jaw slackening just a fraction. In her hands, the rag trembled.

“…Dante?” Nell breathed.

Five years might as well have been yesterday in that single, stunned syllable.

Dante didn’t move, didn’t smirk or offer some glib remark like he usually would. He just stood there in the doorway, one hand still entwined with Jinx’s, his red coat heavy with salt air, and let her see him.

“Hey, Nell,” he said finally, voice low, careful. “Long time.”

“We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to black”

SARAH:
The tavern was still a mess when Miss Fortune walked in. The place was filled with broken chairs, splintered tables, bodies groaning on the floor where the fight had spilled across every corner. Her heels clicked against the planks as the chatter died almost instantly.

“Looks like someone had themselves a welcome party,” she said coolly, green eyes sweeping the wreckage. Everyone in the room knew better than to mistake that for carelessness.

A couple of thugs scrambled to their feet, hats in their hands, stammering over one another to explain.

“W-we didn’t start it, Captain!” One insisted, blood still leaking from his nose. “It was this—this white-haired bastard. Came in with some blue-haired chick. We tried to. y’know. handle things, but they—”

“They made fools of you,” Sarah cut him off, one brow arched.

The thug swallowed. “Yeah… white-haired guy. Tall. Red coat. Carried himself like… like he weren’t scared of nothin’.”

That made her still. For the briefest moment, the sharp edge of her expression softened. White hair. Red coat. A ghost she hadn’t thought she’d see again at least, not here.

“…And the girl?” She asked, voice cool, measured.

“Blue hair. Wild look in her eye. She—she cleaned out Ol’ Gregor’s purse while he was bleedin’ on the floor,” another thug muttered, glaring at the memory.

Miss Fortune tapped a finger against her chin, thoughtful. White hair made sense. Dante was impossible to mistake, even by rumor. But the girl? Blue hair didn’t ring any bells, not in her city.

Her lips pressed into a line. “Interesting.”

The thugs shifted uneasily as Sarah turned toward the door, her coat swaying behind her. For just a moment, her gaze lingered on the mess of splinters and spilled ale, as though reading the imprint of an old, familiar storm.

White hair… you’re back in Bilgewater. But who’s the little blue shadow at your side?

With that, she stepped out into the night, the tide crashing in the distance, already considering her next move.

DANTE:
Nell stormed forward, grease-stained apron swaying. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been? Basically been five years, Dante. Five years with not so much as a word. You vanish, and now you waltz back in here like I’m just supposed to—”

Her words broke, breath hitching as her eyes scanned him. He was alive. He was standing in front of her. She swallowed hard, her voice cracking against her better judgment. “…You stupid boy.”

Dante’s shoulders dropped. For all the battles, scars, and storms, that tone cut him deeper than any blade. “Yeah. I know. I should’ve come sooner.”

Nell crossed her arms, trying to mask the sting of relief with gruffness. “Then why are you here now?”

He exhaled slowly, hand brushing against the scarlet mark carved into his cheek. “Closure. For this.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Dante said, voice steady. “The one who gave it to me… he’s still out there, I know it. Used to serve under Gangplank. When Gangplank fell, he slipped away. I can’t move forward until I settle that score.”

Nell’s mouth tightened, but she nodded. “Makes sense. You’re not the only one hunting him. The Miss been after him for years, nearly five years, and still can’t pin the bastard down.”

Behind Dante, Jinx had barely moved past the threshold. Her wide blue eyes darted across the walls, every inch covered in racks of gleaming rifles, pistols, and experimental pieces in progress. Her jaw dropped as she stepped deeper, fingers itching toward the closest display.

“Ohhh… shiny…” she whispered, almost reverently.

That finally pulled Nell’s gaze toward the girl. Her brow furrowed. “And who’s this one? You bringin’ me strays now?”

Dante glanced back, a faint smile tugging at his lips at Jinx’s awe. “This is Jinx.”

Jinx spun on her heel, hands flaring like she’d just been caught stealing cookies. “Uh—hi! Big fan of your… uh… everything!” 

She grinned wide, eyes sparkling as she pointed to a monstrous triple-barreled revolver half-assembled on the bench. “That thing screams boom! You’re like—like Zaun’s dream grandma but with more gunpowder!”

Nell blinked, deadpan. Then she cut her gaze back to Dante. “…You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Dante said with a helpless shrug.

But the corners of Nell’s mouth twitched, almost against her will, as she gave Jinx a second look. The workshop hadn’t felt this alive in years.

Jinx was already halfway across the room before Dante could stop her, fingers hovering over the gleaming racks of custom ironwork. Her grin stretched ear to ear as she leaned dangerously close to a long-barreled rifle with a delicate etching of sirens carved into its stock.

“Ohhh, look at this baby…” Jinx cooed, reaching out a finger. “Bet she sings like a cannon—”

“Don’t you touch that!” Nell barked, crossing the floor so fast Jinx nearly tripped backward. “That rifle’s got a trigger so sensitive you’d set it off by sneezing!”

Jinx just giggled, utterly unfazed. “Relax, I don’t sneeze without a bang anyway.”

“Jinx.” Dante’s voice carried the tired warning of someone who’d had to say her name like that too many times. He caught her wrist gently, pulling her back before she could start juggling grenades off the shelf. “Hands off. These aren’t toys.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx huffed, sticking her tongue out at him before whispering under her breath, “Killjoy…”

Nell pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, “What in all the seas have you dragged in here, Dante?”

“She’s not as bad as she looks,” Dante said, trying for patience. “Jinx is… different. The best gunsmith in Zaun, actually.”

Nell raised a brow so sharp it could cut steel. “Zaun’s got a gunsmith now?”

“The only gunsmith,” Dante admitted. “But still the best. She built these.”

He reached beneath his coat, pulling Ebony and Ivory free with a little flourish, holding them out with the kind of pride only Dante could manage. “Her work. Custom, balanced, and tough enough to keep up with me.”

Nell didn’t even hesitate, her hands shot out like a hawk snatching prey, and she ripped the pistols from his grip. “Give me those.”

“Hey—” Dante started, but the look Nell gave him was pure motherly authority. The same look that had once silenced him as a cocky fifteen-year-old. He sighed. “…Fine.”

Nell turned the pistols over, her thumb brushing across the finish, her eyes narrowing as she studied the weight and craftsmanship. She muttered to herself, almost forgetting they were watching. “…Good balance… clean lines… tolerances tighter than a miser’s purse.”

Jinx leaned on Dante’s shoulder, smug grin plastered across her face. “Told ya. Told ya. I’m the best.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Nell snapped, though her tone was softer than before. She looked at Dante, then Jinx, then back at the pistols. “…Still. These are fine work. Almost too fine for the likes of you.”

Dante threw up his hands. “Why is it every time I show someone my guns, they tell me I don’t deserve them?”

“Because you don’t,” Nell and Jinx said in unison, before blinking at each other.

Then Jinx cackled, delighted. “Ha! I like her already.”

Nell set Ebony and Ivory on the counter with deliberate care, then turned her eyes on Jinx. They were sharp, weighing, the same look she used to measure the worth of any client who walked into her shop.

“So,” Nell said slowly, folding her arms. “You’re the one who decided to put weapons in this fool’s hands?”

“Uh-huh!” Jinx chirped, leaning her hip against the counter like she owned the place. “Not just weapons. The weapons. Nothing like ‘em anywhere else in Runeterra.”

“That what you call it?” Nell’s brow lifted. “Because from where I’m standing, that sounds like enabling. And trust me, I’ve seen enough dead-eyed mercs come through here to know enabling when I see it.”

Dante groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Nell…”

But Jinx just grinned wider, unfazed. “Lady, do you know how many hours I spent making sure he wouldn’t break these? You got no idea.” 

She tapped the pistols affectionately. “Every part of them was designed with him in mind. Reinforced slide, custom recoil dampeners, compensating barrels. If he breaks these? It’ll be because he was trying to eat ‘em.”

Nell blinked at her, momentarily thrown. Then she looked at Dante. “…She knows about your little habit?”

“Oh, she knows,” Dante muttered, exasperated.

“Better than anyone,” Jinx said proudly. “And these? They’re built to last.”

Something softened in Nell’s face, though she tried to hide it. She gave a little grunt, like she didn’t want to admit she was impressed. But before the air could settle, Dante sighed and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Look, Nell… there’s something I never really told you back then. Why I could walk in here bleeding out, take a bullet to the chest, and stand up like it was nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I always figured there was more to it.”

“I’m half demon,” Dante said plainly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. “Son of Sparda. Guess that explains a lot, huh?”

Nell stared at him for a long beat, searching his face. Then she exhaled through her nose, shaking her head with a humorless little laugh.

“Explains why you were such a damned headache as a kid,” she muttered. “You always healed too fast, hit too hard, bounced back when any other boy your age would’ve been in the grave.”

Jinx tilted her head at Nell. “You don’t seem too surprised.”

“Child, when you’ve been in Bilgewater as long as I have, you stop being surprised at what walks through your door. Half-demon, sea witch, Void-touched freak, it’s all business.” She looked back at Dante, her eyes softening for just a moment. “Still doesn’t mean I didn’t worry.”

Jinx glanced between them, then crossed her arms, smug but also oddly touched. “Guess I’m not the only one who does, huh?”

Dante let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great. Now you two are gonna gang up on me.”

Nell and Jinx shared a look, then smirked at the exact same time.

“Oh, definitely,” Nell said.

“No doubt,” Jinx chimed in.

For the first time in years, Dante actually felt like he was back in that old shop again, not just with his guns, but with people who made him feel like he belonged.

Nell finally slid Ebony and Ivory back across the counter, the weight of her gaze softening as she looked at Dante picking them up and holstering them. 

“You’re not just here to stir up world ending ghosts, are you?” She asked, though she already seemed to know the answer.

Dante scratched the back of his neck. “…Depends on how you define ‘stir.’”

Nell gave him a long-suffering look, then sighed. “Figures. Well, you’ll need somewhere to lay low, and knowing you, you’ve already gone and picked a fight your first day back.”

Jinx perked up instantly. “You’re offering us a hideout?”

“Not just a hideout,” Nell corrected, lifting a finger. “The same room this idiot used when he was fifteen. Still got it upstairs. Kept it just the way it was, though I did clear out the bloodstains.”

Dante blinked, caught off guard. “Wait. You mean you… still have that?”

“Of course I do.” Nell leaned against the counter with a faint smile. “You were one of my best customers, even if it was only because you went through guns like other boys go through underwear. Every other week you’d come limping in with another busted pistol, looking like the sea itself had chewed you up. That room was the only thing that kept you on your feet.”

Jinx leaned closer to Dante, whispering just loud enough for Nell to hear. “So basically you were her favorite customer and her most expensive one.”

“Sounds about right,” Dante muttered, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Nell motioned toward the stairs at the back of the shop. “It’s still yours if you want it. Both of you. Don’t even dare to argue. Bilgewater will chew you up if you don’t have a safe place to crawl back to.”

Dante exhaled, the weight of old memories pressing on him. But when he glanced at Jinx, with her eyes wide, clearly itching to see this “secret old room” of his, and he couldn’t help but nod.

“…Alright. Guess it’d be rude to say no.”

“Good boy,” Nell said, already turning back to her workbench. “Now go on upstairs before I change my mind.”

Jinx lingered at the bottom of the stairs as Dante started up, her eyes wandering back to the big painted sign over the workshop’s counter.

“.45 Caliber Art… Warks,” she read aloud, dragging out the last word. “Hey. Was that supposed to say Works? Or is ‘Warks’ some Bilgewater slang? Or did someone just—”

Nell froze mid-solder, slowly lifting her gaze to fix Jinx with the kind of look that could curdle milk. A silent, heavy glare that carried decades of no-nonsense gunsmith energy.

Jinx blinked, then grinned nervously. “…Oh. One of those things. Got it.”

Before Nell could so much as open her mouth, Dante was back at her side, grabbing her by the wrist. “Nope. Uh-uh. Don’t. Don’t do it.”

“What? I was just asking—”

“I literally told you to never ask about that.” He was already half-dragging her toward the stairs, muttering under his breath. “Learned that the hard way at fifteen. Nearly lost my head for it.”

Jinx let herself be pulled along, still smirking but glancing back at Nell’s sharp, unwavering stare. “Okay, okay! Geez. Protective much over a typo.”

“It’s not a typo,” Dante muttered darkly, ushering her up the stairs before Nell could throw something at them.

When they reached upstairs Dante guided her to his old room, the door creaked open on a room that smelled faintly of gun oil and dust, the air stale but familiar. It wasn’t much. There was just a cot against the wall, a small trunk at the foot of it, and a scarred desk littered with old metal shavings and scraps of parchment notes.

“Holy…” Jinx darted past him before he could say anything, already prying the trunk open. “Oh, this is perfect! Baby Dante’s treasure chest!”

“Jinx…” Dante started, but she was already elbow-deep, holding up an old cracked flask with a dramatic gasp.

“You lived here? This is where little merc boy Dante slept, bled, and probably cried himself to sleep?” She teased, eyes sparkling with a mixture of awe and mischief. 

He gave her a flat look, but she was already bouncing on the cot, testing the springs. “Yup. Definitely better than Zaun. You know, back home you never really had a place. You worked with Benzo, but… never slept near the shop.”

Dante leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her poke around. “Yeah. Funny thing, huh?” 

His tone softened. “I was good at hiding the nightmares. The trauma. Behind a smile, behind jokes. That’s why I didn’t crash anywhere near Benzo’s. Didn’t want anyone to see me falling apart.”

Jinx paused mid-bounce, blinking at him.

“That’s why I rarely hung out with you, Ekko, and Vi back then,” Dante went on, his voice steady but heavy. “Even if you were the only ones I could stand being around. But even then, I felt like… like a curse, just waiting to burn everything down.”

Jinx stopped teasing altogether, her hand resting on the bandages of her arm as her expression shifted. It was a mixture between somber and she was quiet. For once she didn’t jump in with a quip.

After a moment, Jinx tilted her head at him, lips curling in that crooked grin of hers. “A curse, huh? Please. If you’re a curse, then I’m the damn apocalypse. We kinda match, don’t we?”

Her words were half a joke, half a claim. Twisted, yes, but affectionate in the way only she could be. It pulled Dante’s chest a little tighter, grounding him back from the edge. He knew she wasn’t wrong either. She carried the same weight, the same feeling of being poison to everything around her. And yet, here they were.

He broke eye contact, kneeling by the old trunk and rummaging through it until his hand brushed a roll of bandages. They’re were dry and yellowed with age, but still usable. He glanced back at her. 

“Time to change those,” he said, nodding to her arm.

Jinx made a face but started peeling off her top layers anyway, letting the loose jacket slide down her shoulder. 

“You just like undressing me, don’t ya?” She teased, wiggling her brows.

Dante smirked faintly. “Yeah, real romantic. Rotting bandages and all.”

Just as he reached for her arm, a sharp knock rattled the door.

“You two,” Nell’s voice cut through, firm and no-nonsense. “You smell horrible. Like something crawled out the harbor, rolled in gunpowder, and died. Showers are down the hall. For the love of sanity, use them.”

Jinx blinked, then sniffed her own arm. Her eyes went wide. “Okay. Ew. She’s right. How the hell did we last this long without noticing?”

Dante shrugged, deadpan. “Guess we got used to the scent of misery.”

“Try feral corpse,” Jinx shot back, hopping off the cot. “C’mon, let’s de-funk before we suffocate each other. I can’t seduce you if you’re gagging every time I lean in.”

Dante leaned back against the wall as Jinx tugged her shirt back on.

“You first,” he said, nodding toward the hall. “I’ll start unpacking what little we dragged in.”

Jinx squinted at him like she suspected a trick, then smirked. “Fine. Don’t get too sentimental digging through your old stuff without me.” 

She grabbed her things and skipped out, humming some offbeat tune as the door shut behind her.

For the first time in days, silence filled the room. Dante set the Force Edge gently against the corner and dropped their bag on the cot. There wasn’t much inside. Just some rations, ammo, a battered spare shirt, and a few odds and ends Jinx insisted on carrying. But even the small act of spreading them out tugged memories loose.

He let out a low breath and glanced around the room again. Same cracked floorboards, same stubborn window latch, even the faint scorch mark on the wall from a “test shot” that wasn’t supposed to ricochet. The air smelled of old oil and steel, just as it had when he was fifteen.

It wasn’t much, but it had been the closest thing he had to a home once. And now, somehow, he was back. Just older, carrying heavier scars, and with Jinx in tow.

The door creaked open, and Dante glanced up, half-expecting Jinx to come barreling back in. Instead, Nell stood there, arms loaded with folded clothes. A plain shirt, trousers, even a couple of things she must’ve thought might fit Jinx.

“Figured you two could use these,” Nell said flatly. “Both of you are frayed, paint-stained, and both smell like you rolled through a dock drain. What in the abyss happened to you two?”

Dante scratched the back of his neck. “Long story short? War in Piltover. Noxus decided to flex its muscle. And, uh…” 

He gestured vaguely with his hand. “World nearly ended about three weeks ago. Some machine ‘herald’ wanted to turn everyone into walking scrap metal.”

Nell narrowed her eyes, scanning him like she was trying to peel back layers of truth. “That’s a tall tale, boy.”

“Yeah,” Dante admitted, his voice low, serious now. “But I don’t do tall tales. Not unless I’m grinning ear to ear.”

That gave her pause. She studied him for another beat, then exhaled sharply and set the clothes on the bed. “Hells, you always did have a way of dropping madness on my doorstep like it was casual gossip.”

Nell leaned against the wall, wiping her hands on an old rag she hand on her belt. “Bilgewater ain’t the same city you left behind, boy. Streets are quieter. Less chaos, more eyes watching from the shadows.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “Quieter? In this town that usually means the sharks are hungrier.”

She smirked. “Not wrong. But this time it’s different. Since Gangplank went under, you know who has been cleaning house. One by one, the old captains that swore to him got called to the table. She tried talking sense into ’em first, can you believe it? Talking. But the ones who laughed or spat in her face? They didn’t live to make the same mistake twice.”

Dante tilted his head, arms folded. “So, talk or die.”

“Talk or die,” Nell echoed, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “And every ship she broke got folded into her fleet. Every name she crossed off just tightened her grip. Now she’s the youngest empress Bilgewater’s ever seen. A bloody crown and all.”

Dante let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think this city would ever bend to her. At least not in a long time.”

“She made ’em bend,” Nell said flatly. Then her gaze softened, almost playful, though it had an edge. “Course, I reckon you’re not too surprised. You knew her better than most, didn’t ya?”

Dante shot her a look, half a glare, half a smirk. “…Walls weren’t that thick, huh?”

Nell chuckled, shaking her head. “Boy, you forget who built this place. I hear everything that rattles through these boards. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Dante exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was a long time ago.”

“Mmhm,” Nell hummed, not pressing but not letting him off the hook either. “Still. Funny how the city’s crown ended up sittin’ on her head, isn’t it?”

Dante’s voice grew quieter as he leaned back in the chair, his eyes dimming like he was watching ghosts crawl out of the walls. “You remember Enzo, right?”

Nell snorted softly. “Course I do. That rat couldn’t keep his mouth shut if you paid him in gold bricks. But for all his blabberin’, he knew the city’s veins better than anyone. Only broker fool enough to give a half-pint like you work.”

Dante gave a half-smile, then it slipped. “…He was more than that, Nell. He was there,
when it almost ended for me.”

Nell’s hands froze over her work. “What d’you mean?”

Dante’s jaw clenched as the memory unspooled. He told her about the fight with the White Rabbit who turned into a Shimmer monstrosity, its veins glowing like cracked glass. He described how close he was to finishing it, only to be hurled across the battlefield. How the monster charged and then how Enzo appeared, screaming defiance, about to fire a minigun far too big for him.

Nell didn’t interrupt, though her knuckles went white around the rag in her hand.

“And then he… he took the blade. Right through him.” Dante’s voice broke just slightly before hardening again. “Dragged up in the air like a damn trophy and then tossed at my feet.”

The shop was quiet except for the hum of tools cooling on the bench.

Dante swallowed. “…His last words to me weren’t a joke. He told me he’d take a blade for me.” 

His eyes were glassy, but he kept them fixed on the floor. “And then… he was gone.”

Nell finally sat down across from him, her weathered face softening in a way Dante hadn’t seen in years. “…Enzo. That damn fool.” 

She let out a long breath, shaking her head. “Loud, greedy, slippery as an eel but when it counted, he showed his teeth.”

“Yeah.” Dante muttered, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “And I couldn’t even save him.”

Nell studied him for a long moment before replying. “Don’t carry all that weight alone, boy. Enzo made his choice. You know as well as I do, if there’s one thing that bastard hated, it was running from a fight. He’d rather go out with a bang than a whisper.”

Dante gave a dry laugh, but it was hollow. “…Sounds like him.”

Nell leaned back, looking at him with a mix of pride and sadness. “You two were a helluva pair. The loudmouth and the stubborn brat. Ain’t surprised you carved your way through Bilgewater back then.”

She pushed herself up straight, her joints cracking faintly as she stood. She gave Dante one last long look, the kind only someone who’d watched him grow from a bleeding stray into a scarred man could give.

“You should get some sleep, boy. You’ll need it.” Her voice carried no room for argument, just that quiet, steady command. She didn’t wait for Dante to answer, just patted his shoulder as she passed and disappeared into her own room, the floorboards creaking under her weight.

The room went still. Dante stayed seated for a moment, staring at the faint glow of the forge cooling in the corner, the smell of oil and gunpowder sharp in the air. He exhaled, heavy, dragging a hand down his face.

The door creaked.

“Pff. No way.” Jinx padded in, her bare feet leaving little damp prints on the wooden floor. Her hair stuck to her shoulders in wet clumps, a towel wrapped messily around her. She glanced around like she was stepping into some forbidden place.

Her nose scrunched. “Running water that doesn’t reek like salt? What the hell, Bilgewater? Zaun’s got pipes cleaner than yours. And that’s saying something.”

She paused, blinking at the neatly folded stack on the dresser. Pants, shirts, even boots. 

“Ohhh, clothes.” She grinned. “Guess Mama Nell decided we stink too bad for her precious workshop, huh?”

Her eyes flicked over to Dante, still slouched in the cot, exhaustion carved into his face. 

“Wait, what’d I miss?” She asked, tilting her head. “You look like you just wrestled a ghost.”

JINX:
Dante rubbed the back of his neck as he finally pushed himself up from the cot. 

“Nothin’ major. Just me and Nell catching up. Old stories, old ghosts.” His voice was low, a touch distant, but steady. He glanced at Jinx standing there in nothing but a towel, dripping on the floorboards, her grin sharp as ever.He exhaled through his nose, half-amused. 

“You gonna put those on,” he gestured at the folded clothes, “or stay wrapped up like a half-busted present?”

Jinx plopped down on the cot, towel still clinging dangerously low. She kicked her legs, chin tilting defiantly. “Mm… dunno. Might keep the suspense going.”

Dante shook his head with a faint smirk, already turning toward the door. “Do whatever. I’m hitting the shower before Nell barges back in here with a bucket.”

He tugged the door to close it behind him, leaving her in the quiet room.

Jinx sprawled back against the cot, still wrapped in the towel. She traced the rim of the bandages on her arm with her good hand, eyes drifting toward the clothes Nell had left. She could’ve gotten dressed. Could’ve unpacked. But instead she leaned back, smirking faintly to herself.

“Nah,” she muttered, settling in with her legs crossed, “think I’ll wait for him.”

Her fingers drummed against her knee, the faint creak of the floorboards outside carrying the sound of Dante’s footsteps as he moved toward the washroom.

Jinx leaned back against the cot, towel clutched just enough to keep her modesty intact. Well, not like she cared much about modesty. The room smelled like old wood, oil, and the faint metallic tang of gunpowder from Nell’s workshop below. A smell she should’ve been twitchy around, but instead… it felt almost homey. She tapped her fingers against her bare knee, restless. Always restless.

What am I doing? Sitting here like some lovesick puppy waiting for him to come back dripping wet?

The thought made her snort. But then her smirk faltered. The longer she stayed, the more she realized how much of Dante’s world she was being pulled into. Not just demons and blood and the sharp edge of his fights… but the people, the ghosts, the roots he had here. Bilgewater wasn’t her mess. She could’ve kept her distance, let him deal with all this pirate stuff alone. But she hadn’t.

She thought about Zaun. Vander’s eyes, Vi’s punches that always stung more in the heart than the jaw. Every time her demons bubbled up, her panic, her noise, her destruction. It was Dante who had been there, silently stepping into the chaos like it was nothing new. He carried her storms without flinching.

Now here she was, towel wrapped, sitting in his old room. Waiting. Letting him drag her storms into his waters.

Her fingers trailed up her bandaged arm. She should’ve felt cornered, caged, overwhelmed. That was usually her cue to blow something up.

Instead… she felt safe. Too safe.

“Ugh,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and flopping sideways on the cot. “This is so gross. He’s turning me into some kind of… of…” 

Her voice trailed off. She didn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t. Her grin tugged back to life, crooked and sharp. “Eh. Screw it. If he’s stuck with my demons, guess I can put up with his.”

She pulled the towel tighter around herself, kicking her legs playfully like she wasn’t waiting for him, even though she absolutely was. Jinx stretched out on the cot, staring at the low ceiling beams. Her mind, traitor that it was, wandered right back to Nell.

The old bat reminded her of Vander. Not in looks, but Nell does have sharper edges, like every word was loaded into a chamber before it left her mouth but it had weight. Vander had that heavy, grounded thing going on. Nell had it too, only with more crankiness, less patience. A different kind of anchor, maybe.

Weirdly… Jinx didn’t hate it.

Zaun never had anyone like Nell. Nobody who smelled like gunpowder and oiled steel, nobody who could look at a weapon like it was more than a tool. She looked at it like it was art. That was Jinx’s territory. Her little kingdom. Yet here was this cranky Bilgewater woman, her hands blackened with grease, her eyes sharp enough to cut. Another woman who worked on guns, who cared about them, who could understand.

It should’ve made her jealous. It didn’t. Not exactly.

Instead it stirred something else. It was a twitchy curiosity, a little flicker of respect. Nell wasn’t like Silco, who bent her into something broken and called it family. She wasn’t like Vander, who kept trying to shield her from the flames until she finally burned him too. Nell wasn’t coddling. She wasn’t scheming. She just… was. Straightforward. Cranky. Cool.

Maybe too cool.

Jinx frowned, tugging the towel tighter. Part of her didn’t like “sharing” Dante’s past with anyone. She wanted to believe all his pieces belonged to her now, that she’d dragged him out of Piltover and Zaun and into her. But Nell had pieces too. Big ones. Maybe even more than Vander ever had for her and Vi.

That thought should’ve made her spit fire. Instead, it made her smirk.

“Guess you’re not so bad, granny gunsmith,” she muttered, tapping her bandaged arm. 

The door creaked, steam rolling in first before Dante himself appeared. His white  hair was damp, a towel slung low on his hips, and of course water still dripping down his chest. Jinx sat up, her grin slow and wolfish, still sprawled in her own towel.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, twirling a strand of wet blue hair around her finger. “Look at us. A matching set.”

Dante shot her a look as he sat beside her on the cot, deliberately ignoring the way her eyes lingered on him. He reached for the roll of bandages.

“Funny,” he muttered, tugging gently at her arm so she’d hold it steady. “Out of all the times you’ve tried to blow me up, this is the one where I’ve got to patch you back together.”

She tilted her head, watching his hands work. Like always with her, they were careful, steady, and precise. “Mmm. Guess I don’t mind you tying me up if it’s like this.”

Dante paused, half a smirk tugging at his mouth. “That so?”

Her grin widened, eyes glinting. “Won’t be long ‘til I’m back to a hundred percent, huh? Then you’ll really have your hands full.”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, though his fingers didn’t falter on the bandage. “Should’ve known you’d find a way to turn this into something dirty.”

“Should’ve known you’d still be pretending you don’t like it,” she shot back, leaning closer so her shoulder brushed his.

Dante finished the last wrap and tied it off, his expression softening despite himself. “You’ll be back to full strength soon, Powder. Then the world better watch out.”

Jinx smirked and tapped his chest with her free hand. “Forget the world. You better watch out.”

Jinx’s smirk sharpened as Dante tied off the last strip of bandage. Instead of pulling her arm away, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him closer, eyes glimmering like mischief incarnate.

“You know…” she whispered, lips brushing his ear, “…this cot are sturdier than they look.”

Dante arched a brow, smirk curling slow and dangerous. “That right?”

Before he could pull back, Jinx hooked her good arm around his neck and tugged him down with her. The towel nearly slipped, her laughter stifled in his chest as they landed in a tangle.

“Careful,” Dante murmured, one hand braced against the cot, the other steadying her shoulder. His grin deepened as an idea crossed his face. “But… I might have something better in mind.”

Jinx cocked her head, hair spilling wild over the pillow, her grin wide enough to split her face. “Better than me?”

“Not better,” Dante corrected, lowering his voice until it was a rough rumble only she could hear, “just… louder.”

She blinked, then snorted, trying to laugh but biting her lip instead. “You’re kidding. You wanna—”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, eyes glittering with amusement. “Walls are thin, Powder. If you can’t keep quiet, Nell’s gonna kill us both.”

Jinx’s cheeks warmed, though her grin never faltered. “Guess you’ll just have to test me, won’t you?”

Dante leaned down, his forehead brushing hers, smirk locked in place. “That’s the idea.”

Despite herself, her hands rose to his sides, fingers digging into the towel at his waist.

“Then quit talking and prove it,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his smirk with her own.

Dante’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning cocky. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He leaned down and began to kiss her on the lips. It was slow and gentle at first. His hand reaching over to grab the knot that kept the towel from falling off her naked body.

She melted into the kiss, one hand moving to tangle in his hair while the other remained on his towel. 

“Mmm..." Her breath hitched as he started untying the knot slowly.

“Dante..." She whispered against his lips. “If Nell walks in—"

Before she could finish her thought, Dante’s hand was on her jaw, shutting her up.

“Let me worry about Nell, yeah?” His thumb traced her skin, his cocky smirk sharpening. “You focus on staying quiet.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I’ll try my best. But no promises.” 

She arched her back slightly as he pulled the towel away from her body, letting it fall to the cot beneath them. Jinx moaned under her breath as Dante’s free hand trailed down her body. It was over her collar, between her breasts, and then down her stomach. The other hand gripped at his hair, nails digging into his scalp. 

“You’re being way too gentle,” she murmured, arching her back with a shiver as his fingers drifted lower and lower.

His fingers paused, and for a second she thought he was going to be smug, that cocky grin pulling at his mouth again. But then he was pressing his mouth against hers, and when his fingers continued to move down, they were a little faster, a little rougher.*

“Mm. That so?” He murmured against her mouth.

Jinx moaned again, her leg shifting to hook over his hip as his fingers found her core, pressing up through her wetness.

“Uh huh,” she murmured, breath hitching as he sunk two fingers inside her. “Oh, wow...”

She arched against him, mouth falling open to press to her neck. “By Janna, that feels good.”

He brushed his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Does it?” 

His fingers were moving a little faster now, each pump making her gasp again. He curled his fingers, grazing that spot inside her that made her whole body shudder. His thumb slid up to find her clit, rubbing against it gently, slowly. “Does that feel good too?”

Her hands tightened in his hair, back arching off the cot.

"Fuck yes," she whispered desperately. "Right there, Dante. Don't stop." 

She clenched around his fingers, getting closer and closer. She moaned again, louder, fingernails scraping against his scalp. “Oh, oh... oh gods, Dante. I’m... oh...”

His fingers hit that spot again, sending a shiver through her that made her back arch. She rocked her hips against his hand, whimpering with every curl of his fingers, her hands clenching in the blanket beside his head. Dante added a third finger, pressing even deeper, the sounds it drew from her enough to make his own breath hitch.

“Fuck, you’re soaked, babygirl. All this just for me?” He murmured against her neck, his thumb finding her clit again, sliding against it rougher than before. She moaned, her toes curling and her were legs trembling.

“I’m here. Always.” He murmured.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she moaned.

"All for you, Dante," she murmured back, words breaking up with helpless gasps.*“Always, always." 

Her hips rocked helplessly against his hand as his fingers moved. He curved them again, stroking her clit and sending sparks through her entire body. She writhed and moaned, clenching around his fingers, desperately chasing release. “Fuck, Dante, please—" 

Her hips bucked as he found that spot again, pressure building fast in her core. Her legs tensed, trying to close around his hand, but stopped by his body. She moaned louder than she meant to, muffling the sound against his chest. “Please, don’t stop, oh, I’m—“

Dante curled his fingers one more time, his thumb pressing down rough and firm against her clit, and then she was unraveling around him.

"Oh, oh yes, Dante, fuuuck—" She shuddered as orgasm hit her hard, biting down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. He kept moving inside her, fingers spreading her open for him while her walls clenched around him helplessly, her hands trembling against his back and nails digging into the muscled flesh. The overwhelming pleasure made her forget everything.

Jinx was trembling and writhing against him, gasping for breath as orgasm hit again, and again, and again. Her body felt like a livewire, nerves sparking with pleasure as she rode it out. It was only when she slumped against him, boneless and panting, that he finally pulled his fingers away, wiping them on the towel beneath them.

"Fuck. You’re so cute when I’m fingering you." His voice was thick and rough against the column of her neck.

She laughed softly, body twitching as he removed his fingers. She was so sensitive that even the towel beneath her hips made her shiver. 

“You’re an idiot,” she murmured back, nuzzling his neck. Her legs parted slightly, inner thighs sticky with her release. “Fuck, you ruined the towel.”

Dante let his free hand dip down between her legs, grazing over her clit with his fingers. She sucked in a breath that turned into a gasp. She was so sensitive, still quivering with the aftershocks. His fingers slipped down to her entrance without thinking, still soaked. “Mm. Think I might’ve ruined you, too."

Jinx bit her lip, hands clutching at his back. His finger pressed against her, circling her clit again. She whined softly, back arching as he touched her again. She was so oversensitive that his gentle circles against her clit had her whimpering, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“D-Dante…” She gasped out, voice shaking. “I’m too sensitive… ah!

Her legs spread wider as his hand moved lower, still soaked from her release. She clenched her thighs around his hand, trying to keep him in place, trying to get more.

Dante chuckled, low and smug as he felt her clench down around his finger. His thumb brushed lazily over her clit, not pressing, just teasing. Slowly. Too slowly.

"Sensitive, eh?" He murmured, pressing his mouth to the side of her neck. “You look like like you’re handling it just fine.”

He pushed his finger deeper, just a little, and she moaned, hips bucking up against his hand. Dante hummed against her neck. “‘Sides, you are the girl who made herself a vibrating prosthetic middle finger a little bit over a month ago.”

Her fingernails dug into his back again as he slid his finger deeper. Her legs shifted, spreading wider. She tried to protest at his words but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a moan.

"That’s—that’s different —" She groaned as he added a second finger. “I still don’t have that damn thing, don’t blame meeeee…” 

Her argument went out the window as his thumb brushed against her clit again. Jinx was just moaning helplessly, her hips rocking against his hand, trying to get more. His fingers sank deeper into her, reaching that spot and sending a shiver through her entire body. “Oh, oh... right there. Right there, Dante, ah—"

His fingers curled inside her, pressing against that spot and rubbing rough and hard. Her back arched, her body desperately chasing that feeling.

“Do you just want me to keep fingering you?” He asked while leaning down and kissing her neck softly.

Her hands reached down to grab his wrist, holding him where he was. And then she shook her head, even as she moaned again. “No, no, no, I want — I need—” 

Her hips rocked against his fingers, trying to get more, her voice getting impatient. “That dick of yours in me.”

The crudeness of her words hit his ears like a punch to the gut. His fingers paused inside her for a moment. Then a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

"You want it bad, huh?" He murmured, voice low and rough.

She just nodded as he pulled away his fingers from her and he reached for the knot of the towel around his waist.

“You sure? You’re still recovering…” he murmured softly.

"I'm not broken, Dante," she snapped impatiently, lifting her hips off the towel. Her core was still throbbing, still desperate for him. “I’ve been recovering for days. I’ll be fine.”

He chuckled under his breath, but said nothing as he untied the knot. She felt her heart speed up as the towel around his waist was untied and let fall to the cot.

"Then… let us enjoy it." He murmured before shifting down and hooking her legs over his shoulders.

Jinx bit her lip at the sight of his hard cock, and the feeling of her legs being lifted over his shoulders. He settled between her thighs, his hard length pressing against her wet entrance. She shivered, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

“I know we’d agree you wouldn’t hold back…” she said with a small smirk “Including you using your powers.”

He grinned down at her, shifting his hips to press the tip of his cock against her. She moaned softly, nails scratching his nape.

“We agreed when you were FULLY recovered. That arm of just isn’t fully recovered yet.” He murmured, and then his grip around her legs tightened, and he pushed forward.

She moaned, breath hitching as she stretched around him, tight and swollen. He was big, filling her up enough that it almost hurt. His fingers dug into her thighs as he slid all the way inside. Her head fell back against the cot, mouth falling open.

She gasped as he bottomed out inside her, his hips pressing flush against hers. Her arms tightened around his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he stayed buried deep.

“Fuck... Dante..." She whispered his name like a prayer. “I hate when we agree on something…”

He laughed breathlessly, hands shifting on her thighs. He started to move, sliding out before pushing back in. Slowly at first, still careful, still mindful of her arm.

“Well we do agree on a lot.” He murmured back, his hands squeezing her thighs. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

She moaned as he thrust into her, fingernails digging into his neck. She clenched around him helplessly, legs spreading wider, still over his shoulders.

“You’re... such a... flatterer…” she groaned between gasps. His body pinned her to the cot, the fabric pressed between them. “Always…”

Dante kept moving, his thrusts getting a little faster, a little deeper, every time he bottomed out.

“Is it really praising if it’s just the truth?” He murmured, mouth pressed near her ear. He then began to nip her ear. “I love you, babygirl.”

Jinx’s heart skipped a beat at his words, at the way he loved her. It was always so raw, so real with him. She came undone at the combination of his words and thrusts.

“Dante..." She cried out, coming hard around him. “I love you too..." 

Her hips rose to meet his thrusts, taking him deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

His hands grabbed her hips, keeping her in place as he pounded into her, rough and raw.

“Get on your side.” He murmured softly. She did so, shifting to her side as he did the same.

Dante’s back hit the wooden wall as his cock was between her thighs, he began to rub his length between her inner thighs. “Fuck… Bluebell…”

Jinx moaned helplessly, her hands clenching in the blanket of the cot. With every thrust her clit rubbed against Dante’s cock, leaving her more sensitive than ever. She was helpless against his overwhelming sensations, legs trembling.

“Oh Janna, I can’t… I can’t… “ Her words were unintelligible. Her fingers gripped his arms, nails biting into his skin.

“Dante…” she moaned, voice cracking. “Please… be in me. Again.”

She moaned into the pillow, turning her head to watch him over her shoulder. His hips moved behind her, his thick length sliding through her wet folds.

He lined up with her entrance and pushed inside roughly, making her cry out into the pillow. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise as he started thrusting into her from behind.

“Shh... quiet babygirl." He whispered harshly. “I’m gonna make you cum again..."

She bit the pillow to stop her cries as he pounded into her, one arm thrown above her head. His deep thrusts hit that spot inside her, making her inner muscles flutter around him. He was ungodly big, spreading her wide. She could only moan and push back against him.

“You know how to treat me right, don’t you, daddy?” She said, her voice low and submissive.

He leaned down, wrapping an arm around her waist, pressing one hand flat against her stomach as he drove his hips against her. “Only for you.”

His mouth was hot against the side of her neck, his hips slamming against her again and again. Her legs trembled, legs spreading even wider. The hand on her stomach pressed her against him, his mouth brushing her ear again.

“You feel so good around me.” He murmured huskily.

She whimpered, back arching as she felt him hitting that spot deep inside her. His hand on her stomach kept her pinned perfectly against him, allowing his deep thrusts to reach their maximum depth. 

“Dante... ah! Right there... right fucking there...” she gasped.

He groaned against her neck at her words, his pace quickening and getting deeper. “You’re doing so good… taking me so well…” 

His hand slid up her stomach to grab one of her small breasts, squeezing just the right side of rough.

“I’m gonna cum soon.” He murmured.

His grip on her breast made her groan, her fingers clenching around the blanket. She felt that familiar building pressure deep inside her, threatening to crash over her at any moment and she was still sensitive from her previous orgasm, his words and actions pushing her over the edge again. “Cum inside me... Please. Dante... Fill me up...”

He let out a loud groan, her words setting a fire through his core. “Gonna fill you up… so well…”

His hand drifted to her clit, his fingers finding it by feel alone. He stroked her clit as he pounded into her, his own orgasm coiling at the base of his spine. She tightened around him, her pussy clenching down on his cock.

“Hold my hand, babygirl.” He murmured softly and kissed her cheek. 

She moaned helplessly, hips rocking desperately against his hand. His name fell from her lips, over and over like a prayer. “Oh Dante, Dante, Dante.”

She immediately entwined their fingers, moaning loudly as he continued to snap his hips against her. His thickness rubbed her inner walls perfectly, the hand between her thighs working her clit skillfully. He was hitting all her favorite spots, making her lose her mind. She was mindless with pleasure.

Her entire body shook violently as she came hard around him, inner muscles convulsing and milking his length intensely. Dante groaned deeply, her orgasm triggering his own release. He buried himself balls deep inside her with a harsh grunt, pumping her full of his hot cum.

“Take it all, babygirl.” He kissed her neck.

Jinx whined softly as he filled her up, her pussy clenching around him involuntarily to keep all his cum inside. Her body was overly sensitive now, her legs shaking as she tried to catch her breath. She felt completely boneless and utterly owned by him.

“Mmm... Dante...” She whimpered softly, still holding his hand tightly.

His arms wrapped around her waist, his chest still heaving against her back, skin slick with sweat. His forehead rested against the top of her head, his free hand smoothing over her hip.

"You okay, Bluebell?" He murmured, his thumb rubbing soft circles on her skin.

She nodded weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “Mhm... I'm okay..." 

Her fingers tightened around his hand slightly as she pressed back against him instinctively seeking comfort after such intense pleasure. His cum was leaking out slowly around his still semi-hard cock inside her sensitive pussy. "...Love you..."

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck. He stayed there for a few more moments, savoring the closeness. Then he gently eased himself out of her, making her whimper softly.

“I love you too, Bluebell.” He murmured, shifting so they could lie on their sides once more. He pulled her close again, tucking her head under his chin. “You did so good.”

She melted against him immediately, her small body molding perfectly to his. She let out a content sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she listened to his heartbeat. His praise made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, like the best kind of drug.

"Mmm... I did alright, huh?" She murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his chest as she curled up against him. “You were pretty great yourself, you know."

He chuckled softly, his arms tightening around her possessively. His fingers played with her hair absently as he held her close. He could feel his release slowly leaking out of her, mixing with her own arousal.

“Shut up and sleep, Bluebell." He murmured gruffly.

She giggled softly, her eyes already heavy with sleep. She snuggled closer to him, her body still tingling from the intense orgasm he had given her. She felt utterly content and satisfied, her heart full of love for him.

Chapter Text

JINX:
Morning light spilled faintly through the grimy window of Nell’s spare room that belonged to Dante once, now it belonged to both Dante and Jinx, the dust turned into a lazy shimmer. Jinx blinked awake, her cheek pressed against Dante’s bare chest, her good arm draped across his stomach like he was her anchor. He was still out cold from last night’s orgasm, his breathing was slow and even, that little crease of exhaustion finally smoothed from his face.

For once, she didn’t want to wake him.

Carefully, she wriggled free, smirking when he gave the faintest grumble but didn’t stir. Her arm was still bandaged up, but the ache had dulled into something manageable now. It was more healed than broken. She stretched quietly before spotting the folded stack of clothes Nell had left on the chair.

“Guess the old crank does know my size,” Jinx whispered to herself as she picked them up.

The outfit wasn’t her usual chaotic mash of belts and leather. Instead, it was practical. Bilgewater practical to be exact. A cropped dark teal vest with brass buttons that cut off just above her ribs, leaving her stomach bare but still covered enough to pass for “respectable.” Over it, a faded leather jacket, sleeves rolled to the elbow, smelling faintly of gunpowder and sea salt. The pants were snug black trousers tucked into weather-worn boots with steel caps at the toes. The boots definitely meant for climbing rigging or kicking teeth in.

And then… underwear.

Jinx actually paused holding up the plain, cotton underthings, wrinkling her nose. “Really? Really? The first time in my whole damn life I’m putting these on, and it’s because Nell decided I ‘smelled like trouble?’”

She huffed as she tugged them on anyway. “Ugh. Feels… weird. Like I’m betraying myself. Guess I’ll live. Good thing bras don’t exist in Bilgewater as well.”

She added the holster belt across her hips, sliding her pistol into its place. It hung heavy and right, grounding her in a way the underwear definitely didn’t.

Glancing back at Dante, she smirked again. He was sprawled across the cot, white hair all tangled, one arm dangling over the side like a lazy dog. Even asleep, he looked like he owned every room he walked, or collapsed into it. Maybe a bit of both.

“Still out, huh?” Jinx whispered, running a hand through her hair as she eyed him. “Good. Don’t think you could handle seeing me looking this… normal. With panties on for the first time. Well, there was that time I dressed up as the dealer in that Pilite boat casino.”

She gave a low laugh to herself, tugging the jacket tighter. And headed out the room quietly. The stairs creaked under Jinx’s boots as she slipped down. The moment she stepped into the workshop, her jaw dropped once again. 

Bilgewater wasn’t like the undercity that Jinx spent nineteen years of her life at all. No clutter of scrap heaps, no smell of rusted piping or burning shimmer. Everything here was organized. There were racks lined up with gleaming barrels, crates stacked neat with polished brass casings, blueprints pinned straight on the walls instead of crumpled into balls. Even the worktable, scarred and blackened from use, had tools set in rows instead of spilling everywhere.

Jinx whistled low, eyes wide as she ran her fingers along the stock of a heavy repeating rifle. The wood was smooth, polished. “Huh. So this is what guns look like when they’re made from… y’know. Real stuff.”

She crouched near another bench where Nell had been working. Dual pistols mid-assembly. The barrels were engraved with curling lines, subtle flourishes that caught the morning light. “Ooooh.”

Jinx grinned, reaching like a kid in a candy store. “You even make ‘em pretty.”

Her fingers twitched toward the half-finished firing mechanism, desperate to poke inside and see how it ticked. She barely stopped herself, gnawing at her own lip. “No… not touchy. Don’t wanna get murdered first thing in the morning.”

Still, she wandered on, peeking into crates, opening drawers, practically buzzing with curiosity. It was like walking through some kind of holy place for her. All these guns weren’t cobbled-together lifelines, but as craft.

That’s when Nell’s voice cut in from behind, dry as powder. “Touch anything that’s glowing, rattling, or humming and I’ll know. And you’ll be wearing that towel again.”

Jinx yelped, spinning around, caught red-handed like a kid sneaking in sweets. She was still halfway between one of the worktables and a crate of gun oil, when Nell’s voice cut through the room. But instead of the scolding she expected, Nell leaned against the doorway with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You look like a kid in a candy shop. Relax, I’m not gonna bite.” She tilted her head toward the stairs. “Come on. Coffee’s on.”

Jinx blinked, then pointed at herself. “Wait—you mean me? Coffee? Uh… I don’t…”

Nell was already walking away, not waiting for an answer. “First time for everything, bluebird.”

Jinx’s breath hitched slightly at the nickname due to the fact it was close to Dante’s nickname that he gave to her. And the curiosity outweighed hesitation, and Jinx followed the older woman back upstairs, the kitchen was modest. With a rickety table, two mugs already set out, steam curling from their rims. Jinx sat awkwardly, eyeing the black liquid like it might bite her instead.

“Don’t smell too bad,” she muttered, lifting the mug and taking a sip. The taste hit her like a brick. Well, more like a bullet train. It’s bitter, burnt, strong enough to strip paint. She made a face, coughing once before forcing it down. “Okay… yep. Tastes like swamp water that got set on fire. Nice.”

Nell chuckled, sipping hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll get used to it. Everyone does.”

For a moment, silence settled. Then Nell tipped her mug toward the ceiling. “Still sleeping. Figures. That boy could nap through a cannon barrage if he wanted to. Some things don’t change.”

Jinx smirked, leaning on the table. “Yeah, sounds about right. He’s always the last one up. Drives me nuts sometimes.”

Nell nodded, her eyes half-lidded over her mug. Then, with the kind of casual timing that hit like a bomb, she added. “And the two of you were loud enough last night. I'm surprised he’s still asleep at all.”

The sip Jinx was about to take froze halfway. She choked on air instead, nearly dropping the mug. “W–what?!”

Nell just raised a brow, entirely unbothered. “Walls aren’t that thick. Don’t look so rattled. You’re both adults now. Can do whatever you want.” 

She blew across her coffee before drinking again, like she hadn’t just dropped a thunderbolt across the table.

Jinx sat there, face redder than her eyes had ever been, sputtering into her cup. “…Oh by Janna.”

Nell’s smirk deepened, but she let the silence speak for her.

Jinx sat there, cheeks still flushed, trying to sip her coffee like nothing had just happened. She drummed her fingers on the table, then smirked as if she’d finally found her footing. “Well, guess we should’ve just invited you to watch, huh? Maybe take notes? Betcha never seen moves like—”

Nell didn’t even blink. She sipped her coffee, utterly unfazed.

“Cute,” she said flatly. “But you sound like a dock rat trying too hard to prove she’s tough. I’ve been living in Bilgewater my whole damn life, sweetheart. I’ve heard jokes twice as dirty from kids half your age who were cutting purses on the piers before their teeth came in.”

Jinx froze, mid-gesture. “…You’re telling me kids in Bilgewater are dirtier than me?”

Nell gave her a look over the rim of her mug. One that was part amusement, part warning. “You’re not even in the top ten.”

That hit Jinx like a slap. She sputtered, then leaned back with a scowl. “Pfft, yeah right. I’m Jinx! Zaun’s finest chaos machine, gunsmith queen of crazy. You’re telling me some snot-nosed brat out there’s got a better mouth than me?”

“Better mouth, worse aim,” Nell answered dryly. “Difference is, you’ve got the talent to back up the noise. Don’t waste it pretending to be scary. You already are, in your own way.”

For a moment, Jinx just blinked at her. Then, despite herself, a grin tugged at her lips. “…Heh. Okay, that’s kinda badass.”

Nell just shrugged and drained her mug. “Told you. First time for everything.”

The sound of heavy boots creaked down the steps before either of them noticed. Jinx was in mid-retort, leaning across the table at Nell, when Dante’s shadow cut across the kitchen light.

“…The hell am I lookin’ at?” His voice was still rough with sleep. “You two aren’t tryin’ to kill each other?”

Jinx whipped her head around, caught like a kid sneaking sweets. “We’re just, uh, bonding. Girl talk. Totally normal girl talk.”

Nell smirked into her cup, not bothering to explain.

Dante stepped in, hair still messy from last night, dressed in the clothes Nell had left out. His new outfit was a mix of practical and unmistakably him. He had coal-black trousers tucked into worn leather boots reinforced with steel plates, a deep burgundy shirt open at the collar, and still kept his crimson Noxian coat, didn’t mind at the fact it was frayed and still stained with worn paint from The Hexgates War. A heavy belt sat low on his hips, holsters already strapped into place, with Ebony and Ivory, and of course, The Force Edge slung on the ring on his coat.

Jinx blinked, nearly choking on her coffee. “Whoa. Since when did you look like some pirate king’s bastard son?”

Dante just arched a brow at her, strolling past casually, and without hesitation, grabbed Jinx’s mug right out of her hands. She yelped, “Hey!” 

But Dante downed the black sludge in one long gulp, like it was water. Slamming the mug back down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tastes the same. Guess you still haven't figured out how not to burn coffee.” 

Nell rolled her eyes. “Drink it or don’t. You still used to come here every morning and steal my cup before heading out, so don’t act surprised.”

Jinx gawked at him. “You actually drink this crap? I thought it was, like, a hazing ritual or something!”

Dante just smirked, leaning back against the counter. “Nah. Builds character. You’ll thank her later.”

Jinx squinted at him, suspicious. “Or it kills taste buds.”

“Same thing,” Dante shot back.

Jinx leaned back in her chair, arms crossing under her chest, narrowing her eyes at Dante. “So, pirate king’s bastard son, what’s today’s big plan? We’re finally gonna start blowing things up, or are we still in the ‘eat bad food and drink worse coffee’ stage of your grand tour?”

Dante’s smirk thinned into something more serious. He drummed his fingers against the mug, his voice low but steady. “I’m heading to Bobby’s Cellar.”

Jinx perked up immediately. “Sweet, I’ll—”

“No.” Dante cut her off, sharp enough to freeze her mid-motion. “I’m going alone.”

The words dropped heavy between them. Jinx blinked, disbelief flashing across her face before indignation took over. “The hell you mean alone? You drag me halfway across the ocean, dangle all this juicy history in front of me, then just ditch me, the hell am I? A cheap hooker?”

“You still need rest, Bluebell.” Dante’s voice was firm, the kind he rarely used on her. “Your arm’s healing, but you’re not at a hundred percent yet. And Bilgewater… isn’t like Zaun. People here don’t care how crazy you look, or how big your guns are. They’re meaner, and more reckless. You step wrong, they’ll gut you in the street for fun.”

Jinx’s jaw tightened, her leg bouncing under the table like a live wire about to snap. “So what, I’m supposed to sit here and play house with your cranky gunsmith mom while you go off having all the fun?”

Nell finally set her cup down with a sharp clink, cutting into the tension. “He’s right, girl. Bilgewater’s not a playground. You’ll learn that fast enough if you stick around. For now, you’d do well to listen to him.”

Jinx shot Nell a glare, but the older woman didn’t even blink. If anything, she smirked like she’d just won another round without even trying.

Dante pushed off the counter, grabbing a knife under it that he had hidden for special occasions during his time in this city. “You can learn a lot from Nell while I’m gone. Trust me, she knows more about weapons than most people will ever know.”

Jinx groaned, throwing her hands up. “Great. Homework. My favorite.”

But Dante leaned down just enough to brush his fingers across her shoulder, grounding her storm before it broke loose. “Rest. Learn. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Without waiting for another word, Dante walked downstairs and towards the workshop’s door, exiting the place. 

Nell finally pushed herself from the seat, tugging on a worn leather apron that had seen decades of soot and gun oil. 

“Come on then, Powder,” she said suddenly.

Jinx blinked. “…You did not just call me that.”

“Didn’t say it was your name,” Nell replied evenly, heading down the creaking steps into the workshop proper. “But I’ve seen a lot of kids pick up a tool before they knew what to call themselves. You’ve got that same spark. So, you’re coming with me.”

Curiosity overrode her usual need to bark back. Jinx hopped off the chair, and went after Nell.

“Hands off unless I say,” Nell warned without turning, moving to a locked chest at the back. She pulled out a long case, carefully unlatching it before setting it on the bench.

Inside lay a weapon unlike anything Jinx had ever built from Zaunite scraps. It was bulky, unfinished, its frame a marriage of Bilgewater iron and delicate engraving that hinted at artistry beyond brute function. A pistol, but heavy enough to feel like a cannon in the right hands.

“This,” Nell said, running a finger along the barrel, “was my husband’s first prototype. Roy never finished it. Too ambitious at the time. Too heavy, too complicated. But he swore one day it would’ve been the gun that put Bilgewater steel on the map.”

She turned to Jinx, eyes narrowing like she was measuring her soul. “You want to hold it?”

Jinx froze for a heartbeat, then nodded so fast her braids whipped. “Do I—YES. Absolutely yes.”

Nell lifted the gun with both hands and passed it over. Jinx took it carefully, cradling it like it was alive. The weight shocked her. Her wrists strained, but she adjusted quickly, setting her stance the way she always did with Fishbones or Pow-Pow.

Her eyes lit up like stars. “Oh… oh, she’s beautiful.”

“She’s incomplete,” Nell corrected. “Which means she can teach you more than a finished piece ever will. Every flaw, every gap in the design is a lesson. That’s the difference between a tinkerer and a smith, you don’t just make things explode, you learn why they don’t yet.”

Jinx was quiet for once, just staring down the sight, fingers twitching over the unpolished trigger. She almost looked reverent.

“…You know,” she finally said, voice softer, “if I had this back in Zaun, Vi would’ve never won a pillow fight against me.”

Nell barked a short laugh despite herself. “Kid, if you fired that thing in a pillow fight, there wouldn’t be a house left standing.”

Jinx smirked crookedly, lowering the gun. “Guess that means I would’ve won then.”

Nell shook her head, but there was approval in her eyes now. “Yeah. You’ve got the same madness Roy loved in a fight. Just… don’t let it eat you whole.”

Jinx bit her lip, still staring at the weapon before handing it back with surprising care. “Thanks. For letting me touch a piece of him. Guess I can see why Dante thought the world of you.”

For a fleeting moment, Nell’s weathered expression softened fully. “…And I can see why he’s still alive. You’ve got his back, don’t you?”

“Always.” Jinx’s grin was sharp, but her voice was dead serious.

Nell put Roy’s prototype back in its case, sliding the lock shut, when she noticed Jinx still fidgeting with her hands, like her fingers itched for more.

“…You want to show me somethin’, don’t you?” Nell asked, crossing her arms.

Jinx grinned, wide and toothy. “What gave it away? The twitchy fingers or the crazy eyes?”

“Both.”

Jinx shrugged and reached for the pistol Nell had set aside earlier, a simple but balanced make. She spun it around her finger before snapping it into her palm, raising it with only one hand. “So, see, this is my style. I always shoot one-handed.” 

She tilted her wrist, striking a dramatic pose. “Looks cooler. Feels cooler. And on the other hand? Free for grenades, bombs, or flipping off whoever’s dumb enough to get close.”

Nell arched her brow. “One-handed means less control, less stability. You’re tellin’ me you gave up dueling for that?”

“I didn’t give it up. I evolved it.” Jinx smirked. “I used to go full two-pistol mode. Like pow, pow, pow! If I was in some wild shootout in Zaun’s underbelly. But now? I only pull the pistol when I know I’ve got the fight under control. Real clean. Real precise.”

“And when it’s not under control?” Nell asked, genuinely curious now.

Jinx’s grin spread wider. “That’s when Pow-Pow comes out.”

Nell raised an eyebrow. “…Pow-Pow?”

“Yeah!” Jinx beamed, like she’d just been waiting for someone to ask. “My baby. Big ol’ minigun. Built her myself out of scraps, gears, and a whole lotta Boom.” 

She mimed cranking a barrel with her free hand, her eyes lighting up. “She spins, she spits lead faster than anyone can blink, and she’s loud. Perfect for when everything’s on fire and the world’s ending around me. Which, y’know, happens more often than you’d think.”

Nell stared for a long moment, then let out a low whistle. “…A damn minigun. At your age?”

Jinx puffed up proudly. “Yep.”

“Then let me guess.” Nell narrowed her eyes, studying the girl with a gunsmith’s precision. “You can’t be older than twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two if I’m pushin’ it.”

Jinx’s smirk flickered into something more mischievous. “Try nineteen.”

That earned a pause. Nell blinked, then muttered, “…Saints above.” 

She shook her head and gave a dry laugh. “And here you are, talkin’ about building miniguns like it’s makin’ dollhouses.”

“Hey!” Jinx pouted dramatically. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Pow-Pow’s saved my ass more times than I can count.” 

She spun the pistol in her hand again, cocky as ever. “Besides, nineteen’s plenty old enough to raise hell.”

Nell smirked faintly, though her eyes lingered on the girl a little longer this time. Not with doubt, but with a strange, grudging respect. “…You remind me of me. Just a lot louder.”

Jinx cackled. “Best compliment I’ve gotten all week.”

Nell leaned her hip against the workbench, arms crossed, watching Jinx spin the pistol like it was a toy. Her sharp eyes didn’t miss the natural ease in her grip, the kind you didn’t fake.

“…So tell me somethin’, girl.” Nell’s tone softened, losing that usual crank. “Why guns? Why’re you into smithin’ and shootin’ the way you are?”

Jinx froze mid-spin. “…Uh. Why?”

Nell gave her a small shrug. “Everyone’s got a reason. Me? It was Roy. Man lived, breathed, and bled iron and powder. Couldn’t read a book to save his life, but put a busted barrel or a warped trigger in his hands and he’d sing to it ‘til it was whole again. He dragged me into it. Taught me every gear, every weld, every damn thing I know. Roy was my reason. My motivation.”

Jinx blinked, her smirk faltering for once. She stared at the pistol in her hand like it had just grown heavier.

“I used to build bombs when I was a kid. Never worked, not once. Called one Whisker.” Jinx chuckled dryly, staring down at the weapon. “Cute little thing, face painted on it and everything. I knew it was junk. I knew it wasn’t gonna blow, but I built it anyway. Made me feel… useful. Like if I couldn’t throw a punch like Vi, at least I could make something that mattered. For her. For all of ‘em.”

Her shoulders tightened, and she set the gun down before she snapped something delicate on it.

“One time, Vi caught me curled up with one of those stupid bombs after a bad day. I told her I ruined everything. She just said—” Jinx smirked faintly, mimicking her sister’s stance, fists up, voice deeper, “—‘I’ve got these, and you got those.’” 

She wiggled her fingers like it was a joke, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She actually believed I’d make something work one day. Even when I didn’t.”

Jinx’s gaze drifted upward, remembering rooftops under Zaun’s polluted night sky. “We even went and sat on a ledge together, lookin’ out at Piltover. She’d point at all the places we messed up. My brothers… Claggor stuck in a gutter. Mylo dumping paint on his own ass. Dumb stories, stupid laughs. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said I was stronger than I thought. Told me one day the city would respect us. Like she… like she really believed it.”

For a moment, her voice cracked, the edges of Powder showing through. She pushed it back down with a sharp little laugh, pulling a strand of blue hair from her shaved sides behind her ear. 

“Why do I make guns, bombs, all of it? ‘Cause if I build it, it means I exist. It means I can matter. And maybe Vi was right. Maybe one day the city does respect me. Or maybe it just blows up in my face. Either way, bang, fireworks.” She mimed an explosion with her hands, grinning wide again, though her eyes lingered on Nell like she was testing how much of herself she’d just given away.

Nell leaned back against the worktable, arms crossed, her weathered eyes never leaving Jinx. She let the silence stretch, long enough that Jinx started to fidget, picking at the bandage on her arm.

“You know,” Nell finally said, her voice rough but steady, “you sound just like Roy.”

Jinx blinked. “…Huh?”

“Man couldn’t swing a sword to save his life,” Nell went on, shaking her head with a small laugh. “The first time he tried to make a pistol, the damn barrel exploded in his hand. He nearly lost two fingers. But he kept at it. Built ugly little lumps of iron that no sane soul would fire twice. Thought he was useless. A fool chasing smoke.”

Her gaze softened, the steel in her tone easing. “But every mistake taught him somethin’. Every failure built the man he became. By the time he was your age, he wasn’t just making weapons, he was making pieces of himself. Same way you are.”

Jinx tilted her head, unsure if she should be insulted or proud. “So you’re saying I’m like your clumsy, fingerless husband?”

Nell snorted. “I’m saying you’ve got the same fire. The need to prove yourself. To matter. That kind of drive can eat you alive if you let it. Or it can shape you into something people can’t ignore.”

She leaned closer, her voice lowering with surprising weight. “This Vi was right. You are stronger than you think. And one day, it won’t just be Piltover or Zaun that respects you. Bilgewater might, too.”

Jinx looked down at the gun in her lap again, chewing her lip, not quite sure how to respond. So she defaulted to a smirk. “Guess that means I gotta avoid blowing my fingers off, huh?”

Nell chuckled, reaching over to ruffle one of Jinx’s braids like she was a kid. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Jinx had the old prototype gun in her lap, absently spinning it in her palm when the question slipped out. “So… you got anyone else? Y’know, besides Dante crashing your workshop all the time.”

Nell raised an eyebrow. “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Jinx shrugged with her usual grin. “Call it professional curiosity. You feel like a cranky mom, so… I gotta ask if you’ve got other little brats running around.”

That earned her a huff, but Nell answered anyway. “I’ve got a son. Rock Goldstein. A few years older than Dante, older than you too.”

Jinx perked up, leaning forward. “Rock? Like, Rock Rock? That’s his name?”

“Don’t start.” Nell’s warning tone was sharp, but her lips twitched as if she’d heard that reaction a hundred times. “He wasn’t much for Bilgewater. Hated the smell, hated the ‘politics’. So he left. Works for a company called Uroboros now.”

“Uroboros…?” Jinx repeated, tilting her head. “Sounds shady. Like, culty-shady.”

Nell ignored the jab, continuing, “But, apples don't fall far from the tree. He’s a weaponsmith too. Send letters every so often.”

Jinx’s curiosity burned hotter. “Letters? What does he even write about?”

Nell’s voice softened, just slightly. “Last one said his brother-in-law had a baby girl. Nico. My granddaughter. Barely two months old.” 

She reached over to the corner shelf, pulling a small, weather-worn picture tucked into a frame.

Jinx nearly fell out of her chair. “Wait, wait, you’re telling me you’re a grandma?!”

Nell gave her a flat look that could’ve cut glass. “Say it louder, why don’t you? The whole damn harbor probably didn’t hear you.”

But Jinx was already looking down the picture, peering down at the tiny face. Nico, wrapped in a blanket, blinking up at the world. Her grin softened despite herself. “…Okay, yeah. She is an angel. Kinda got your eyes, too.”

Nell’s chest warmed, though she didn’t show it. Instead, she muttered, “Her father’s a wuss. Agnus. My son’s brother-in-law. But the girl, she’ll definitely be trouble when she’s older, I can already tell.”

Jinx chuckled, holding the photo like it was stolen treasure. “Guess it runs in the family, huh?”

Nell let that hang in the air, her sharp eyes flicking toward Jinx with an unspoken weight, like maybe she wasn’t just talking about Nico.

Jinx had been staring at the photograph of Nico so long the edges of it were starting to curl between her fingers. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to. “…I wonder how my sister’s doin’.”

Nell glanced up from polishing a stripped-down rifle. “The Vi girl you told me about?”

Jinx nodded slowly. “Yeah. Vi.”

She hesitated before adding, “She’s married now. To Piltover’s sheriff,  their big commander of the Enforcers.” 

She said “Enforcers” like a curse. “Figures, right? My sister… married to the people that used to raid our homes, bust our heads open.”

Nell’s brow arched but she didn’t say anything, so Jinx kept going. “Enforcers did a lotta bad things to Zaunites. To kids like us. We were just tryin’ to survive.” 

She let out a breath through her teeth. “Now she’s one of them. Or married to one, anyway.”

For a second, her eyes unfocused. They were not here, but somewhere deep, cold, and full of sparklers. She could still hear Vi’s voice calling from the dark: “Powder?” She could still taste the guilt when she’d told Vi: “Silco didn’t make Jinx. You did.” She could still see the cupcake glowing red, Caitlyn tied up in that wheelchair, Vi’s eyes flicking between her and the gun, Dante chained up at the side of the table. That moment had burned itself into her like a scar.

She blinked and forced herself back into the workshop. “…We used to dream about getting out. Me and her. About making Piltover respect us. And now look at her. Married to it.”

Nell leaned her elbows on the table, her voice gruff but not unkind. “Girl, that’s what people do. Some marry steel, some marry power. Doesn't always mean they forget where they came from.”

Jinx’s mouth twisted. “Feels like she forgot me by now.”

“Or maybe she figured you could walk your own path.” Nell’s tone stayed Bilgewater blunt, but there was warmth under it. “Happens to a lotta families. Hell, Roy screwed up plenty when he started smithin’. Like I said, he blew his own thumb near clean off one time. Didn’t stop him from teachin’ me later.”

That made Jinx glance over, the corner of her mouth tugging despite herself. Nell just shrugged. “We all got ghosts. Some of ‘em we build with our own hands. Some we bury. Doesn’t mean we can’t still reach ‘em.”

Jinx dropped the photo on the table and leaned back, her blue eyes somewhere between Powder and Jinx. “…Maybe. Just feels like too much blood under the bridge, y’know?”

Jinx let out a long, shaky laugh and twirled the pistol in her fingers without really looking at it. “Y’know… it’s honestly kinda nice. Talking to someone else about all this crap.” 

She gestured vaguely at her temple. “Usually it just stays up here, rattling around like a bad grenade.”

Nell’s mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Mm. Ain’t gonna lie, sweetheart. Sounds like you could use a therapist.”

Jinx snorted, a sharp little bark of a laugh. “Pfft. I need a lot of things to fix what’s goin’ on in my head. Pretty sure therapy’s just one box on a whole checklist.”

Nell leaned an elbow on the workbench, her voice still that same dry, unflinching Bilgewater drawl. “Maybe so. But even a rusty gun can be cleaned. Ain’t hopeless, even if it feels that way.”

Jinx blinked at her, startled by the blunt kindness behind the words. She looked down at the revolver again, her fingers stilling. “…You really think so?”

Nell shrugged one shoulder. “I've seen worse cases. And some of ‘em even learned to shoot straight.”

That earned a real, if crooked, smile from Jinx. “Guess that’s somethin’ to aim for.”

VIOLET:

The docking platform thrummed with the weight of the incoming airship, the whole structure humming like a plucked string. Piltover’s banners hung overhead, half-patched from the recent war, smoke-stained from Ambessa’s flagships’ artillery. Enforcers stood in formation, rifles polished, armor freshly buffed, but the fatigue in their eyes betrayed them.

Vi leaned against the railing, her new gauntlets at her side, watching the sleek airship descend in slow, controlled grace. 

“So this is our big savior?” She muttered, unimpressed. “Some rich suit from gods-know-where, swooping in to tell us how to fix our city.”

Caitlyn, standing straight with her officer’s coat catching the breeze, didn’t turn her head. “Vi... With Jayce gone and Hextech all but shattered, Piltover is crippled. We weren’t ready for Ambessa’s fleet, or for Viktor’s… whatever he called it. ‘Glorious evolution.’”

Vi’s jaw tightened at the memory. The war has been over less than a month and it already had people scrambling to fill the gaps. “Yeah, well, excuse me if I don’t jump at the idea of another outsider promising the moon in under a month since the world nearly ended.”

Caitlyn glanced at her partner, her expression even but edged with quiet exhaustion. “If we don’t take his help, there may not be a Piltover left to argue over. The new council knows it. And so do we.”

The airship’s hull finally connected with the platform in a hiss of steam and a heavy clang. The enforcers straightened in unison.

The ramp dropped.

A figure emerged. He was tall, pale, unmistakably commanding. 

Arius. 

His suit was a pristine white, trimmed with ruffles shaped like tiny skulls, offset by a dark-blue cravat. Draped across his shoulders was a burgundy, fur-trimmed coat, worn like a cape. His hair was slicked back from a widow’s peak, his beard framing a smile that was too polished to feel sincere.

At his side descended his secretary: draped in plum leather, her gloves and high-heeled boots gleaming under the sun. A feathered mask concealed her face, its eyes painted wide and sharp, giving her the look of a predator bird. She stood just behind him, silent but watchful.

Vi muttered under her breath, arms crossed. “Great. He even dresses like a villain.”

Caitlyn’s voice was low, almost resigned. “Careful. He’s the kind of man who’ll hear that even if you whisper it.”

As Arius strode forward, his presence radiated more theater than diplomacy, every step deliberate. He spread his arms as though greeting an old friend.

“Piltover,” he announced, his voice smooth and resonant, “I have come to help you rise. From ruin, into strength. From fracture, into order. Uroboros will give you what your city needs most. A rebirth.”

The words echoed across the platform like a sermon. And that made Vi scowled. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, “I’ve never heard that one before.”

JINX:

“Bet Vi’s living the most boring life right now. Sitting all proper with her wife. Tea parties, paperwork, maybe polishing that shiny badge of hers. Yaaawn.”

Nell cocked a brow at her, lips pressed into a thin line. “That's the sheriff girl you mentioned?”

“Commander,” Jinx corrected, mockingly drawing out the word with a roll of her eyes. “Big fancy title. Caitlyn Kiramman, queen of the uptight snobs.”

DANTE:

Dante’s boots crunched against the damp cobblestones, the stench of Bilgewater’s docks rolling off the tide. Ahead, Bobby’s Cellar squatted in its usual corner like a scarred old beast that refused to die, its lanterns glowing warm against the night. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, that easy swagger hiding the fact his mind was elsewhere.

As he neared the cellar door, the smell of cheap rum and pipe smoke triggered something deeper, an old memory he hadn’t dredged up in years.

—

Fifteen. Too thin, too sharp around the edges, still carrying the weight of a boy who’d grown up too fast. He pushed through the same doors back then, cocky as hell, with the Rebellion on his back, two basic pistols, and nothing in his pockets.

Inside, laughter and jeers roared louder than the storm outside. Sailors, smugglers, washed-up hunters, all turning their heads when the kid strolled in like he owned the place.

That’s when Enzo spotted him. Wide in the middle, cigar already half chewed through his teeth. He’d been holding court at a corner table, boasting about his latest deal, when Dante dropped into the empty seat across from him.

“You’re on my chair, kid,” Enzo grunted.

“Guess I’m borrowing it,” Dante fired back without missing a beat. His voice didn’t crack, didn’t falter. That alone earned a couple chuckles from the crowd.

Nobody took him seriously. Not the brawlers, not the drunks, not even Enzo. Until Dante leaned in and tossed a crumpled bounty flyer across the table. One of the nastiest marks plastered on every wall in Bilgewater at the time.

“Give me a shot,” Dante said. No hesitation. “I’ll bring you this bastard’s head.”

Enzo snorted smoke out of his nose. “You? You’re barely outta diapers.”

But Dante’s eyes were cold, stubborn, and they already had a devil behind them which never wavered. And something in that look, maybe sheer madness, maybe conviction, made Enzo laugh harder than he had in months.

“Alright, kid. Go on then. Prove me wrong.”

The cellar roared with more laughter, but Dante only smirked as he left, boots too big for him, sword rattling at his back. He remembered the night air biting against his face, the unshakable certainty in his chest: he was gonna do it.

—

Back in the present, Dante pushed open the cellar door again, older now, heavier in the shoulders, carrying scars instead of doubts. The same smoke, the same laughter hit him, but this time no one laughed when he walked in. They all knew his name.

Dante shouldered his way through Bobby’s Cellar, ignoring the card games, the dice clattering, the bottles clinking. His boots carried him straight to the bounty board nailed up along the far wall. Layers of parchment flapped in the lantern draft, faces of killers, smugglers, deserters. All with prices stamped beneath them.

His eyes scanned, half out of habit until they locked on a face that froze him where he stood.

Thick jaw, sun-leathered skin, dead-eyed sneer carved permanent. The Bilgewater region sigil tattoo sprawled across his cheek, matching the one Dante felt every time he looked in the mirror.

The bastard who “branded” him.

For years, he’d only known him as “the Snake,” one of Gangplank’s top men, a monster with a hot iron and a laugh like rusted chains. But here, for the first time, the bounty board gave him something else. A name.

“Garrick Slade.”

The letters burned into Dante’s mind as his jaw tightened. Underneath the picture, the ink spelled it all out:

“Wanted for Slavery, Smuggling, Rape, & Role as Gangplank’s First Mate.

Alive: 20,000 krakens. Dead: 10,000.”

His hand twitched towards the Force Edge on his back.

“Garrick Slade…” he muttered, tasting the name like venom.

For the first time in years, the faceless nightmare from his youth wasn’t just a memory… It was a man he could hunt.

Dante ripped the bounty poster clean off the board, crumpling the parchment in his fist. A broker at the nearby table, a ratty man with gold teeth, cocked his head.

“Interested in the bounty, stranger?”

Dante didn’t even look at him, just shoved the poster into his coat. 

“It ain’t about the money. That mark on his cheek…” he jabbed at his own tattooed face, “…is all the reason I need.”

The broker gave a knowing grin, leaning back in his chair. “Careful. You’re not the only one after him. Miss Fortune’s already set her sights on him and his lot.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Lot?”

“Aye,” the man nodded. “That crew calls themselves the Drowned Knaves. Ghosts, really. What’s left of Gangplank’s boys that wouldn’t kneel to Fortune after she took his crown. They don’t fly colors, they don’t stick to one port. When they show up, it’s blood and ash, then they vanish again.”

“Where?” Dante’s voice was sharp.

The broker shrugged. “Best places to catch their scent are the graveyard shoals, Dead Man’s Crest, or the old powder docks. But finding ‘em?” 

He clicked his tongue. “Like chasing smoke. They’ll find you before you find them.”

Dante smirked darkly, hand brushing Ivory’s grip. “Good. Saves me the trouble.”

Dante held the bounty poster tight with the other, his voice a low growl. “If I’m going hunting, I need more than names. Tell me about the crew. Who’s still left?”

The broker licked his lips, weighing how much information to sell. Then the gold-toothed grin came back. “You’re serious then. Alright. The Drowned Knaves ain’t just cutthroats. They’ve each carved themselves a place.” 

He leaned closer, lowering his voice:

• Karn “Ironjaw” Veyle – the brute, Gangplank’s old enforcer. Lost half his face to a powder blast, wears a steel jaw bolted into his skull. Breaks bones for fun.
• Marra “Red Tide” Korrin – their navigator. Knows every reef and current around the Serpent Isles. They say she once led a ship blind through a hurricane by “listening to the waves.”
• Tallow and Pike – twins. Hitmen, knife-throwers, executioners. Don’t speak much, but folks swear they finish each other’s sentences… when they do speak.
• Brask the Cinder – ship’s gunner. Burned to hell during Gangplank’s fall, now half his body’s leathered scar tissue. Smells like smoke everywhere he goes.
• And their captain… Garrick Slade. The one on your poster. Gangplank’s hound. He was there when they branded you, wasn’t he?

The broker shrugged. “They’ve got no home but the sea. Hit-and-run, strike at supply lines, vanish into the shoals. You’ll need more than luck to catch ‘em.”

Dante turned, shoving the poster into his coat. “I don’t need luck. Just a trail.” 

He left without another word, boots heavy on the wood as the cellar door shut behind him.

At a far table, half-shrouded in the pipe smoke and dim lamplight, a man set down his tankard. His eyes followed Dante until the door closed. Scar across his brow, jaw set hard, he knew that white hair, that posture. He was one of Miss Fortune’s men, pushed back from the table.

“She’s gonna want to know about this…” he muttered, slipping out into the night to report.

SARAH:

The man pushed through the door to Miss Fortune’s office, the faint reek of powder and salt still clinging to his coat. Fortune sat behind her desk, cleaning one of her glass with a cloth that shimmered faintly with the light from the oil lamps that threw fire into her red hair.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up.

The man swallowed. “I’ve news. Big news.”

That finally made her glance at him. Her green eyes sharpened like a blade’s edge. “Well, out with it.”

He shifted uncomfortably before blurting, “It’s him. Dante. Saw him in Bobby’s. Tore down Slade’s bounty with his own hand. Said it wasn’t about the coin. He’s coming for revenge.”

For a heartbeat, the room went still. Miss Fortune’s hands stilled on a bottle of liquor. Slowly, a smile crept across her lips. It was thin, dangerous, and laced with something more.

“Five years,” she breathed, leaning back in her chair. 

“Five years gone, and he comes crawling out of the grave like a ghost. My first mistake.” She let the word linger bitterly, tasting the weight of it.

The man cleared his throat. “Didn’t see him with anyone. Just him. That blue haired girl you heard about last night wasn’t with him.”

The smile vanished. Fortune’s jaw tightened, her fingers curling around the pistol grip. “So. He’s running solo again.” 

She stood up, sipping some of the liquor. “Seems Dante’s forgotten the last time we crossed paths. Or maybe he thinks the years made me softer. He’s wrong.”

Fortune smirked. “Speaking of… it’s about time I paid Nell a visit. My guns may be sharp, but I want them sharper. If Dante’s back in my waters, then it’s time I remind him what happened on our last night together.”

Her boots clicked against the wooden floor as she walked past, her coat flaring with the movement. “You should go back to your kids, Grue. They always need a father. Trust me.”

———

The workshop smelled of oil, powder, and steel. Nell Goldstein wiped her hands on a rag, her weathered face betraying nothing as the bell above the door chimed.

Miss Fortune stepped in like she owned the place. Red hair blazing in the lamplight and eyes sharper than any blade. And Nell knew this visit was personal.

“Afternoon, Nell,” Fortune said smoothly. “It’s been a long while.”

Nell gave her a curt nod. “You came for your guns.”

Fortune smiled, a smile as dangerous as it was charming. “You always did know me too well.”

Without a word, Nell turned, pulled open a drawer, and set the polished pistols on the counter. The steel gleamed, the balance was perfect. Fortune picked one up, spinning it with a familiar flourish before aiming it at the ceiling and twirling it back into its holster.

“Still the best,” she murmured, genuine gratitude threading her voice. “Bilgewater would eat itself alive without your craft, Nell.”

“Bilgewater eats itself just fine,” Nell said dryly, leaning back on the counter. “My work just makes sure some live long enough to see it.”

Fortune chuckled, then her eyes flicked past Nell, landing on a blue haired girl crouched by a workbench, tinkering with something small and mechanical. Blue hair spilled down her face with a purple streak across and a subtle trace of red on the thick hair bang that covered her right side of the face. 

The air shifted. Fortune tilted her head, curiosity and something sharper dancing in her eyes. “Well now… don’t believe we’ve met. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Jinx froze, her wide eyes flashing up from blue to demonic pink in less than a second. For a heartbeat, she looked ready to crack one of her usual wild jokes. But before she could speak, Nell cut in.

“This is Juniper,” Nell said firmly, voice steady as an anchor. “My niece. Visiting from out of town. Handy with tools, but green as spring grass.”

Fortune’s gaze lingered on Jinx. A little too long, too knowing. But she didn’t press. Instead, she smirked and looked back at Nell. “Juniper, is it? Cute. Reminds me of a girl I used to know.”

Nell crossed her arms, her eyes like flint. “Reminds me of someone too. Someone who came into my shop once, bleeding and broken. Someone I patched up and sent back into the fight when the world thought she was finished.”

That stopped Fortune cold. The smile faltered for half a second. Then she inclined her head. “Fair enough. I don’t forget debts, Nell. You saved me once. I won’t raise steel under your roof. Never will.”

She holstered both pistols, her tone softening, though her eyes never lost their edge. “Keep her close, Nell. Bilgewater’s waters aren’t kind to… girls. We both found out that in the hard way.”

With that, she turned on her heel, coat swishing behind her, and left. The bell chimed again as the door closed. Only then did Jinx exhale, her hand twitching toward the half-built bomb on the bench.

“Juniper?” She hissed. “That’s the best you could do?”

Nell shot her a look sharp enough to cut. “Better than you blurting out Jinx, girl. Fortune’s not stupid. She smells blood in the water. Best pray she doesn’t smell yours.”

“Fortune?” Jinx blinked. “That’s her name? Who the hell is she?”

Nell turned back to her tools, voice flat but edged. “Best if Dante’s the one to tell you.”

“What? Wait… he’s been gone for hours!” Jinx started walking towards the door, but Nell didn’t even look up.

“He’s fine,” she said simply, striking the hammer once against metal. “Trust me. He’ll be back.”

DANTE:

The dockside stank of brine and blood. Dante leaned against a rotted piling, eyes narrowed. The tide rolled in sluggish and thick, carrying whispers of old battles and older grudges. And there they were. A cluster of them, Drowned Knaves, slipping out from a busted tavern door. Four, maybe five. Not the full pack, but enough to get the blood moving. One of them was easily  recognizable to Dante. Which made him tighten his jaw.

“Iron Jaw…” Dante muttered under his breath. The name alone tasted bitter. The familiar warmth stirred in his veins, demonic power begging to be let loose, to end this in a flash of red and ruin. His grip flexed on the Force Edge’s hilt, but he stopped.

“Nah. Too easy.” A crooked grin slid across his face. “This one’s personal. I’ll keep the tricks in the box.”

The Knaves hadn’t spotted him yet, busy laughing and jostling, their voices hoarse with rum. Dante pushed off the piling, slow, deliberate, like a predator stepping into the open. His boots thudded against the dock planks, drawing their eyes one by one.

“Evenin’, boys,” he drawled, voice low and edged with mockery. “Don’t suppose one of you can point me to your captain. Got some… unfinished business with him.”

They froze, then one of them, a wiry thug with a broken nose sneered at Dante. “Who the hell’re you?”

Dante’s smirk widened. His hand dropped lazily to his back, brushing the Force Edge’s pommel, but he didn’t draw yet. “Just a ghost lookin’ to settle his tab.”

The Knaves laughed at first, thinking Dante was some drunk stumbling into the wrong crowd. That laughter died quickly.

The first swung a rust-pitted cutlass. Dante slipped under it, shoulder-checked the man so hard he cracked through a crate, then snapped the cutlass clean out of his hands. Another came at him with a belaying pin. Dante caught the swing with his forearm, grimaced at the sting, then drove his fist into the thug’s gut hard enough to make him vomit on the planks. They swarmed, snarling, cursing. But Dante was a blur of raw, practiced violence. No flashy tricks, no red glow of demonic rage. It was just fists, boots, elbows, and the kind of precision you only get from brawling your way through half the world. A knee shattered one’s jaw. Another caught Force Edge’s pommel between the eyes and went down twitching.

When the dust cleared, one was left.

Karn “Ironjaw” Veyle. Was definitely bigger than the others, teeth glinting with gold caps, the infamous brand of Bilgewater burned into his cheek like Dante’s own. He spat blood and squared his shoulders.

“You…” Karn’s voice was thick, guttural. “Didn’t think you’d crawl outta the pits we put you in. Thought you died when Gangplank fell.”

Dante’s smirk vanished. He stepped forward, and the smile was replaced with something darker. He let Ironjaw throw the first punch. It was a wide, clumsy haymaker that Dante caught mid-swing. With a grunt, he twisted Karn’s arm, slammed him into a piling, then buried his fist into the man’s ribs again and again until the wood cracked behind him.

Ironjaw tried to bite, his teeth flashing toward Dante’s hand, but Dante drove his skull into the dock with a brutal headbutt. Karn reeled, half-conscious, coughing blood.

Dante crouched, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him with frightening ease. His voice was low, flat, and dangerous. “You remember me, don’t you? Kid with the collar. The one you thought you broke.”

Karn spat red in his face. “Shoulda… stay… down there.”

Dante slammed him again, hard enough the boards groaned. “Yeah, but you didn’t. Which means now you get to do me a favor.” 

He leaned close, voice sharp as a blade. “Where’s Slade?”

Karn coughed, tried to keep his bravado, but Dante pressed harder, knuckles grinding into his bruised ribs until his resolve cracked.

“Slade’s… west. Shadow Isles,” Karn wheezed. “Don’t stick in one port long. Too many eyes. Got his crew with him. Marra Red Tide… navigator. Can find you in any storm. Twins. Tallow and Pike. Don’t blink around ‘em, they’ll put steel in your throat before you finish breathin’, they’re somewhere in the city getting supplies. Brask the Cinder, runs the guns… bastard’s more fire than man these days.”

“And Slade himself?” Dante asked, his tone more growl than words.

Karn’s eyes flickered. “He was Gangplank’s dog. We all were. But he was the cruelest. He won’t stop ‘til he burns Bilgewater down and builds it back in the old man’s name.”

“Yeah, I know all that. Well except…” Dante circled him like a tide tightening. “You said the twins are somewhere in the city. Where exactly?”

Karn spat, venomous and stubborn. “I’m fucking dead already. What do you care if I tell you?”

Dante crouched down once more, the flat of Force Edge pressed against Karn’s jaw as if it were a question. 

“Because I can make it quick.” His voice was soft, but something under it hummed in a low current that prickled the air.

“Or you can make it worse. What the hell are you…?” Karn rasped, fear finally breaking through bravado.

Dante’s eyes flared crimson. For a moment the docklight caught him wrong and he looked less like a man and more like something coiled and ready. 

“This is your last chance,” he said coldly. 

Karn shook his head. “I’m not giving up my people.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. He thought of the mercury ink making first contact into his bruised skin under Gangplank’s flagship, the branding that had once marked him. Memory and muscle moved together. With a sneer, he swung the blunt side of Force Edge into Karn’s skull. The first blow landed with a sick, hollow thud. Karn slumped, defiant breath coming ragged and shallow. Dante didn’t want to kill him… not yet. But he hit again, harder, each strike a punctuation of intent rather than mercy. The wooden planks drank the sound.

VIOLET:

The polished street that led to the Council Building still smelled faintly of smoke. The ghost of Ambessa’s siege lingering in the marble and stone. Vi’s boots thudded against the floor beside Caitlyn’s quieter steps as they escorted Arius and his masked assistant down the street. The man didn’t so much walk as glide, each motion deliberate, his white suit untouched by the city’s war-torn grime.

“So,” Vi began, breaking the silence, “you’re the big shot who says he can fix what’s left of Piltover, huh?”

Arius didn’t look at her. His gaze drifted instead along the hall’s architecture, the cracked walls, the patched banners. 

“Fix is a humble word,” he said smoothly, voice rich with old-world charm. “I prefer to think of it as… restoring beauty to something that’s forgotten how to be proud.”

Caitlyn, ever the diplomat, stepped in before Vi’s frown deepened. “We appreciate your company’s willingness to help, Mister Arius. With Jayce gone and the Hextech network in shambles, the Council is… receptive to external aid.”

Arius smiled faintly, eyes finally cutting toward her. “Ah, Commander Kiramman. Always the voice of reason amid the rubble.” 

His gaze slid to Vi, tone shifting with surgical precision. “And the muscle that keeps that reason alive. A charming balance. Piltover’s finest from what I heard.”

Vi snorted. “Cute. Are you always this smooth, or just when you’re trying to sell something?”

His smirk didn’t falter. “I don’t sell, my dear. I invest. And I only invest in things that endure. Piltover, for all its scars, still endures. That makes it valuable.”

The masked assistant, who was silent till now, leaned slightly toward Arius, murmuring something too low to catch. Arius nodded once, then glanced back at Vi. “Tell me, Enforcer, what do you think the city needs most? Stronger walls? Better weapons?”

“Less people like you,” Vi said flatly.

Caitlyn shot her a quick look, her tone measured but tight. “What my partner means is that Piltover’s had its share of… opportunists lately. A Noxian general came here out of pity to take down one of Zaun's heroes. She allied herself with a man who wanted to permanently change everyone, using the once gracious Hexgates that are currently offline.” 

Arius chuckled softly. “And yet, opportunity is what built this city, wasn’t it?” 

He paused at the Council Chamber building, letting his gloved hand rest lightly against the handle. “Progress is never gentle, Commander. It always costs someone their comfort.”

He turned slightly toward them, eyes sharp behind his calm. “The question is… are you willing to pay that cost again?”

Before Vi could answer, the doors opened, and the assistant led Arius into the building. Caitlyn’s hand brushed Vi’s arm, a silent reminder to hold her temper as Arius strode forward,  already looking like he owned the room.

DANTE:

Tallow stirred awake to the taste of iron and dust, a low groan slipping from his throat. His head throbbed, blood dripping down into one eye. The room around him was dim and smelled like rust, salt, and sweat. Chains rattled when he tried to move. That’s when he heard it. That wet, ugly sound, followed by a muffled cry. Pike’s cry to be specific.

His twin was slumped in a chair across the room, face swollen and slick with blood. Dante stood over him, knuckles red, breathing heavy but calm. He’d been at this a while. The floor beneath them was painted with streaks of crimson.

“Leave him alone,” Tallow croaked, his voice cracking.

Dante didn’t even look at him. “You’re next.”

He reached down, pulled a knife from his belt, and twirled it once in his hand before setting his eyes back on Pike.

“Please,” Pike wheezed. “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dante’s expression didn’t change. He drove the knife straight into Pike’s knee.

“FUCK!” Pike screamed, the echo bouncing off the steel walls.

Tallow jerked against his restraints. “BY THE GODS!”

Dante didn’t stop. He grabbed Pike by the hair and yanked his head up until their eyes met. Pike was shaking, blood pooling beneath the chair.

“He can’t help you,” Dante said low, steady. “You focus right here, on me… or I’ll do the same thing I did to Gangplank before the old bastard learned to scream in silence. Understand?”

Pike’s eyes widened. He nodded frantically.

“Good.” Dante’s tone softened, but the calm was worse than anger. “Now, let’s talk business. I know you two have been loading up supplies for something big. Heard Brask’s name. Heard he’s got the ‘good stuff.’” 

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a growl. “What is it and where?”

Pike hesitated, teeth chattering. That was a mistake. Dante twisted the knife. Slowly. Blood bubbled out through the torn fabric of Pike’s pants. His scream filled the room again, raw and broken.

“Start talking,” Dante said, eyes glowing faintly red now, the demon in him scratching at the surface, but he kept it chained. “Or the next one goes through the other leg.”

“Brask is getting weapons!” Pike blurted out between gasps, his voice ragged and wet with pain. “To take down ships, buildings, and everything! We’re gonna take Bilgewater back in our captain’s name… from that whore, Fortune!”

Dante’s expression darkened instantly. His hand moved before his mind did. The knife plunged into Pike’s other leg with a wet crunch. Pike’s scream rattled the walls.

“Watch your mouth,” Dante growled, his tone razor-cold. “You don’t talk about her like that.”

Sure, he and Sarah had burned every bridge between them, but respect still smoldered in the ashes.

“WHERE!” He barked, voice echoing through the cramped space.

“I—I—” Pike stammered, trembling.

Dante didn’t wait. He cracked him across the face with a vicious punch, knocking a tooth loose. Then he reached into his coat, pulling out a worn, folded map of Bilgewater, the entire isle, from the mainland docks to the fogged reefs. He ripped the knife free from Pike’s knee, flipping it backward and shoving the bloodied hilt into the man’s mouth. The blade’s tip gleamed red in the low light.

“You’re gonna point,” Dante said flatly. “Show me where we are… and where your little stockpile’s hiding. And it better be the same spot your brother picks.”

Pike’s chest heaved, eyes wide and glistening. He hesitated, then finally tilted the knife, the tip scratching over the parchment before tapping a small inlet on the southern edge of the island. His blood smeared the coastline.

“That’s it,” Pike panted, spitting the knife out as it clattered to the floor. “That’s where Brask is getting the weapons. I swear to the gods… go ask him yourself, he’ll—he’ll tell you—”

He didn’t finish. Dante caught the knife, flipped it once in his hand, and drove it into Pike’s gut. The air left him in a gurgle.

Tallow screamed. “No! NO! You bastard! He told you! He told you what you wanted!”

Dante didn’t respond. He withdrew the knife, wiping it on Pike’s shirt, then turned toward Tallow. His steps were slow, deliberate. The steel of the Force Edge slid free from its sheath with a whispering hum.

“Why?” Tallow snarled through tears. “Why the fuck did you do that?!”

Dante looked him dead in the eye. His expression was unreadable. “Because,” he said quietly, raising the blade, “I believe him.”

The sword came down in a clean, brutal arc. Tallow’s body slumped forward, head rolling against the stone floor. Dante stood there for a moment, breathing steady but heavy. He looked at the two corpses, the map smeared with blood between them, and muttered under his breath.

“Three down.”

SARAH:

The night air in Bilgewater was heavy with salt and blood. The kind of scent that clung to your lungs, that no perfume or prayer could ever wash away.

Sarah Fortune walked through the alleyway in silence, her boots clicking over wet cobblestone, her crimson coat catching the flicker of the torchlight. The enforcers she brought with her earlier were long gone. She’d sent them away the moment she saw the first corpse. Karn “Ironjaw” Veyle, or what was left of him anyway, sat slumped against the wall of a gutted fishhouse. His jaw, the one that gave him his name was shattered, split down the middle like a cracked anchor. Was this a clean kill? No. This was personal.

Miss Fortune crouched, her gloved hand brushing his shoulder. The blood was dried. Dante had been here hours ago. She didn’t need anyone to tell her. She knew the rhythm of his violence, the way his trail read like a love letter written in rage.

“…You always did like to leave a message, didn’t you, little stray?” She muttered under her breath. 

She followed the path farther inland. It was an hour-long walk until she reached the alleys, down to an old warehouse by the docks. Two more bodies there. The twins. What was left of them. Pike stuck in a chair and his body was broken from mutual torture. His blood painted the floorboards in black streaks, thick and clotted. His brother’s head sat a few feet away, eyes still wide open.

She stepped carefully through the room, her eyes scanning the scene, the faintest trace of sadness brushing her face.

“Three generals gone…” she whispered. “And all of them were Gangplank’s bastards back in the day.”

The corners of her lips curled into something between a smirk and a sigh. “Guess you’re cleaning house, huh, Dante?”

She reached down, picking up the blood-stained knife Dante had left behind. Familiar. The same make she’d seen him carry when he first came to Bilgewater, back when he was still young, hungry, reckless, way before he became something worse.

Her reflection shimmered on the blade.

“You always had a flair for overkill,” she murmured, voice soft and edged. “But this… this feels different.”

She slid the knife into her coat pocket, standing up straight.

“Three down,” she counted quietly, pacing toward the open window that looked out toward the sea. “That leaves Brask, Marra… and Slade.”

Her gaze sharpened at the last name. From the rat who’d escaped her purge, who’d stolen half her ships when she’d taken Gangplank’s throne. Now Dante was hunting him too.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “So that’s what you’re up to, little stray. You’re coming after the ghosts I never finished.”

She turned to leave, pausing once more to glance back at the blood-soaked room. The light from the docks shimmered across the water, painting her face in gold and crimson.

“You’re either saving my city,” she said softly, “or burning it for me.”

With that, Miss Fortune holstered the pistol she had on her hand and stepped out into the night, alone, the door closing behind her with a whisper that sounded almost like a sigh.

DANTE:

Dante walked along the narrow cliffs overlooking the docks, the salty air biting against his face. The old map crinkled in his hand, stained and worn, three names already crossed out in dark, dried blood. 

‘Oh, Father, tell me

Do we get what we deserve?

Oh, we get what we deserve”

Karn Veyle 

Tallow & Pike 

He’d been on the hunt for nearly a full day now. No sleep. No food. Just the rhythmic pulse of revenge pushing him forward. His boots scraped against the wet stone as he paused near the edge, gazing down at the rows of ships rocking in the water below. Somewhere out there, Brask the Cinder was hiding. The bastard was the next name on his list. He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Hell of a vacation, huh?” He muttered to himself.

But his thoughts kept drifting. Not to the fight ahead, but to Jinx.

She was probably still holed up in Nell’s workshop, talking a mile a minute while tinkering with something dangerous and half-finished. Maybe Nell was humoring her, pretending not to be amused by her chaos.

“Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark

Yes and they will run you down, down 'til you fall

And they will run you down, down to your core

Yeah, so you can't crawl no more”

He hated leaving her there. Hated it more than the smell of the docks or the blood on his hands. But he couldn’t let her see this side of him, the violent human one. The one that got messy, ugly, personal. Killing demons? That was easy. They were monsters. But this… hunting men, breaking them down piece by piece, there was nothing righteous about it. And yeah, sure, he’d killed humans before. Noxians. Enforcers. But they wore masks, uniforms, and had actual ideologies. It was easier that way, easier to pretend they weren’t just men.

“Way down we go, go, go, go, go

Oh, way down we go

Say way down we go, ooh

Way down we go”

He looked down at the map again, tracing the next mark with his thumb. Brask’s hideout wasn’t far now. The air already smelled faintly of smoke.

“Guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way,” Dante muttered, folding the map and tucking it into his coat.

The sea wind ruffled his white hair as he adjusted the Force Edge across his back, the weapon’s weight familiar and grounding. He took one last glance toward the horizon, towards the direction that Nell’s workshop was located and he hoped Jinx still was. But Dante pressed forward, stepping into the dark streets ahead.

“She doesn’t need to see this part,” he said under his breath. “Nobody does.”

Dante moved like a shadow cutting through fog. Every step was deliberate, his boots sinking silently into damp planks slick with sea mist. His crimson coat, usually a flag for trouble, now drawn close and muted in the dim light. Above him, the sound of rain began to patter, it was soft at first, then steady. It drowned out the small noises he made as he climbed up the rope-lashed scaffolding, where the first lookout stood.

The man leaned lazily on a spear gun, yawning into the dark. He didn’t even see Dante until the half-devil was behind him, one arm snapping around his neck, the other pressing the barrel of the man’s own pistol against his ribs.

Click.

“Nighty-night, asshole.” Dante whispered. A quick twist with pure silence, and nothing short but efficient. The body slumped forward, caught by Dante before it hit the deck. He lowered it gently, then melted back into the storm.

He scaled up to the next level, muscles moving in rhythm with the creak of the ropes. The second lookout was a wiry woman with a long musket and she was scanning the docks below, muttering to herself. Dante crouched behind a stack of cannonballs, drew Ivory, and waited for thunder.

When the next flash of lightning hit, his pistol fired. One clean shot, right through her scope, right through her eye. The thunder swallowed the gunshot.

“Two down,” he murmured, holstering the gun.

From here he could see the third. The main watch, standing atop a half-rotted mast. The man’s lantern swung back and forth, casting a beam over the planks where Brask barked orders below. Dante waited for the rotation, then sprinted up the mast like a streak of crimson.

The lookout barely had time to gasp before Dante’s foot smashed into his chest. The body tumbled soundlessly into the sea below, vanishing beneath the waves. Lightning flashed again  and Dante was already gone, slipping between the rigging.

“Three down, two to go.” Dante whispered to himself.

The next two guards were together, chatting under a tarp beside a powder crate. Dante dropped from the ropes, landing in a crouch behind them. They turned at the thud, but all they saw was a blur with a flash of steel, a grunt, and then nothing.

When Dante stepped out from under the tarp, both men lay silent, blood mixing with rainwater running off the deck. He exhaled, straightening. The storm around him was building, wind tugging at his coat. The scent of salt and gunpowder thick in the air.

“Could’ve gone loud,” he muttered, glancing at the ship’s hold. “But cutting off the head’s faster.”

He withdrew the Force Edge, the blade humming faintly with restrained power. Its reflection caught the lightning, glowing for a heartbeat before vanishing again. Brask was down below, still shouting orders and completely unaware that every lookout he trusted was now dead. Dante started walking toward him, boots echoing on the wet planks. Each step was deliberate. Calm. Controlled.

“Good thing I’m fast,” he muttered under his breath as the rain poured harder. “Otherwise this would take all night.”

Brask’s fingers paused over the ledger, the glow of a lantern throwing his scarred face into hard relief. He didn’t look up until the boots stopped in the threshold in a slow, steady way, like rain. When he did, the single good eye widened.

“You—” he rasped. Recognition hit like an old wound. “You’re that runt—”

Dante didn’t bother with greetings. He stepped into the puddled lamplight, the rain spitting at his coat. “Karn, Tallow, Pike. Three down tonight.” 

His voice was flat. “Are you happy that your buddies are in hell?”

Brask’s laugh was a dry rasp. “You lie about that and I’ll—”

“It’s true.” Dante moved closer, the muzzle of Ivory catching the light as he slicked it free. “Now tell me about the two left. Where do Marra and Slade sleep? Where’s the stash? Make it clean and fast for both of us.”

Brask’s jaw worked. He spat black phlegm and gave a bitter shrug. “You want names, you want maps… you want ghosts. Marra ‘Red Tide’ she and Slade, they—” 

He hesitated, then spat, “They are always sleeping together nowadays. Close as shadows. If you want one, you’ll find the other.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Where exactly? Shadow Isle? Tell me where in the Shadow Isle they hole up.”

Brask’s face tightened. He shook his head. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit. Slade doesn’t keep the same harbor twice. You think I’d print a map for you?”

Without a word, the pirate pulled a hidden knife, lunging with the last scrap of bravado he had. It was a desperate, ugly move. Dante didn’t need to step aside, he didn’t bother. Ivory barked once, the report cracking the night like a whip. Brask staggered, the knife clattering from his hand. He went down before he hit the timbers, a sudden slump and a quiet that felt too loud.

The gunshot echoed across the hold and out into the rain. It carried enough sharpness to make the nearest loaders freeze, to make the lanterns sway. Dante stood over him for a second, breathing even. 

“Fucking idiot…” Dante whispered to himself. 

Footsteps thudded against the planks. Too many to count and too close. Dante’s jaw tightened. He didn’t wait to see who was coming. With a motion so quick it blurred, he swept the room. With the speed of sound, the crates spilled powder, his hands worked like a surgeon’s, rifling pockets, flipping manifest pages, sliding open a locked tin. A slip of folded parchment stuck under Brask’s boot caught his eye; he plucked it free before the newcomer reached the threshold.

Under the lamplight, the map spread out: Dark ink, crude hand-drawn coastlines, and red crosses marking moorings and hidden inlets. Two spots had been circled again and again, a patch of small harbors on Shadow Isle where a longship’s silhouette had been sketched in the margin. Beside each sketch, a scrawled name: Marra “Red Tide” Korrin and Garrick Slade. A crude arrow pointed from the lampworks south to the Shadow Isle.

Dante folded the map, tucking it into the pocket over his heart. He could feel the tremor in the docks, the way men close their mouths a little tighter when predators prowl. With now four of Slade’s captains already carved into the tide, fear would spread like oil. It wouldn’t be long before the crew fractured, cowardice outpacing loyalty.

He straightened as the boots reached the hold’s entrance. Rain beaded on his coat. The hunter in him tasted the edge of advantage. The map fit warm against his ribs; the hunt had a name and two places. Now it was only a matter of going and taking them.

Ivory was steady in Dante’s hand as he slipped through the shadows, boots silent on wet planks. The smell of gunpowder and salt hung heavy in the air. He was almost clear… until that voice cut through the night.

“You can stop right there, little stray.” That voice. Smooth. Seductive. Sharp enough to draw blood with a whisper.

Dante immediately froze. But he didn’t need to turn to know who it was. He could hear her smile in every word.

“Wouldn’t make me use this, would you?” Sarah Fortune’s boots clicked closer, slow and deliberate, like a cat toying with a mouse she already caught.

Dante sighed and raised his hands, slipping Ivory from his grip, letting it clatter onto the dock. “You’d think after five years, you’d open with a hug, Red.”

Her smirk was audible. “Five years, and you’re still running your mouth. That’s comforting, at least.”

He finally turned, just enough to catch her out of the corner of his eye. The dark coat, gold trim, pistols gleaming under the lantern light. For a moment, she almost looked like the ghost of a dream.

Without warning, he spun. His hand flashed out, smacking her pistol aside. She fired, the shot sparking harmlessly into the planks as he closed the distance. She went for a kick, he caught her leg. She swung,  he blocked, twisting her wrist until she lost balance. The knife she’d once gifted him was already in his hand, the blade cold against her throat.

“Try using knives next time,” he muttered, breathing close to her ear. “Better for close encounters.”

Sarah glanced down at the blade, then up at him. Her lips curved, half amusement, half challenge. 

“Not a bad move. Very smooth,” she said softly. “You’ve gotten better since last time we saw each other."

Dante eased off, slipping the knife back into his belt before stooping to retrieve Ivory. “I’ve gotten better teachers than just a sexy gunslinger.”

Sarah straightened her coat, eyes glinting beneath her hat as she walked past him. “Then here’s one last lesson from your so-called ‘sexy gunslinger’: leave this path of vengeance. Bilgewater’s mine now. My fight. You walk away, and maybe, just maybe… you’ll get that reunion I’ve dreamed about.”

Dante’s smile faded. “You really think I’m gonna walk away after everything?”

“Didn’t think so,” she said, already turning. “But hey, it was worth a try.”

She drew her other pistol, quicker than a blink.

BANG!

Chapter Text

THEN:
Sarah Fortune was born in Bilgewater to Abigail and Thomas Fortune, renowned weaponsmiths whose work rivaled even the craft of their close friend and occasional collaborator, Nell Goldstein. Between Abigail’s precision and Thomas’s ingenuity, the Fortune workshop had become something of a legend along the wharfs. It was a place where cutthroats, captains, and bounty hunters alike came seeking steel that never failed.

Their daughter, Sarah, grew up in the rhythm of the forge. She learned to read the flicker of molten metal before she learned to read words. Sparks danced around her feet like fireflies as she helped her mother shape pistol barrels, or watched her father polish triggers until they gleamed like mirrors. Life was loud, sometimes dangerous, but always warm. By the time she was eleven, Sarah’s hands were already calloused from the hammer and the file. Nell would visit sometimes, bringing her own peculiar sense of humor and a flask of whatever passed for good rum that week.

“You’ve got her eye for detail,” Nell would tell the girl, winking. “And her stubborn streak. Careful, that’ll get you in trouble one day.”

Trouble came sooner than anyone expected.

One heavy, fog-choked afternoon, the door to the workshop creaked open without a knock. The clamor of the forge quieted as a figure stepped inside, he was tall and had broad-shouldered, reeking of salt and gunpowder. His coat was torn from sea battles, his beard freshly oiled, and behind him came a half-dozen rough men with cutlasses and scars to match.

Gangplank, they called him. A rising name on the seas. A man already feared though not yet king. He didn’t waste time with greetings. “You’re Abigail Fortune?”

Abigail didn’t look up from the pistol she was assembling. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I am.” His voice was sharp, certain, like someone used to having doors open before he had to knock. “I hear you make weapons fit for legends. I want two pistols. No equal, no copy. The finest this cursed city’s ever seen. And I want ‘em to belong to me.”

Thomas stepped forward, expression unreadable. “That kind of work takes time.”

“You’ve got a year,” Gangplank replied. “I’ll pay up front.” 

He dropped a pouch onto the counter. It hit the wood with a heavy clink of gold krakens. “Enough to buy your silence, too.”

Abigail finally set her tools down and looked at the man dead in the eyes. 

“You’ll have them in a year,” she said evenly, though there was something sharp in her eyes. “But you’ll pick them up alone. No crew. No weapons drawn. That’s my only term.”

Gangplank grinned, showing his nasty, crooked teeth. “You’ve got a spine. I like that. I very much like that.” 

He turned to leave, but immediately paused when he caught sight of Sarah, peeking from behind the workbench.

“And what’s this?” He asked, voice softening but not kindly. “A little apprentice?”

Sarah met his stare without flinching, soot on her cheeks and defiance in her eyes. “I help my parents make things. Real things. Not toys for ugly pirates.”

Gangplank didn’t laugh at the young Fortune’s words. He crouched down just enough to look her in the eye. “Keep talkin’ like that, and this city’ll eat you alive, little Fortune.”

Sarah didn’t blink. “Then I’ll bite harder.”

That actually drew a grin from him, but said grin was brief and dangerous. “You’ve got fire. Don’t let her burn it out of you.”

When he left, the workshop was quiet except for the hiss of the cooling metal. Abigail didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she finally exhaled and murmured, “That man just sold his soul for a pair of guns.”

Sarah tilted her head. “So why make them?”

Her mother looked down at the workbench, eyes dark and tired. “Because if I don’t, someone else will. And if I do… at least I’ll know exactly how he’ll die.”

A year passed.

Bilgewater had changed. The smell of rot thicker, the whispers of Gangplank’s name heavier. His legend had spread like a stain, growing darker with every raid, every corpse left to hang on the docks as a warning. But inside the Fortune workshop, the fire still burned. And it was not from fear, but from defiance.

The pistols were finished.

Twin masterpieces of steel and gold, engraved with curling vines and crowned skulls, the kind of beauty that dared to challenge death itself. Abigail stood over them with a steady hand, even as Thomas packed their tools away. Sarah, now twelve, ran her fingers across the cool metal, awed and unsettled.

“They’re perfect,” she whispered softly as her expression was a mix of shock and awe.

Abigail nodded once. “Too perfect. Pray they never have to be used.”

But that prayer would die before it reached the gods. Thunder rolled across the harbor, but it was not from a storm, but from cannons. Outside, the night exploded with gunfire and shouting. The smell of smoke crept in before the sound of boots did. Heavy, deliberate, familiar.

The workshop door blew open as Gangplank stepped through the smoke, older now, harder. His coat was freshly mended, his beard longer, his smile crueler. Behind him came only silence. He didn’t need a crew this time.

“I came for what’s mine,” he said.

Abigail didn’t flinch at the pirate’s tone. 

“They’re yours,” she replied, sliding the pair across the table. “Just as promised.”

Gangplank picked them up with reverence. The pistols fit his large hands as if they’d been born there. He admired the craftsmanship, the weight. Then, without even debating, turned one toward Abigail.

“Beautiful,” he said softly. “Almost a shame.”

The shot cracked like thunder. Thomas lunged forward, too late, the second shot dropped him before he could even reach her. Smoke filled the room, gunpowder choking the air. Sarah screamed as she witnessed her parents being murdered before her.

Gangplank turned to her, his face unreadable. “The world doesn’t spare weakness, little Fortune. You’ll remember that lesson.”

The third shot rang and the world went white.

When Sarah woke, the shop  was engulfed by fire, the inferno heat clawing her skin, smoke thick in her lungs. The workshop was collapsing, wood and steel screaming in protest. She crawled through the wreckage, dragging herself past her parents’ bodies. Her small hands shook, slick with ash and blood. Something glinted beside her, her mother’s pistols. Gangplank’s pistols. Her pistols now.

Shock & Awe

She grabbed them both without hesitation.

By the time she stumbled out into the cold Bilgewater rain, the building behind her was gone. Nothing but a pyre on the edge of the sea. Her breath came ragged, every step tearing her open inside, but she kept moving. She knew only one name, one place left in all of Bilgewater where the fire wouldn’t swallow her whole.

Nell Goldstein.

Sarah staggered down the rain-slick alleys, the pistols pressed against her chest like a heartbeat. Behind her, the Fortune name burned. Ahead of her, vengeance waited to be forged.

The rain came down hard, drumming against the tin rooftops and slick cobblestone streets, washing away the soot and blood but not the hurt. Sarah stumbled through the back alleys, her skin blistered, her right side burned and raw. Every breath stung like knives. Every step left a smear of blood and ash. She clutched the pistols to her chest, which was still warm from the fire, the metal biting into her palms. Her mother’s voice was gone. Her father’s laugh was gone. Only the thunder of her heartbeat and the echo of gunfire filled her head.

By the time she reached the iron door with the faded sign .45 Caliber Art Warks, she could barely stand. She hit it once with her fist which was a weak knock, almost like a gentle tap, then she slid down the wall as she waited. 

The door burst open.

“Saints above—!” Nell froze for half a second, then moved faster than she had in years. She knelt beside the girl, her eyes wide with horror. “Sarah?”

The little redhead lifted her head, soot streaking her cheeks, eyes glassy from shock and pain. 

“He killed ‘em, Nell,” she rasped, her voice trembling. “He… he took the guns and shot ‘em both. Then me.”

Nell’s heart sank at her words. “Oh, sweetheart…” 

She didn’t waste another word. She scooped Sarah into her arms as the last Fortune was light as a ragdoll, trembling and carrying her inside, kicking the door shut behind her. She laid her down on the workbench, pushing aside unfinished rifles and tools. The smell of oil and steel filled the air, but it couldn’t mask the scent of burnt flesh. Nell grabbed a clean cloth, soaked it in water, and began gently cleaning the girl’s wounds.

Sarah hissed and flinched. “It burns!”

“I know, sugar, I know,” Nell muttered, steady and calm even as her own hands shook. “You’re gonna be fine. You hear me? Just breathe.”

For a while, the only sound was the storm outside, the crackle of the furnace, and Sarah’s ragged breathing. When the worst of the burns were bandaged and her trembling slowed, Nell leaned against the bench and finally asked, softly, “Who did this to you again?”

Sarah’s eyes hardened. Tears and smoke made her face a mess, but her glare burned brighter than any fire.

“Gangplank,” she spat. “That rotten, salt-soaked bastard. May the sea swallow him and shit him back out.”

Nell blinked, not at the profanity, but at the venom. Sarah sounded like a sailor twice her age.

“I’ll kill him,” Sarah muttered, voice low and shaking. “I’ll… I’ll make him choke on the same fire he left us in.”

Nell gently took her chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Not tonight you won’t. Tonight, you’re gonna rest, and you’re gonna live. You understand? You live, or he wins.”

Sarah didn’t answer. She just clutched the pistols again, one in each hand, holding them like the last pieces of her soul. Nell exhaled slowly. 

“Alright then,” she murmured, pulling a blanket over her. “Rest easy, Fortune girl. You’ve still got that fight in you. That counts for somethin’.”

Sarah’s eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion dragging her back down the workbench. Nell turned down the lamps, and glanced back one last time at the soot-streaked child lying in her workshop, clutching her mother’s guns as if they’d keep her heart beating. And in the hiss of the rain outside, Nell swore she could already hear the whisper of gunfire. That first echo of the name that would one day make Bilgewater tremble.

The first thing Sarah felt when she woke was the smell of oil and salt. The air was thick with it and comforting in a strange way, like a memory of her mother’s workshop. Then came the pain. Her body ached with every breath, her right arm bandaged from shoulder to wrist, her skin pulling tight around half-healed burns. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was until she saw the walls. Every inch of them lined with rifles, pistols, and spare parts.

.45 Caliber Art Warks

The woman herself sat at the corner table, glasses perched on her nose, tinkering with a rifle stock. When she saw Sarah stir, she set the tool down and rose. “Mornin’, sunshine. ’Bout time you joined the world again.”

Sarah tried to sit up, grimacing. “How long…?”

“Three days,” Nell said, steady but soft. “Had me worried sick, too. You were halfway to the grave when I found you. Burn fever nearly cooked you from the inside out.”

Sarah didn’t answer. Her gaze fell to the two pistols resting neatly on the table beside the workbench that was her makeshift bed. The metal had been cleaned and polished, they gleamed in the lamplight, their craftsmanship unmistakably her mother’s.

Nell followed her eyes. “Figured you’d want those close. They’re beautiful pieces. Your mama knew her art.”

Sarah’s throat tightened. “She did.”

Silence hung between them, and it was heavy as an anchor.

After that day, Nell let her stay. It wasn’t even a question. Sarah swept floors, sorted casings, and learned how to clean weapons properly. It kept her hands busy, if not her mind. Nell even used the spare room to make a bedroom for Sarah to live and sleep in.

But when night fell, it all came back. The crack of gunfire. The smell of burning flesh. The way her mother screamed.

Sarah would wake drenched in sweat, breathing ragingly, and her fists clenched so tight her nails dug crescents into her palms. Sometimes she’d reach for the pistols before she even realized where she was. Nell always came in, never saying much. She’d just sit on the edge of the cot and hand Sarah a cup of water.

One night, when the girl’s trembling finally stopped, Nell said quietly, “You can’t live every breath for revenge, you know. It’ll hollow you out.”

Sarah stared into the dark. “He deserves worse than death.”

“I don’t doubt that. But you’re twelve, sugar. You start chasing ghosts now, you’ll never stop.”

Sarah turned her head, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Then I won’t stop.”

For the first time, Nell saw the same fire in Sarah that once lived in Abigail, but sharper now, forged by grief. So she changed tactics. If Sarah was going to chase vengeance, she might as well be prepared for it.

Nell began to train her. How to shoot, how to aim through pain, how to handle recoil and reload under pressure. It was hard, grueling work, but Sarah never once complained. She absorbed every lesson like it was a prayer. And each time she hit a target dead-center, she whispered the same thing under her breath:

“For both of you.”

By the time the burns had faded and her body had healed, the child who stumbled bleeding into Nell’s shop was gone. In her place was a girl who smiled less, shot straighter, and never missed.

And when Nell watched her walk out into the Bilgewater fog one morning, twin pistols holstered at her hips, she knew exactly what kind of name the world would come to know her by.

The candles on the counter flickered with the sea breeze sneaking through the cracked shutters. Fifteen little flames, each one dancing like they could burn down the whole world if given the chance. Sarah blew them out in a single breath. Smoke curled through the air like gunpowder after a shot.

Nell leaned against the doorway, arms folded. “Didn’t think you’d bother with a birthday this year.”

Sarah shrugged, tossing the match into an empty bottle. “Not much to celebrate. But it marks time. And I’m done waiting.”

Nell raised a brow. “Is that so?”

“I’m ready,” Sarah said, tone steady and sure. “I can shoot straight. I can fight. I can definitely make a man disappear and no one will find the body. Gangplank’s out there, running Bilgewater like he owns it and I’m wasting time hiding in your shop.”

Nell sighed, walking closer. “You think hunting down that bastard’s the same as baggin’ rats in the alleys? He’s got fleets, lieutenants, spies. You go at him now, he’ll cut you down before you even draw.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened. “So I should just wait? Again?”

“No.” Nell’s voice softened. “You start small. You earn your sea legs before you pick a fight with the tide itself.”

That night, Sarah didn’t sleep. She sat at the window, watching the harbor lights flicker across the water, the reflection of ships rocking in the current. She wasn’t angry at Nell, not really. She just couldn’t stand the thought of another year doing nothing.

So, she didn’t.

Her first job came from a bounty flyer nailed to a tavern door. A slave captain named Orik “Chainhook” Verrin. He was worth nothing but a hundred silver for his head.

By dawn, his ship was silent. His crew is gone. His corpse floated in with the tide, two clean bullet holes through his skull.

She brought the head back to the bounty office, blood still fresh, and dropped it onto the counter with a thud.

“Reward,” she said flatly.

The clerk stared at her. At this freckled redhead barely taller than the counter, pistols gleaming at her hips. But he paid her, hands trembling all the while.

After that, the killings came easier.

A murderer hiding in the Dry Docks. A smuggler captain wanted for poisoning a whole crew. A corrupt shipwright who sold fake cannons to desperate sailors.

Every one of them met the same end.

And with each bounty collected, Sarah grew sharper. Quicker. Richer. Her legend began to bloom in the gutters and bars of Bilgewater.

Some said she was a ghost. Others swore she was a demon in red.

But those who’d seen her face. That young, beautiful, and cold as steel face gave her a name that stuck.

Miss Fortune.

Nell saw the headlines, the whispers, the gold coming in. And though pride warred with fear in her chest, she said nothing. Because she knew what Sarah was building toward. Every bounty, every bullet, every kill, it was all leading to one man.

Gangplank.

The moon hung over the harbor like a tarnished coin, dull light spilling across the waves. Sarah crouched behind a stack of crates, twin pistols in hand… her mother’s pistols, polished, deadly, and heavier than she remembered.

Below, on the docks, a dozen of Gangplank’s men loaded barrels onto a broad-bellied supply ship flying his crimson flag. She recognized the man shouting orders. Kiernan Blayde, one of Gangplank’s oldest lieutenants. Smuggler, murderer, and the bastard who once bragged about burning a merchant family alive for failing to pay their dues.

Sarah’s breath came slowly, steady. This was it. He first strike against Gangplank.

She waited for the last barrel to roll up the plank, then she moved in. She was silent, quick, slipping between shadows like smoke. She planted the powder charges she’d mixed herself under the hull and on the moorings. It wasn’t just revenge tonight, it was a message.

By the time the first fuse caught, she was already climbing a stack of crates, pistols drawn.

The explosion ripped through the harbor in a thunderous roar that sent flaming splinters into the night sky. The ship went up in a bloom of orange and black, the air thick with burning oil. Screams cut through the blast as men stumbled in every direction, some on fire, some already dead.

Sarah fired into the chaos. Started with two shots, then three, all hitting shadows that barely had time to shout her name. She felt the recoil in her wrists, the heat of the guns, the thrill of finally doing something.

And then she saw him. Kiernan Blayde, bellowing orders, his coat aflame at the edge.

She fired and missed. He ducked behind a fallen mast, drew his own gun, and shot back. The bullet tore into her shoulder which made Sarah fall hard, rolling behind a crate, teeth clenched against the pain. Her right arm hung useless. Blood slicked her fingers. But she then heard heavy boots stomped closer to her. 

“Ain’t no street rat does this kinda damage,” Kiernan snarled, kicking the crate aside. “Who sent ya? Fortune’s brat? Thought you burned, little girl.”

He grinned wide, jagged teeth glinting in the firelight. “Guess I can finish what yer parents didn’t survive.”

Sarah’s stomach twisted with fear and rage flooding through her veins. She could smell the rum on his breath as he leaned close, his hand going for her throat. She moved before she could think, slamming her knee between his legs. Kiernan howled, staggering back, giving her the second she needed. She grabbed one pistol with her left hand, the one she could still move and fired point-blank into his gut.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Kiernan dropped to his knees, choking on blood, eyes wide with disbelief. “You… little… bitch…”

Sarah stood over him, shaking, her face pale and slick with sweat that made her fiery red hair stick to it. 

“Tell your captain,” she hissed, pressing the muzzle to his temple, “Miss Fortune says hello.”

The shot echoed across the docks. When the smoke cleared, the supply ship was ash, and half the harbor was on fire.

Sarah staggered away, clutching her bleeding shoulder, the pistols still warm in her hands. Every step hurt, but every step was lighter. She wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

That night, as she limped back toward Nell’s shop, the whispers had already begun spreading through Bilgewater. A red-haired girl who blew up one of Gangplank’s ships, killed his man, and lived to tell the tale.

For the first time, people said her name not as a rumor, but as a warning.

The first gray light of morning crept through the shutters when Nell heard it. A slow, wet thud against the door. Then another. She set down her wrench, heart jumping. “Who in the hells—”

The third knock wasn’t a knock at all, it was a body sliding down the wood. Nell threw the door open.

Sarah collapsed into her arms, half-conscious, her red hair matted with soot and blood. The smell of burnt powder and salt hit Nell’s nose before she even saw the wound, a blackened hole in the shoulder, still smoking faintly.

“Sarah!” Nell gasped, dragging her inside. “Gods above, what did you—”

Sarah winced, her voice hoarse. “Got him. One of Gangplank’s dogs… he won’t be hurting anyone again.”

Nell’s stomach turned cold. “You what?” 

She hauled the girl onto a table, ripping her coat open to reach the wound. “You stupid, reckless— you went after Gangplank’s men alone?”

Sarah’s head lolled back, half delirious. “Had to start somewhere.”

“You’re fifteen!” Nell’s voice cracked, sharper than the needle she threaded through the torn skin. “You don’t even know what you’re doing out there! You could’ve been killed— or worse!”

Sarah hissed in pain, trying to push her hand away. “Better than sitting here while that bastard breathes. Better than pretending everything’s fine!”

Nell slammed her palm down on the table beside her. “You think this is what your mother wanted?!”

That made Sarah freeze. The words hit harder than the bullet.

Nell’s hands trembled as she worked. “I’ve buried too many kids because they thought vengeance was the same as justice. You’ve no idea what you’re walking into.”

Sarah’s lip curled, eyes glassy with fury and grief. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother like you knew her better than me. You fix guns, not people.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Nell’s breath caught, the hurt plain on her face.

Sarah immediately regretted it. She turned her face away, ashamed, blinking back tears she didn’t want to shed. “I didn’t… mean that.”

Nell finished the last stitch and tied it off tight. 

“Aye,” she said quietly, voice rough. “But you meant the pain.”

She stood, wiping her hands on a rag, the exhaustion heavy in her shoulders. “You’re gonna rest. Then you’re gonna eat. And then you’re gonna tell me everything you did tonight, so I can make sure the rest of Bilgewater doesn’t come knocking on this door next.”

Sarah didn’t answer. Just stared at the twin pistols resting on the counter, her mother’s pistols, clean, gleaming in the light. After a long moment, she whispered, “I’m not stopping, Nell. Not ‘til he’s dead.”

Nell sighed, eyes wet but hard. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make sure you live long enough to finish it.”

DANTE:
The place stank of sweat, grog, and cheap perfume, the kind of bar where the floorboards were so soaked in rum you could light the place on fire by dropping a match. Laughter echoed from the corners. Pirates, mercs, and dock rats all brawled or drank away their pay, and in the middle of it all sat Enzo Ferino, the self-proclaimed “best broker this side of the Serpent Isles.” Short, round, and already deep in his fifth mug of ale, he was halfway through trying to charm a woman twice his height and half his patience.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Enzo wheezed, pressing a gold coin into her hand, “you an’ me, we could make magic. Not the sparkly kind, but the profitable kind.”

She rolled her eyes and walked off. And Enzo sighed. “Story of my damn life…”

That’s when a boot hit the floor beside his table. Black leather, scuffed from travel, and followed by a red jacket settling into the seat across from him. Dante. Fifteen. Lean, restless, eyes sharper than any blade he carried.

“’Bout time you showed up,” Enzo said, trying to sound like he hadn’t been drinking himself stupid for hours. “How’d the job go, kid? Easy coin, right?”

Dante didn’t answer at first. He dropped a sack onto the table. It landed with a heavy clunk. Enzo grinned. “That’s my boy. What’s that, your cut?”

Dante leaned forward, voice flat. “That’s the bounty’s head.”

Enzo blinked. Then looked down at the bag and his grin faltered. “…You serious?”

Dante crossed his arms. “You told me the guy was a smuggler. You didn’t say he had six friends, two Drake Hounds, and a Hydra tattoo on his neck.”

Enzo raised both hands. “Hey, hey, business is full of surprises! You lived, didn’t ya? Builds character.”

“Almost lost an arm,” Dante muttered. “If that’s your idea of character building, next time you can do it yourself.”

Enzo chuckled, shaking his head. “Kid, listen. You want respect in Bilgewater? You gotta eat a few bruises. Folks gotta see you bleed before they believe you’re dangerous. You did fine. Hell, better than fine. You survived.”

Dante’s glare didn’t soften. “I didn’t take this job to survive. I took it to make a living.”

That actually made Enzo pause long enough to squint at the boy. “You really got somethin’ to prove, huh?”

Dante stood, slinging his sword over his back. “You have another job for me or what?”

Enzo sighed, half impressed, half exasperated. “You’re gonna be the death of me, kid. Fine, there’s a bounty that came in this morning. Nasty crew, worth a good coin. But you’re not ready for that one yet.”

“Try me.”

Enzo smirked. “You really don’t scare that easy, huh? Alright. Meet me tomorrow. We’ll see if you’ve still got all your limbs by then.”

Dante turned to leave, tossing over his shoulder, “If you’ve got a better lead than last time, maybe I’ll buy you a drink.”

Enzo laughed, loud and wheezy. “Ha! Kid, if you keep this up, you’ll be drinkin’ me under the table one day!”

Dante didn’t turn back. “That’s the plan.”

Bobby’s Cellar was thick with pipe smoke and the stench of cheap rum when Miss Fortune, now eighteen, walked in. The noise dimmed instantly, a hush that followed her everywhere now. Every pirate, merc, and cutthroat in Bilgewater knew that red hair and that walk.

Enzo looked up from his table, halfway through counting coins, his pudgy fingers freezing mid-roll. “Well, if it ain’t the queen o’ Bilgewater herself. To what do I owe the—”

“Spare me the flattery, Enzo.” Sarah’s tone was smooth but sharp. She leaned one hand on the table, green eyes cutting into him. “I’m looking for someone. Name’s Dante. Been hearing it whisper around town, ‘the stray kid,’ running bounties faster than half the dock rats can draw their blades.”

Enzo blinked, uneasy. “Ah… yeah, him. Been takin’ some of my smaller jobs. Quick, reckless little bastard. Got the attitude of a shark pup that doesn't know it’s swimming with real monsters.”

Sarah’s lips curved faintly. “And where might I find him?”

Enzo scratched the back of his neck, knowing better than to hide anything from Miss Fortune. “Well, he usually comes here for his pay—”

Right on cue, the door slammed open.

“Enzo!” Dante’s voice cut through the air as he strode in, jacket torn, blood on his sleeve, and that usual irritated spark in his silver eyes. “That gig you just gave me was garbage. You said one target, not twenty with rifles!”

He froze when he saw her. Sarah Fortune stood there like a storm contained in human form, her pistols gleaming at her hips, her gaze pinning him where he stood.

Enzo sank in his seat. “Oh, hell…”

Sarah tilted her head. “So you’re the little stray.”

Dante’s brow furrowed. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m asking.” Her tone was calm but carried weight, the kind that could fill a room. “Sarah Fortune.”

Dante blinked. “Name rings a bell, but can’t place it.”

That earned him an incredulous look. Enzo groaned under his breath.

“You don’t know who Miss Fortune is?” Sarah asked, disbelief edging her voice.

Dante shrugged. “Can’t say I keep up with celebrity gossip.”

She sighed through her nose. “Gangplank.”

“Gesundheit.”

That actually made Enzo choke on his drink.

Sarah crossed her arms. “He’s the bastard who owns half this rotten city. He murdered my family, burned their legacy to the ground. And I’m going to end him. For good.”

Her eyes flicked back to him. “I’m building a crew. People who aren’t afraid of a little blood and chaos. You’re fast, and if half the rumors about you are true, you might even live through it. I want you on my team.”

Dante blinked again, clearly thrown off. “You want me? Lady, I’ve only been doing this for—”

Enzo jumped in. “Less than a month! He’s a damn walking accident! Breaks every gun he holds, can’t swing a sword straight, and somehow he’s still breathin’!”

Sarah smirked faintly, unfazed. “And yet, he’s earned a reputation in a few weeks that took most of you years.”

She stepped closer to Dante, looking him over, both had matching heights. “They say you move faster than sight. That you fight like you’re not even human.”

Dante chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one too. Guess I’m just… built different.”

“Built stupid,” Enzo muttered.

Sarah ignored him. “You in?”

Dante hesitated. “I don’t really do… wars. You’ve got a vendetta, that’s personal. Me? I just shoot, collect, and sleep.”

Sarah studied him for a moment, then asked quietly, “How much do you make per bounty?”

Dante thought for a moment. “A couple hundred, give or take.”

She reached into her belt pouch, dropped a heavy sack of gold onto the table with a solid thud. “There’s double that. For one job. Help me take down Gangplank, and there’ll be enough to buy yourself a new life.”

Dante stared at the gold, then back at her. “You make it hard to say no.”

Sarah smiled faintly, the kind of smile that promised danger and reward in equal measure. “Good. Then don’t.”

Enzo groaned, slumping in his chair. “Saints help us all.”

Dante glanced at him, smirking. “Relax, Enzo. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Miss Fortune patted her pistols, eyes gleaming. “You’ll find out soon enough, Little Stray.”

Miss Fortune turned, her red-hair flaring behind her as she started for the door. The cellar’s low light caught on the gold trim of her corset, the crimson sash hugging her hips, the twin pistols gleaming like jewels at her side. She moved with that dangerous kind of grace, the kind that made every man in Bilgewater either want her or fear her. Sometimes both.

Dante leaned back against the table, eyes following her as she walked away.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They don’t make ‘em like that on topside.”

Enzo groaned. “Oh, for the love of— kid, no. Don’t even think about it.”

Dante glanced at him, still grinning. “What? She invited me to join her team. I’m just… appreciating team morale.”

Enzo slammed his drink down, eyes wide. “You idiot! That woman eats men like you alive! You start flirtin’ with Miss Fortune, and you’ll be fish bait before the week’s out.”

Dante shrugged, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. “Eh, worth the risk.”

“She’s like four years older than you!” Enzo hissed.

“Older, deadlier, and way outta my league,” Dante said with a cocky grin. “Sounds like my type.”

Enzo buried his face in his hands. “You’re gonna die, kid. I give it two days.”

From the doorway, Miss Fortune’s voice called back in that smooth, amused, and absolutely lethal. “I can hear you, stray.”

Dante froze for a half-second, then smirked. “Good. Then you know I mean it.”

Sarah’s laugh was low, dangerous, a promise and a warning all in one. “Careful, boy. You flirt with a Fortune, you’d better be ready to pay the price.”

And with that, she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving Enzo staring at Dante like he was watching a ship sink in slow motion.

“You,” Enzo muttered, “are so screwed.”

Dante just grinned wider. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Dante pushed open the workshop door quietly, the familiar smell of gun oil, sawdust, and steel welcoming him like always. The place was dark except for the warm glow of a single lantern on the main bench. Nell’s bench. He could hear the faint ticking of a dismantled clockwork rifle, the scrape of metal on metal. He moved to tiptoe toward the stairs, boots soft against the wood. He was halfway up when her voice cut through the silence.

“Long night, stray?”

Dante froze mid-step, groaning under his breath before glancing over his shoulder. “You don’t sleep, do you?”

Nell didn’t look up from the weapon she was cleaning, her glasses catching the light. “Sleep’s for people who don’t have apprentices sneakin’ around with bounty queens.”

Dante blinked. “Wait— you know?”

She snorted. “Boy, I’ve got eyes all over Bilgewater. You think Miss Fortune waltzing into Bobby’s Cellar doesn’t make waves?” 

She set the rifle down and finally met his gaze, one brow arched. “I knew her before she could even hold a pistol steady. Twelve years old when I found her half-dead on my doorstep. Stubborn as hell, too. You two would’ve gotten along… or killed each other.”

Dante leaned against the stair rail, arms folded, a smirk playing on his lips. “So that room upstairs… the one I’ve been staying in…”

“Was hers,” Nell finished. “Don’t worry, she’s not comin’ back to claim it. The girl's got her own empire now.”

He whistled low. “Guess you’ve got a habit of pickin’ up strays then. First her, now me.”

Nell gave him a dry look, reaching for a rag to wipe her hands. “Strays I can tolerate. It’s the ones who break four pistols in a single month that test my patience.”

“Five,” Dante corrected without thinking. Then he winced. “…Okay, maybe six.”

Nell sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Saints above. I take in one redheaded orphan and she becomes the Pirate Queen of Bilgewater. I take in another and he costs me half my damn livelihood.”

Dante grinned, heading toward the stairs again. “Guess you just have a thing for trouble.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, boy,” Nell called after him. “The only reason I haven’t thrown you out yet is because you’re cheaper than buying new targets.”

“Aw, you do care.”

“Go to bed before I load rock salt in your breakfast.”

Dante chuckled as he disappeared up the stairs, the sound of Nell’s tools resuming below. For a moment, he glanced at the old room, the one that used to belong to Miss Fortune and shook his head with a faint, amused smile.

“Small world,” he muttered, kicking off his boots. “Guess I really am sleepin’ in a legend’s bed.”

Dante lay sprawled across the old bed, boots kicked off, hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. The boards creaked every time he shifted, the scent of old gunpowder and oil still clinging to the room. Sarah’s old room, Nell had said.

He huffed a laugh through his nose. Figures. But his thoughts didn’t linger on the past owner long. Instead, they kept circling back to the woman herself. Miss Fortune.

He could still see the way she’d stood under the lantern light in Bobby’s Cellar: confident, dangerous, and completely in control. The clothes she wore, hugging her frame, those pistols gleaming like extensions of her will. And her hair… that fiery cascade that looked like it would burn anyone stupid enough to touch it.

“Damn…” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand over his face. “She’s trouble. The kind that looks good doin’ it.”

He chuckled softly, remembering the way she’d looked at him. All sharp, and assessing, like she was sizing him up and daring him to keep staring. And he had. Couldn’t help it. The way she moved, the way she talked, that smooth and lethal voice was like a gun that already knew it didn’t need to fire to get respect.

“Older, sure,” he said to the empty room, smirking faintly. “But hell, she’s fine.”

He rolled onto his side, staring out the window where moonlight painted the rooftops silver. He knew better than to get caught up thinking about her. Women like Sarah Fortune didn’t fall for stray kids with chipped blades and a bad sense of humor.

Still… something about her stuck with him. The way her eyes flicked when she talked about Gangplank, they spew out fire and pain in the same breath.

Maybe that’s what hooked him most. Not just the looks. But the fire. And Dante, even then, couldn’t resist a little flame.

The pounding on the door rattled the whole damn floorboard. 

Dante groaned into his pillow, voice muffled. “I’m up, I’m up. Just five more minutes…”

The knocking didn’t stop. Whoever it was had no mercy. With a long, defeated sigh, he sat up, hair a mess, shirt halfway twisted around him. 

“Fine,” he muttered, dragging himself out of bed like a corpse clawing out of a grave.

A quick rinse, a shirt pulled over his head, boots half-laced, good enough. He shoved open the door, rubbing his eyes. And froze.

Downstairs, sunlight cut through the workshop windows, catching the faint glint of gunmetal and brass. At the counter, Nell stood beside a familiar red-haired woman, the two women talking in that soft, familiar tone that could only come from years of shared history.

Sarah Fortune. Miss Fortune was laughing. Actually laughing. Nell had that same tired smile she used whenever she talked about something she missed but pretended not to. It wasn’t the usual “customer-and-craftsman” talk, this was family. The kind of warmth that didn’t fit in Bilgewater’s blood-soaked streets.

“…and you still haven’t learned to oil those pistols properly,” Nell was saying, wagging a wrench like a scolding finger.

Sarah smirked, leaning against the counter. “Old habits die hard. Besides, you’d miss me if I stopped breaking things.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me, girl,” Nell said, though her grin betrayed her.

Dante leaned on the stair rail, arms crossed, trying not to look too obvious as his half-awake brain caught up with the scene.

So this is what she meant, he thought. A daughter, huh?

It felt strange, the cold, dangerous woman from the night before looking… soft. Almost normal.

Sarah’s eyes flicked upward mid-conversation, catching sight of him on the stairs. That sly, knowing smile returned instantly.

“Well, speak of the little stray,” she said.

Dante blinked. “You’re kidding me. You were the one bangin’ on the door at—” he glanced at the light filtering in— “whatever ungodly hour this is?”

Nell snorted. “It’s nine in the morning, Dante.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Exactly. Ungodly.”

Sarah laughed again, a low, musical sound that seemed to fill the whole room. “Not a morning person, huh?”

He shot her a faint grin. “Depends who’s wakin’ me up.”

Nell groaned. “Oh, stars above, not this again…”

Sarah crossed her arms, amusement flickering in her sea-green eyes as she gave Dante a once-over. “How old are you, exactly?”

“Seventeen,” Dante said without missing a beat.

“He’s fifteen,” Nell corrected flatly from behind the counter, not even looking up from the gun she was cleaning.

“I’m almost sixteen,” Dante fired back, turning toward her with an indignant look.

“But still fifteen,” Nell added, tone like a hammer on an anvil.

Dante sighed, rolling his eyes. “Well, sixteen’s the new seventeen, so…” 

He gestured vaguely, turning back to Sarah with a grin. “You know, it all kinda rounds up.”

Sarah arched a brow, clearly entertained by Dante’s antics. 

“Well, uh,” she chuckled, folding her arms tighter, “I’m older.”

Dante met her gaze, a smirk lingering. 

“Yeah…” he said with a slow nod, totally unfazed. Their age gap ain’t gonna stop him.

The silence that followed was brief but thick with unspoken amusement. Nell didn’t even look up, just muttered, “He’s gonna get himself shot one of these days.”

Sarah grinned. “Maybe. But at least he’s got guts.”

“Guts don’t stop bullets,” Nell muttered, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.

Dante shrugged, still looking at Sarah. “Guess I’ll just have to be faster than the bullet, then.”

Sarah laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Careful, kid. Keep talking like that, and you’ll start sounding like me.”

Nell turned away from the banter, opening one of the heavy drawers built into her workbench. 

“Alright, since you’re up, and since you somehow managed to make it home without bleeding this time—” she rummaged through a pile of polished steel and gears “—I’ve got something for you.”

She pulled out a pair of freshly crafted pistols, the metal still faintly smelling of oil and smoke, and held them out to him. Dante blinked at the sight. 

“Uh… I already got a pair,” he said, patting the worn holsters at his hips.

Nell gave him that slow, unimpressed stare. “Right. And what about that one time you didn’t?”

Dante froze mid-reach. “…That doesn’t count,” he muttered.

Sarah’s brow rose with curiosity. “Wait—what do you mean, doesn't count? What kind of job leaves a bounty hunter without his guns?”

Dante scratched the back of his neck. “You know… a complicated one.”

Nell snorted. “He means he dropped them in the harbor like an idiot.”

“They slipped!” Dante protested.

Sarah laughed under her breath, crossing her arms. “And let me guess, you had to fight your way out with your fists?”

“Pretty much,” Dante said with a grin, half-proud, half-defensive. “Worked out fine.”

Nell slid the pistols closer to him on the table, the metal clinking against the wood. “And you keep breaking the ones I do give you. So take these, and try not to throw them at anyone this time.”

“I don’t break them on purpose,” Dante said, inspecting the pistols. “They’re just… cheap.”

The workshop went still.

Nell slowly lifted her gaze to him, a look sharp enough to cut steel. Sarah, on the other hand, went silent, her grin fading into something halfway between amusement and disbelief.

“Cheap?” Nell repeated flatly.

Dante realized too late what he’d just said. “I mean, uh, cheap compared to your amazing craftsmanship and, uh—”

Sarah bit her lip to hide a laugh, muttering, “You’re digging your own grave, Little Stray.”

Nell turned away, muttering under her breath as she started reloading a revolver. “Cheap, he says… maybe I should’ve let Fortune shoot him.”

Dante sighed, holstering the pistols. “I walk into every room and it’s just open season on me, huh?”

Sarah smirked. “Welcome to Bilgewater, sweetheart.”

She nudged him to follow her out of the workshop and as they stepped out of Nell’s, the morning mist hung low over the docks, tinted gold by the rising sun. The scent of salt, oil, and gunpowder mixed in the air. Bilgewater’s perfume.

Dante adjusted his jacket, falling into step beside Sarah as she led the way down the creaking pier.

“So,” he said, hands in his pockets, “mind explaining what this grand plan of yours actually is? You talk about this Gangplank guy like he’s some kind of sea demon.”

Sarah’s boots clicked against the wood, her hips swaying with each step. 

“He’s worse,” she said without looking at him. “Three years ago, when I was about your age, I started planning. Gangplank wasn’t just another pirate. He was Bilgewater, every deal, every smuggling ring, every ship paid tribute to him. Even the rats whispered his name.”

Dante whistled low. “So… king of the slums?”

“King of the damned,” she corrected, glancing sideways at him. “He killed my mother, my father, and half the dockyards that crossed him. The rest he bought off or broke.”

Dante frowned. “And you’ve been building an army since then?”

“Not an army,” she said. “A network. Allies who hate him as much as I do. People such as captains, smugglers, mercenaries. Bought a few, blackmailed a few. And the rest?” 

Her tone hardened, eyes narrowing toward the distant sea. “They just needed someone to show them Gangplank could bleed.”

Dante rubbed his chin. “Sounds like a long game.”

Sarah smirked faintly. “Patience is the difference between revenge and suicide.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly a ‘patient’ kind of guy.”

“I noticed,” she said, throwing him a quick glance that carried equal parts amusement and warning. “But if you’re sticking around me, you’ll learn. Gangplank’s empire didn’t crumble overnight. And when it does…”

She stopped at the edge of the pier, looking out at the endless gray sea. “…I’ll make sure he drowns knowing who dragged him under.”

Dante crossed his arms, watching her and that fiery, unshakable certainty burning behind her words. 

“You know,” he said quietly, “you almost sound like you’ve already won.”

Sarah turned her head, meeting his gaze with that trademark half-smile. “That’s because, Little Stray… I’ve been winning since the day I survived him.”

Dante grinned back. “Guess I picked the right side, then.”

Sarah started walking again, her voice light but her eyes deadly sharp. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The smuggling port smelled like wet rope and old gunpowder. Lanterns bobbing along the piers, crates stacked in crooked towers, men moving like shadows between the masts. A low fog rolled in from the sea, swallowing lantern light and turning faces into suggestions.

Dante shaded his eyes with a hand and squinted down at the bustle. 

“You picked a nice place for a picnic,” he said dryly while glancing back at her.

Sarah didn’t smile. She folded her arms and watched the loading crews with the same bored concentration she used on bad deals. “I want to see how you work when you think no one’s watching.”

He barked a laugh. “Oh. An audition.”

“Nothing so formal,” she said. “I want to see what I’m signing up for. You say you don’t do wars. You shoot, collect, and sleep. I want to know you can do more than that when it matters.”

Dante glanced at her, then out across the dock. Men with yellowed teeth hauled a crate onto a cart, two lookouts lounged by a mast, laughing. The whole place reeked of easy confidence. Of thieves who’d been stealing the same way for years and expected the night to stay theirs.

“All right,” he said after a beat. “You watching me isn’t exactly my style. I like surprises.”

“You like reckless things,” she cut in, eyes narrowing. “There’s a difference.” 

Her voice softened, practical and cold. “Tonight is work. And if you fuck this up, I’ll find whatever passes for your friends and family and I’ll end them.”

Dante barked a short, humorless laugh. “Okay. Good luck with that… a little late for it.” 

He sounded unconcerned, but it was a mask. Because a month in this life taught him you had to be part psychopath to survive and get paid. He gave her a crooked grin. “Besides, what could possibly go wrong?”

Everything went wrong… 

Gunfire shredded the night. The quiet port exploded into chaos with shouts, boots hammering planks, the metallic bark of rifles echoing over the water.

Dante and Sarah dove behind a stack of crates as bullets splintered wood and ripped through the air inches from their heads. Powder smoke rolled in thick clouds, burning their eyes.

“Son of a—” Dante hissed, jamming another round into his pistols. “Wasn’t me!”

Sarah shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. 

“You kicked the damn barrel!” She snapped, snapping off a shot that dropped a silhouette in the distance. “That was you!”

“Could’ve been the wind,” he muttered, ducking as a musket ball tore a hole where his face had been.

She ducked lower, reloading with practiced precision. “Wind doesn’t knock over crates full of bottles, genius.”

“Okay, maybe a small wind.”

Another volley hit the crate, sending a rain of splinters and sawdust over them. Dante flinched, cursing under his breath. They were low on ammo, he could feel the lightness in his holsters, hear the click of her pistols nearly empty.

“We’re boxed in,” she said through gritted teeth, glancing past the crate’s edge. At least a dozen pirates had the dock surrounded. “One more push and they’ll flank us.”

“That leaves me to do something stupid,” Dante muttered, eyes narrowing as another round pinged off the crate above them.

Sarah turned to him, incredulous. “What?”

Before she could blink, Dante started to rise, only for her to grab his collar and yank him back down, a bullet whizzing past where his head had just been.

“Are you brain-dead?!” She hissed, fury and adrenaline mixing in her voice.

“Maybe,” he said flatly, brushing off splinters. He could hear boots stomping closer, the scrape of blades being drawn. “Just trust me.”

“I—what the hell does that even mean—”

But Dante was already moving. He popped up, both hands raised high. “WAIT!”

The pirates froze mid-advance, guns half-lowered, thrown off by the sudden surrender.

“Quick question!” Dante called, voice bright and cocky. “Why does that guy have brown pants? Do you shit yourself a lot, or is that just a lifestyle choice?”

A shot cracked out— CRANG! —nearly taking his arm off. He ducked back down beside Sarah, grinning like an idiot.

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, sliding new rounds into his pistols. “But I'm kind of insane.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off, spinning his gun’s chamber and cocking both guns. “Fine. I’ve got twelve bullets left! You’re gonna have to share!”

Sarah exhaled, half in frustration, half in reluctant amusement. “You’re counting this like it’s a game.”

He smirked, eyes glinting. “Everything’s a game if you play it fast enough.”

He glanced at her, red hair half-shadowing her sharp, furious face. “Count them down for me.”

Before Sarah could respond, time seemed to slow down around Dante. The chaos around him stretched thin, the gunfire turning to echoes, motion dragging like syrup as he vaulted from cover, twisting midair in a smooth 360 spin.

BANG! BANG!

Two bullets, two clean kills. The skulls burst before the bodies even hit the dock. He hit the ground in a crouch, grinning, until pain tore through his arm. A round ripped clean through flesh and muscle.

“Shit—!” He hissed, digging finger into the hole to shove the bullet out, the wound knitting sluggishly behind it. He glared at the shooter, teeth bared. “Motherfucker!”

He fired back, each pull of the trigger punctuated by his own ragged breath. “Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Three bullets later, the pirate dropped, riddled with three holes. Dante stared at the body, then his gun. “Dumb Dante. Learn to count.”

A floorboard creaked behind him. He didn’t turn, just aimed backward beneath his arm and fired. The pirate collapsed mid-swing.

“Seven. Smart Dante.”

More bullets peppered the dock. Dante dove behind a row of barrels, the air thick with powder smoke. A pirate’s gun clicked empty. That a fatal mistake.

“Someone’s not counting,” Dante quipped, standing long enough to put a bullet through the man’s skull. “Six.”

His eyes darted, two more pirates, an explosive barrel between them. Easy math. He pulled the trigger once.

BOOM! 

The explosion swallowed the screams, firelight licking across Dante’s grin. “Woo-hoo! That one’s going in the scrapbook.”

Then, a sharp, wet crack. His body jerked. A bullet tore through his throat, dropping him like a puppet with its strings cut. The shooter crept closer, cautious.

“Four…” came a rasp from the ground. Dante’s arm twitched, then lifted. One clean shot. Right through the pirate’s eye. “Gotcha.”

He stood, coughing out the bullet lodged in his trachea. The wound sealed over as he wiped blood from his jaw. “Three… two… stupid… eh, worth it.”

The last three pirates tried to fan out, that was the wrong move. Dante broke into a sprint, sliding behind stacked crates. The moment they lined up, he dove forward in a blur, spinning through the air.

BANG!

One bullet. Three skulls. All drop. Silence fell, broken only by the faint clink of a spent shell rolling across the planks. Dante exhaled, glancing down at his pistols — both cracked, barrels smoking. 

“Good thing Nell gave me a spare,” he muttered, holstering the ruined pair with a smirk.

Behind him, smoke and fire curled skyward, the smell of gunpowder and burnt wood marking the trail of a fifteen-year-old devil who didn’t know how to slow down or what he truly is at this current point in time.

Sarah stepped out from behind the crates once the last shell stopped rolling. Her boots crunched against splintered wood and spent casings, and she let out a slow exhale in half disbelief, half frustration.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” she muttered, looking around at the carnage. A dozen men, all down. Some missing faces, some still smoldering from the explosion.

Dante was still grinning. “Not bad for twelve bullets, huh?”

“Twelve?” she said sharply, raising a brow. “You mean eight.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“You wasted four on two men,” she said flatly, crossing her arms. “Don’t think I didn’t notice, Little Stray.”

Dante’s grin faltered just a little. “Wait — you were actually counting?”

“Someone had to,” Sarah said, stepping past him to kick a body off the edge of the dock. It hit the water with a splash. “Because clearly, you weren’t.”

He let out a shrug. “Hey, I got results. You wanted to see what I could do. Well… ta-da.”

“Yeah,” she shot back, her tone dripping with annoyance. “I also wanted to see what subtlety looked like. Have you ever heard of that word?”

Dante smirked. “Can’t say it rings a bell.”

Sarah gave him a long look, the kind that balanced irritation with reluctant admiration. “You blew our element of surprise, turned half the dock into fireworks, and somehow lived through a bullet to the throat.”

Dante wiped the last bit of blood from his collar. “Guess I’m just full of surprises.”

“Reckless, stupid surprises,” she corrected, but her voice softened at the edges. “Still… I’ll tell you this, you made a hell of a mess for someone who can’t count.”

Dante gave a small half-bow, wincing slightly from the healing wound in his arm. “Then I guess that’s a compliment?”

Sarah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t push your luck, Little Stray. Next time, we will do it my way.”

“Sure,” Dante said, smirking. “Just tell me which part I get to blow up first.”

Sarah turned on her heel and walked off down the dock, muttering under her breath. “Nell was right. I should’ve brought a leash.”

And behind her, Dante laughed in that quiet, cocky, and entirely too pleased with himself. He squinted through the smoke and ash. “So why the fireworks, exactly? Seems like we torched a haul you could’ve fenced for coin? You could buy men, ships, build that little empire you keep bragging about.”

Sarah’s hand went to a crate and pried it open. Inside, rows of small vials winked in the lantern light. Glowing purple liquids that made Dante’s skin crawl before he even knew why. She lifted one, the label scrawled in a dozen hands. 

“Shimmer,” she said flatly. “I heard a rumor that Gangplank's cutting deals with some kingpin from the undercity or Zaun as it calls itself, bringing their product here to flood the docks.” 

She didn’t name the man, she didn’t have to. The word hung heavy between them.

Dante stared at the vials, then at her. He remembered his time in Zaun, back when he was a kid, yet he’d never heard that name until now. 

“Shimmer?” he repeated, surprised. “Can’t say I’ve seen that around Zaun. First I’m hearing of it.”

She set the vial down and struck a flint. The pink flame licked, the glass hissed, and for a heartbeat Dante expected her to pocket the rest and use the cash to buy guns and men. Instead the blaze climbed the crate, and the little bottles blew in a chorus of ugly pops as the fire ate them. Heat washed over them; the stench of burning chemicals made his throat close.

“You think I want an empire built on poison?” Sarah asked, jaw tight as she watched the stash burn. “Like I said, I’ve got allies. Captains, smugglers, men who owe me favors. I don’t need a cartel. Gangplank profits off this stuff, it buys him loyalty and breaks people. If I hand him the market back, he just replaces one product with another. I don’t want to only kill Gangplank, Dante. I want to take away what makes him dangerous. I want him to hurt.”

Dante let the flames burn the rest of the night’s profit away and, for the first time since she’d walked into Bobby’s Cellar, he saw the method in her madness. 

“All right,” he said slowly, voice softer than before. “Then let’s make him watch his hands go empty.”

They picked their way through the fog-choked alleys, the city hush wrapping around them like a coat. Lanterns threw long shadows; the sea whispered against rotted pilings. Dante walked easy beside her, hands tucked in his pockets, that crooked half-smile still stuck on his face.

“So,” he said, nudging her elbow with a grin, “how’d I do on our… first date?”

Sarah’s mouth twitched. For a heartbeat she let the corner of her lip curl into something almost like a smile. “If this is your idea of romance, you’ve got all the subtlety of a cannon.” 

She bumped him back with her shoulder, playful but not soft. “But points for creativity.”

“What, no flowers? No overpriced dinner?” Dante tossed back, mock-offended. “I was planning on stealing a moon for you next.”

“Save it for someone who collects moons,” she said, though she didn’t sound angry. There was something in her voice, an unusual warmth as they rounded the last corner toward Nell’s workshop. “It’s been a long time since anyone close to my age stood on my heels and made a dumb joke like that.”

Dante glanced at her. “You don’t get out much with the whole ‘running an insurgency’ thing?”

“No,” she admitted, eyes flicking to the darkened windows of Nell’s place. “Most of my company’s older, or dead, or wrapped up in business. It’s…rare to find someone who isn’t either trying to use you or kill you.” 

She paused, then added, quieter, “Not that I mind relying on people I can trust. But it gets lonely.”

Dante shrugged, the grin softening. “You could do worse than a reckless kid with terrible timing and good aim.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Good aim is an understatement.” 

Sarah looked him over, a professional’s appraisal slipping through the banter. “You’ve got style when you shoot, Dante. Fast hands, clean angles, and you improvise without panicking. That’s rare. Most of the so-called hotshots either make a mess or make a show. You do both, but it somehow works.”

He pretended to take offense. “Is that a compliment or a threat?”

“Both,” she said, and the smile finally reached her eyes. “Keep it up, and I’ll keep you fed and who knows… probably warm.”

They reached Nell’s door and Nell peered out, already holding a pot and wearing that look that said she’d heard everything and wanted none of it. 

“Don’t bring trouble back,” she grumbled, though the soft edge in her voice gave the lie away.

Dante tipped an imaginary hat. “No promises, Nell.”

Sarah slipped her hand once, ridiculously brief, along Dante’s forearm as they passed. It was neither grand nor public, just a small, private thing. He felt it, and when he looked at her, there was something like permission in her eyes: reckless, dangerous, and not entirely regrettable.

Dante stirred awake to the feeling of being watched. His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the gray morning light bleeding through the blinds and immediately locked onto a familiar silhouette sitting at the edge of the cot.

Sarah Fortune.

He jolted halfway upright, the blanket slipping down to reveal his bare chest that barely had lean muscle, but hardly impressive. 

“What the—Sarah?!” His voice cracked somewhere between shock and groggy disbelief. “What are you doing in my room?”

She smirked, one leg crossed over the other, completely unfazed by his panic. “Relax, Little Stray. You drool in your sleep, by the way.”

Dante rubbed his eyes. “You’re kidding me.”

“Not even a little.”

He groaned and fell back against the pillow. “You know, most people knock before breaking into someone’s room.”

“This used to be my room,” she reminded him, glancing around at the turned-bedroom like she was measuring ghosts. “So technically, I’m just visiting an old memory. You’re the intruder here.”

Dante raised a brow. “That’s how it works now?”

“Pretty much.”

He sat up again, running a hand through his messy white hair. “Okay, fine. But what’re you doing here this early? The sun barely exists yet.”

Sarah leaned forward slightly, that trademark smirk returning. “Time to meet my crew.”

That woke him up. “What, now?”

“Now,” she said, standing and tossing his jacket onto his chest. “You’ve been sleeping off bullets and bad decisions for days. I figured if you’re gonna be part of this little crusade, you should actually meet the people you’ll be working with.”

He caught the jacket and gave her a look. “You really just waited in here till I woke up?”

“I knocked,” she said, utterly unapologetic. “You didn’t answer.”

“So your next move was breaking and entering?”

“I’m a pirate, not a priest.”

Dante exhaled through a laugh, shaking his head as he stood up and pulled his jacket on. “You’re unbelievable.”

Sarah’s gaze flicked over him, still half-dressed, still all attitude. “You’re one to talk. Get dressed, Little Stray. You’ve got introductions to make.”

As she turned for the door, Dante muttered under his breath, “Pretty sure this counts as harassment.”

Without missing a beat, Sarah replied over her shoulder, “You should be so lucky.”

And with that, she was gone down the stairs, the faint click of her boots echoing through Nell’s quiet shop, leaving Dante wide awake, mildly embarrassed, and trying not to smile too much.

Sarah led the way down the worn wooden dock, the salt wind pulling at her red hair as the faint clatter of rigging and gull cries filled the morning air. The ship she stopped in front of wasn’t the largest vessel in the harbor, not even close, but it looked like it belonged to someone who didn’t need size to prove power. Its hull was dark and sleek, trimmed in copper, and the cannons along its side gleamed with care rather than age. The name “Scarlet Mercy” was carved into the stern, painted in a sharp crimson stroke.

Dante gave a low whistle. “Not bad. Thought you’d have something… flashier.”

Sarah shot him a sideways glance. “Flashy gets you sunk. This gets me results.”

As she walked up the plank, several heads turned. Her crew were filled with sailors, sharpshooters, cutthroats, and their eyes lingered longer on Dante as he followed her aboard. He felt the weight of it, the quiet measuring of a crew used to testing newcomers.

“Everyone,” Sarah announced, hands on her hips, “meet the stray I’ve been telling you about. Dante. Shoots fast, heals faster, breaks guns like they’re made of sugar.”

Dante raised a hand. “Hey.”

There was a beat of silence before a tall man with messy hair beard barked a laugh. “He looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over.”

Sarah smirked. “Grue, play nice. He’s on our side… for now.”

Grue gave Dante a long, assessing look, then grinned. “Name’s Grue. Quartermaster, powder monkey, part-time babysitter.”

“Babysitter?” Dante asked, half-grinning.

Grue reached into his coat and pulled out a small trinket, a seashell necklace with three colored beads. “For my girls. Jessica’s six, Tiki’s four, and little Nesty just turned two.”

Dante blinked. “You’re a dad?”

“Yeah. Got three little hurricanes waitin’ back in port,” Grue said with a hint of pride, then added, “They’re why I don’t drink as much as the rest of these fools.”

Dante laughed. “You sound like the responsible one. That’s terrifying.”

“Only when I need to be,” Grue shot back with a grin.

Sarah crossed her arms, watching them with faint amusement. She’d half-expected Dante to rub Grue the wrong way, most newcomers did, but instead they were already bantering like old friends.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath. “Now I have two smartasses on deck.”

Dante caught the comment and shot her a lazy smirk. “Guess you just have good taste in company.”

Grue snorted. “Kid’s got guts. I like him.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Sarah said dryly, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward despite herself. The crew scattered back to work as Sarah motioned Dante toward the bow. “All right, Little Stray. Let’s see if you can handle being part of a crew instead of a one-man disaster.”

Dante leaned on the railing beside her, watching the sea glitter in the sun. “I can play nice… sometimes.”

Sarah glanced at him. “You and Grue are getting along already? Didn’t think you’d click with him.”

Dante shrugged, faint grin tugging at his lips. “He’s got dad energy. You can’t hate that.”

Sarah shook her head, laughing quietly. “You’re something else.”

“Yeah,” Dante said, watching the waves roll by. “Get used to it.”

Sarah just gave him a nod and led him belowdecks to her quarters. It was small, tidy, and unpretentiously warm. A single narrow bunk hugged the wall, a battered trunk served as a table, and a crude map of the Serpent Isles was tacked above the shelf, pins and red thread marking routes and safe houses. Lantern light caught the brass fittings and a knitted throw folded neatly at the foot of the bed, it felt lived-in in a way Nell’s workshop never quite did, this palace was quieter and intentional.

Dante paused in the doorway, taking it in. 

“This is… nicer than Nell’s,” he said, half-joking.

Sarah shrugged, taking off her hat and dropping it on the trunk. 

“We keep the difference a secret,” she replied, eyes bright with mischief. “You know how Nell gets about people who bring trouble home.”

“Right. Nell would kill us both and then charge for the funeral,” Dante grinned.

She smiled, then grew serious, pulling the map closer and smoothing the red thread with a finger. “You’re asking about the plan without telling me.”

Dante stepped in, leaning against the table. “Yeah. Spell it out for me. The big picture.”

Sarah tapped a pin where the Dead Pool. Gangplank’s flagship that rode like a dark tooth in the harbor. “That ship is his backbone. The Dead Pool carries his cannon, his men, his money flow, his reputation. Take that away, and his empire stops crawling.” 

Her voice was steady, cold with a patience that had nothing to do with age. “We start small: cut his supply, burn his product, turn his captains against him. We make his ledgers bleed until loyalty is a liability.”

Dante frowned. “And when he’s cornered?”

“Then we take the Dead Pool.” She met his eyes. “Not to capture it. To destroy it. A single massive explosion that turns his flagship into wreckage and his men into a rumor. It’ll be a signal, not just that he can be hurt, but that everything he’s built can be taken from him. When the ship goes down, he won’t have a throne to come home to. He’ll have nothing but ash and enemies.”

Dante considered the map, the thread, the burn marks from previous raids. “That’s… violent.”

“It’s supposed to be,” Sarah said. “Killing him is one thing. Making him watch his world collapse is another. Pain has a way of unravelling tyrants faster than steel.”

He nodded slowly, the gravity of it settling in. “And my part?”

“You keep learning,” she said, a small, cruel smile. “You get better. You don’t blow every job into a bonfire. You keep your head when it counts, and when the day comes, you’ll be where I trust you to be.”

Dante let that sit between them, feeling the map’s future press against his ribs. Outside, the ship creaked and the sea kept its slow, indifferent rhythm. Inside the cabin, two plans were being stitched together with red thread and quiet resolve.

Dante cocked his head. “And after we burn his fleet, what then? You’re gonna rule the docks and hang lanterns?”

Sarah’s mouth softened, the steel in her eyes giving way to something fiercer and quieter. “No. No ruling. Rebuild. Give this place a chance to not chew up kids the way it chewed me. Fewer burned workshops, fewer mothers killed in alleys. It’ll take time and blood and blackmail, but I’d rather bleed for a city that doesn’t make orphans of everyone.”

He studied her for a long beat, then nodded once. “Yeah. That sounds… better.”

There was a pause, the kind that loosens knuckles and opens chests. Dante shifted, the motion small and guarded. “I didn’t just start in this mercenary for coin, either. I got my own list.”

She didn’t smile, she listened. “Who’s on it?”

“Mages,” he said flatly. “They burned my first home. Took my—” he cut himself off, jaw tight. 

“People I cared about. Then there were the criminals in Zaun, they finished what the first fire started five years later. And demons. Demons ended the last ones.” He said the last word like it had teeth.

“Three losses,” Sarah repeated softly. “That’s a lot of ghosts.”

He shrugged, like shrugging could shove them away. “Three families, three kinds of monsters. I’m not picky.”

Sarah’s expression shifted to something like respect, not for the violence but for the survival. 

“You want them dead or you want them to hurt?” She asked.

“Both,” Dante said after a breath. “I want all of them to know what it feels like to lose the things that made them think they were safe.”

She let that sit, then reached out and tapped the map where the Dead Pool’s shadow fell. “When we’re done with Gangplank, you get your chances. But you don’t hunt alone. Not anymore.”

Dante met her gaze and, for the first time since he’d stepped into Nell’s shop, something like a quiet promise passed between them. “Alright. Then we make sure everyone who did it pays.”

Over the next months the city thinned and thickened in the same breaths. Bilgewater’s tides carried both ruin and opportunity. Dante and Sarah fell into a rhythm: hit a warehouse at dusk, ambush a supply run at dawn, pry a captain’s ledger from a drunk informant and burn it in the light so his friends saw the flames.

It was a hard apprenticeship and a soft one at the same time. Dante’s reckless edges were sharpened without being dulled. Sarah gave orders like a captain, she also taught him the quieter things that were just as lethal. Such as how to read which way a dock rat’s boot pointed, how to move with the tide so splinters and light didn’t give you away, when to let a raid look like an accident and when show mattered. Nell kept the practical lessons coming too: repairing a cracked barrel, shimmying a lock with a hairpin, patching a wound with hands that had seen worse than either of them.

A montage stitched the months together:

• Night raids where Dante’s speed and improvisation saved them when plans fractured. He learned to count rounds before he drew, to steady his breathing, to pass the pistol back without throwing it like a toy.
• Sarah’s crew, Grue, the quarrelsome quartermaster with an enormous soft spot for his daughters, a weathered sharpshooter named Mara with an eye like a hawk, two hard-faced sailors who handled boarding like surgeons worked alongside Dante until he stopped being the kid who broke guns and started being the kid who fixed them after a fight. Which was on rare occasions 
• Quiet mornings on the Scarlet Mercy’s deck: mended ropes, steaming coffee that tasted like soot, stories of old crimes traded for new favors. Grue teased Dante about being the ship’s youngest fool and then passed him the best dried meat he had.
• Nell’s shop at dusk became a second home. She’d hand Dante clean pistols with a sigh and half a scolding, and tuck a bandage into his coat pocket with the same efficiency she used to tuck a baby into bed. When he limped in from a job she’d already have hot water and salt. Those small mercies changed him more than any gunfight.

It wasn’t all victories. Some nights they left with less than they’d hoped, some allies vanished, bought off or scared. There were days the ledger lost a column of numbers and nothing immediately replaced it. Those losses made the wins feel bloodier and more precious.

Through it all the relationship between Dante and Sarah evolved into something sharp and steady: a partnership of necessity that grew into mutual dependence. They trusted each other with maps, with secrets, with weak moments. Dante learned to read the small changes in her face, the tension before she gave a command, the way her jaw closed when she thought of the Dead Pool’s crew. He saw her after raids, hands trembling slightly as she lit a cigarette with two fingers, and he learned to hand her silence instead of questions.

Sarah, for her part, kept a careful distance from sentiment but showed trust in other ways. She put Dante on runs that mattered, not the expendable, flashy jobs, but the ones that bled Gangplank’s pockets dry. She let him loose to improvise when plans collapsed. She pulled him aside once, in the dim belly of the ship, and said, matter-of-fact: “You don’t have to do this alone.” It wasn’t a poem, it was a command with warmth inside it. Dante heard it as acceptance, and for a boy who’d spent his life surviving, acceptance felt like a new kind of weapon.

Grue’s girls became a small anchor. Jessica was young but bossy and loud and took to Dante instantly, declaring him “not a monster” after he tossed her a coin and made her laugh. Tiki and Nesty followed suit, their childish trust a salve after days of smoke. Grue joked that Dante needed to learn lullabies if he wanted to survive the ship, Dante humored him, and sometimes hummed them in the watch while the rest slept.

Tactically, the campaign began to bite. They burned shipments, exposed corrupt captains, and staged small humiliations that made it expensive and dangerous to be Gangplank’s lieutenant. Sarah’s network widened: a captain who owed a favor, a dockmaster who wasn’t fond of Gangplank’s taxes, a fence willing to burn ledgers rather than be found with them. Each small cut bled the Dead Pool’s supply lines, and each cut taught Dante how to be subtle when subtleness mattered.

And in the quiet moments, after a raid, when the ship rocked gently and the stars looked like pinpricks in a black cloth the two of them talked. Not always about vengeance. Sarah told stories of Abigail’s stubborn hands and the smell of hot metal. Dante told rough, clipped vignettes of Zaun and the things he’d seen growing up, the losses that made him a hard thing. Nell’s name came up often, said with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Those conversations built a bond that was safer than romance and stronger than mere camaraderie: they became each other’s chosen family.

By the end of the fourth month, the Dead Pool’s captains no longer moved with the same swagger. Word travelled in Bilgewater the way it always had, like in whispers and spittle and the name Miss Fortune carried less of rumor and more of consequence. Dante’s name turned up less as a novelty and more as a resource: quick, dangerous, useful.

They still had far to go. The Dead Pool still floated. Gangplank still had men and ships and favors owed like shackles. But the map on Sarah’s wall had more red threads now, and a few more pins. The little victories that, stitched together, made a plan look possible.

Dante felt different at the end of those months: still reckless, but steadier; less a stray and more an instrument. He kept breaking a thing or two out of old habits, but said habits die slowly. Nell’s spare pistols lasted longer each day. And when he laughed with Grue, or showed Sarah a trick he’d learned, it didn’t feel like stealing a moment. It felt like belonging.

The two sat on the edge of the pier, boots dangling over the dark water. Lanterns swayed lazily along the docks, their reflections rippling across the tide. It was quiet for once. No shouting sailors, no gunfire, no smell of powder or blood. Just the sound of the waves lapping against the wood and the distant cry of gulls.

Dante leaned back on his hands, glancing at her. “You know… you don’t really strike me as the kind of girl who takes breaks.”

Sarah smiled faintly. “I don’t. You’re lucky. I’m still trying to figure out why I’m here instead of working.”

He smirked. “Because I’m irresistible.”

She gave him a side-eye and nudged his boot with hers. “Cocky too. Dangerous combination.”

For a moment, they both laughed. It felt good, easy even. Then the quiet crept back in, heavier this time. Sarah looked out toward the water. 

“I’ve never really had time for this,” she said softly. “For… you know. People. Or whatever this is supposed to be.”

“You mean sitting around with a half-broken guy who shoots guns sideways?”

She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Something like that.” 

Her tone softened. “You’re not half-broken, Dante. Just… rough around the edges.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Have you ever been with someone before?”

“No,” she said simply. “Between the planning, the jobs, the people I lost— I never really thought about it. I guess revenge doesn’t leave much room for romance.”

He nodded slowly, staring down at the sea. “Yeah… same here. Not that I didn’t think about it, but, uh,  turns out constant trauma kinda ruins your dating life.”

That actually made her laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I get that a lot,” he said, grinning. Then, more quietly, “But I like you, you know. Not just the gun-slinging, smart-mouth, red-haired ‘shoot-first’ part. I mean the part that wants to make things better. Even when everything’s fucked.”

Sarah looked at him, really looked, the way his hair fell over his eyes, the small scar under his jaw, the bruises that never seemed to fade. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“I like you too,” she said at last. “And I don’t care if you’re younger. You make it easier to breathe for once.”

Dante’s usual cocky grin softened into something more genuine. “Then I’ll take that as a win.”

The two of them sat in silence again, feet brushing the water, the world briefly still two broken people trying to figure out what it meant to feel something other than pain.

Then Sarah leaned her shoulder lightly against his. “Don’t make me regret this, Little Stray.”

He smiled. “No promises.”

The silence stretched again. It wasn’t awkward, but charged. The kind that hums under your skin when words don’t fit anymore.

Sarah turned slightly, her shoulder still brushing his. The lantern light painted her hair in shades of gold and red, flickering like fire on water. Dante glanced at her, then looked away, then back again, because he couldn’t help himself.

She caught him staring. “What?”

He shrugged, pretending it was nothing. “Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, “but sometimes it pays off.”

Before she could roll her eyes or make another quip, Dante leaned in, hesitantly at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to and Sarah didn’t pull away. Their lips met in a quiet, unplanned kind of way. No grand gesture. No perfect timing. Just warmth, salt, and the faint taste of gunpowder that clung to both of them. For a moment, everything stilled. The gulls, the waves, the air between them. Then they parted, both looking a little stunned. Sarah’s cheeks were faintly pink under the lantern glow. Dante blinked once, then twice, before a crooked grin tugged at his mouth.

“…You smell good,” he said softly.

That earned him a small laugh that was half amusement, half disbelief. “That’s what you say after a first kiss?”

“I mean,” he said, leaning back with a shrug, “it’s true. Gotta start with honesty.”

Sarah shook her head, still smiling despite herself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at her with that lazy, unguarded smile. “But you kissed me anyway.”

She didn’t deny it. Just let her gaze drift back over the water and after a quiet beat, she murmured, “Maybe I’m the reckless one this time.”

Dante’s grin widened. “Guess we’re even, then.”

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt broken.

A few days later, the fog rolled over Bilgewater like a shroud as it was thick, salty, and silent. It was the kind of night where even the gulls didn’t dare make a sound. Dante and Grue crouched low in the shadows, just outside a decrepit shipyard warehouse. The air reeked of gunpowder and rotting wood, the faint hum of voices leaking through the broken planks.

“This is it,” Grue muttered, cocking his pistol. “Six bastards in one place. Fortune’s intel checks out.”

“Yeah…” Dante said, eyes narrowing as he peered through a cracked window. “Feels too easy, though.”

Inside, lanternlight flickered over a circle of killers. The ones that would end up in Dante’s kill list from five years now. 

Karn Veyle was doing nothing but standing. Marra “Red Tide” Korrin leaned over a map, tracing trade routes with sea-worn fingers, her voice as calm and cold as the ocean depths she ruled. The pale twins, Tallow and Pike, sat apart from the rest, sharpening their knives in perfect, eerie rhythm. Brask the Cinder, smoke coiling from the corner of his mouth, was grumbling over powder charges and cannon specs. And finally, Garrick Slade, the hound of Gangplank himself was pacing like a caged beast, his boots thudding against the floorboards, every motion heavy with restrained violence.

Grue exhaled. “All right. You take the twins and Cinder. I’ll deal with Red Tide and Slade. We pop Veyle last, yeah?”

“Right,” Dante murmured, flexing his fingers over his holsters. “Quick, clean, and quiet. Before anyone—”

The creak of a massive door cut him off. And both of them froze. A shadow filled the threshold. He was tall, broad, unmistakable. The room’s atmosphere changed instantly; laughter died, postures straightened, and even the torches seemed to burn lower.

Gangplank.

The pirate lord himself stepped into the firelight, the gold coins in his beard glinting as he scanned the room. His voice rolled like thunder on an open sea.

“Well,” he rumbled, “looks like my dogs still got teeth.”

Grue’s face went pale. “Oh, hell no. He’s not supposed to be here. The intel said—”

“I know what the intel said,” Dante hissed back. “Fortune said six, not—”

But before he could finish, the warehouse doors slammed open again. Dozens of armed pirates poured in, they had muskets, blades, axes and every last one bearing Gangplank’s mark. They lined the catwalks, filled the floors, and turned the meeting into a war camp.

Dante’s stomach dropped. “Grue… this isn’t a meeting. It’s a goddamn army.”

Gangplank slammed a fist onto the table, rattling the lanterns. 

“You’ve all heard the rumors,” he growled. “Ships burning. My men are disappearing. Someone thinks they can chip away at me.”

The pirates roared in agreement, the sound shaking the walls.

Up in the rafters, Grue cursed under his breath. “We’ve been set up.”

“Yeah,” Dante muttered, pulling his pistols free, eyes locked on the pirate lord below. “Fortune’s info was fake.”

Grue’s jaw tightened. “You think she knew?”

Dante didn’t answer, he didn’t want to. His gaze stayed on Gangplank, the living legend who’d carved Bilgewater in his image. The man looked almost too real and he was larger than the stories, colder than the rumors. His presence was gravity.

And for the first time, Dante understood why Sarah hated him so much.

Gangplank turned toward the upper beams, his one good eye narrowing as if he felt them watching.

“Find whoever’s skulking in my shadows,” he ordered, voice sharp as cannon fire. “And feed ’em to the sea.”

Grue looked at Dante, dead serious. “What now?”

Dante smirked faintly, the adrenaline hitting him like fire. “We improvise.”

Then the first musket went off. Grue grunted, the sound wet and sharp as the bullet tore through his upper arm, spinning him backward.

“Grue!” Dante hissed, reaching out on instinct.

Grue’s fingers scrabbled for purchase, boots slipping against the beam. “Bloody—ah—hell, kid!”

Dante lunged, grabbing him by his good arm before he could plummet outright. But the impact pulled Dante’s balance too, the wood groaned, splintered, and then—

CRASH!

Both of them hit the floorboards hard, splinters flying, the lanternlight bursting overhead in a shower of sparks. Every pirate in the warehouse turned at once.

“There!” Slade bellowed, pointing his cutlass straight at them.

Dante didn’t think, he moved. The twin pistols came up first, his reflexes taking over. The first two shots cracked clean through a pair of oncoming pirates, the next ricocheted off a steel plate, slamming into another’s shoulder.

“Get up, Grue!” He barked, ducking as a musket round tore through the crate beside his head.

Grue groaned, clutching his arm, but dragged himself upright with his good one. “You and your improv, kid!”

“Hey, it’s working!” Dante shot back, flipping over a table as another volley of bullets shredded through it.

He peeked over the top, half the room was already in motion. The twins, Tallow and Pike, moved like specters through the smoke, knives flashing. Brask the Cinder was loading a cannon by hand, roaring orders to the men around him. And at the center of it all stood Gangplank, but he was calm while watching, as if the chaos were entertainment. Dante fired again, clearing a line of approach, then kicked the table toward a group of pirates before hauling Grue behind a pile of barrels.

“Hold pressure on that wound!” Dante snapped.

“You’re not my bloody nurse!” Grue growled, tying a strip of cloth around his arm anyway.

The barrels exploded as a cannonball slammed into them. Brask laughing manically from the smoke.

“Son of a—” Dante ducked, feeling the heat of the blast sear past his shoulder. His pistols clicked empty. “Oh, come on!”

With no time to reload, his hand went to the weapon slung across his back. The Rebellion. He wasn’t a master swordsman, not even close. But it was a solid piece of steel, and right now, it’d have to do. He yanked it free and swung it like a club, catching a pirate across the jaw with a satisfying crack. Blood and teeth flew, the man spinning down. Another came at him with a hook-blade, Dante blocked it awkwardly, then slammed the flat of the sword into the man’s ribs before kicking him aside.

“You fight like you’re trying to break bones, not swing steel!” Grue shouted between gunfire.

“Yeah, well,” Dante grunted, smashing the pommel into another attacker’s nose, “it’s been working so far!”

The gunfire intensified. Metal rang, boots thundered, and the smell of smoke and salt filled the air. From the center of the room, Gangplank finally drew his pistol. A massive, gold-inlaid hand cannon. The shot cracked through the din, splintering a post not a foot from Dante’s head. The pirate lord’s gaze locked on him.

“Well, well,” Gangplank growled, voice like a storm brewing. “It didn't take long to find the rats Fortune’s been feeding, did it?”

Dante’s blood ran cold. “He knows…”

Gangplank cocked his pistol again, eyes glinting with fury. “Tell her the sea remembers, right before it claims you.”

Another shot boomed and  Dante responded by rolling aside, barely avoiding it as the floor burst in flames from the impact.

Grue fired back, one-handed, shouting, “Kid! We gotta move before this place becomes your funeral pyre!”

Dante reloaded his pistols with a snap, grimacing as pirates closed in from all sides. “Yeah,” he muttered, cocking both guns. “And here I thought today was gonna be quiet.”

Cannonfire split the night as the docks burned around them. The wooden beams snapping as oil began to catch on fire, accompanied by screams and steel everywhere.

“Dante, this way!” Grue shouted, holding his bleeding arm tight as they sprinted between crates.

Dante covered him, pistols cracking in quick rhythm. “Move, old man, move!”

Another explosion rocked the pier, the shockwave sent them both flying. Dante hit a pile of nets, rolling through them, but Grue slammed into a stack of barrels that came tumbling down.

“Grue!” Dante scrambled to his feet, coughing through the smoke. He spotted his friend pinned under debris, pirates already moving in from both sides.

“Go, kid!” Grue barked, shoving one barrel off his leg. “You’ll get boxed in!”

“Not happening!” Dante sprinted toward him, but the next explosion hit.

The deck erupted, blasting them apart. Dante felt himself thrown into the air, hitting the planks so hard his vision blurred. By the time he staggered up, the gap between them was a roaring inferno.

“Grue!” Dante yelled over the fire.

“I’ll find another way out!” Grue shouted back, voice fading behind the flames. “Don’t die before I get back!”

Dante exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “Yeah, yeah…” 

He raised his pistols, turning toward the horde of pirates rushing through the smoke. “…I’ll buy you time.”

And then he charged without a second thought in the world. He wasn’t a sword master. He wasn’t even trying to be. Dante fought like chaos itself. He had no form, no precision, just instinct and strength.

The first pirate swung, Dante ducked low and fired up through the man’s gut. He kicked him back into two others, firing both pistols until they clicked empty. Then he drew Rebellion, gripping the massive blade like a bat, and smashed it into another pirate’s ribs. Bone crunched.

“C’mon then!” Dante shouted, a defiant grin cutting through the blood and smoke. “Who’s next?!”

They came at him from all sides. Cutlasses flashing, hooks gleaming. Dante swung wide, catching three in one brutal arc, then brought the sword down with enough force to splinter the floorboards. Even when a blade buried into his shoulder, he barely slowed. He ripped it out, let the wound seal with a faint blue glow, and jammed the blade through its owner instead.

More came. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. 

For every one he dropped, two more seemed to rise. Then the real danger came forward. Gangplank’s Big Six.

Karn Veyle was first, charging like a bull, metal jaw gleaming in the firelight. Dante barely dodged, but Karn’s swing caught his ribs, the impact enough to lift him off his feet.

He hit the ground hard, coughing. “Okay… that hurt.”

Marra “Red Tide” Korrin’s pistol barked twice, both bullets grazing his neck as he rolled behind a crate. The twins, Tallow and Pike, moved fast, silent, their knives flashing in the smoke. Dante turned and smashed one with Rebellion’s flat side, but the other carved a gash across his back.

“Persistent shits,” he muttered, gritting his teeth from the pain.

Brask the Cinder roared, hurling a powder keg his way. Dante dove just as it exploded, flames washing over him. His jacket caught fire, he tore it off mid-roll, smoke pouring from his shoulders as his skin knit itself back together. But then—

A heavy shadow fell over him.

Gangplank stepped through the chaos. Pistol in one hand, cutlass in the other, eyes burning with cold fury. “You’ve got a devil’s luck, boy.”

Dante spat blood while lifting the Rebellion again, smirking through the pain. “More like a bad aim on your part.”

Gangplank fired. The bullet tore through Dante’s side, he winced, but didn’t fall. Gangplank’s eyes narrowed as he watched the wound close. “Well now… what in the blazes are you?”

Dante tilted his head, grinning. “Annoying, apparently.”

Gangplank’s smile was slow and cruel. He stepped forward, boot crushing an empty shell casing, and reached down, grabbing Rebellion’s blade as Dante swung again. The pirate lord wrenched it free with brute strength, inspecting the weapon.

“Well, well…” Gangplank murmured, dragging his thumb across the blade before leveling his pistol at Dante again. “You heal fast. Don’t die easily.”

His tone darkened with a hint of amusement, almost delightness. “Perfect. My men have been bored.”

Then he slammed the pommel of the sword into Dante’s face, the world went white, then black as Gangplank’s laughter echoed over the burning pier.

SARAH:
Grue stumbled down the dock, half-limping, his arm still bleeding through the bandage he’d tied with his teeth. Smoke rolled from the harbor behind him, black plumes that ate the horizon. Every boom and flare of gunfire seemed to chase him. When he finally saw Sarah and the crew waiting by the smaller ship. And she was shouting orders, pistol still in hand, her hair wild from the wind and battle.

She turned the moment she saw him. “Grue! Where the hell is Dante?”

Grue leaned against a post, breath ragged. “He— he’s still there.”

Sarah’s eyes hardened. “What do you mean he’s still there? The job was supposed to be quick. An in and out!”

“It was a bloody setup,” Grue spat, voice gravelly from smoke. “Everything. Even your side of it.”

Sarah froze, her expression faltering. Grue nodded grimly. “Gangplank knew. He knew you were coming for him. The info… all of it… fake. He brought his whole damn army. Even showed up by himself.”

Her jaw clenched, the color draining from her face. “No… no, that’s not possible. I checked the intel myself—”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Grue cut in, chest heaving. “The kid… told me to go. Said he’d hold them off so I could make it back.”

For a heartbeat, the dock went quiet. Even the crew stopped moving, watching their captain’s reaction. Sarah’s fists trembled. “He what?”

Grue dropped his head. “He knew we wouldn’t both make it. I tried to drag him with me, but… you’ve seen the boy fight. Stubborn as hell.”

Sarah stared past him, at the fires rising from the distance where the meeting had gone to hell. The orange glow reflected in her eyes. The fury and fear twisting together. She took a sharp breath, forcing herself steady. 

“If Gangplank’s there…” she said quietly, “then Dante’s in his hands.”

Grue didn’t answer, only looked at her with that grim, pained silence that said enough. Sarah turned toward her crew, voice cold as iron. “Get ready to move. We’re going after him.”

“Captain,” Grue warned, “you go back there now, it’ll be suicide—”

“I don’t care,” she snapped, eyes burning. “He’s my responsibility. My partner.”

She paused, quieter this time. “And I’m not losing him too.”

The sea wind caught her hair as she faced the smoke again and for the first time in years, Sarah Fortune looked afraid.

The scene they arrived at was nothing short of carnage. The dockside once a hidden meeting point was now half-collapsed, timbers splintered and blackened with soot. The air reeked of smoke, blood, and seawater. The tide lapped gently at corpses floating near the pier, faces twisted in pain, most of them Gangplank’s men. Grue went silent first, stepping over a burnt crate and spotting the familiar silver glint of broken steel in the rubble. He crouched, picked it up Dante’s pistols, both ruined. Their barrels bent and cracked, one grip splintered like it had been smashed against bone. Not far from them lay a jacket, blackened from the flames that engulfed it.

When Sarah saw it, she froze mid-step. Her throat tightened, her breath hitched, but her face didn’t move. For a long moment, she just stared.

“Captain…” Grue began quietly.

“Leave me,” she said. The words were steady, but her voice trembled at the edges.

The crew obeyed without question, retreating back toward the ship until only the crackling of dying fire filled the air.

Sarah knelt down, picking up the jacket. It was heavy with grime and ash, but still smelled faintly of salt and gunpowder… him. She pressed it against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. For years, she’d trained herself not to cry. Not when she buried her mother. Not when she woke from nightmares of her family’s screams. But now—

A small, choked sound escaped her lips. Then another. She bit down on her glove, shaking as the first tear hit the ground. 

“Dammit, Dante…” she whispered. “You stupid, reckless…”

Her shoulders trembled as she tried to steady her breath, but every time she looked at the jacket, her walls cracked again. She finally sank down fully, sitting in the dirt, pressing her forehead to the bloodstained fabric. The firelight painted her hair gold and red, flickering like the grief and rage burning inside her. When the tears finally ran dry, she drew in a long breath and set the jacket down gently beside the broken pistols. Her voice was low, firm, and cold. 

“You’re not dead,” she said, as if daring the world to defy her. “You can’t be. Not you.”

She stood, wiping her face roughly, forcing herself to breathe again. “You’re strong. You always walk away from the impossible…”

Her eyes hardened, steel replacing sorrow. “So you better walk back to me.”

Then she turned toward the ship, face unreadable, and ordered, “We’re not done yet. Gangplank’s still breathing. And until he’s not, neither am I.”

Behind her, the wind picked up, carrying the faint echo of battle across the waves, like the sea itself mourning what she’d lost… and what she was about to become.

DANTE:
The world came back to Dante in fragments. Salt in his nose, the sway of the ship, the faint drip… drip… drip of water somewhere nearby.

When he finally blinked awake, everything was upside down. Literally.

His wrists were bound tight behind his back, ankles tied to a thick rope that dangled from the ceiling beam of the Dead Pool’s below deck. Blood rushed to his head, making his vision swim in red. He twisted slightly, just enough to see the rows of lanterns swaying, the reflection of the ocean rippling across the soaked planks. Then he heard a slow clap that echoed from the shadows.

“Well, well,” a gravel-deep voice rumbled. “The little stray wakes up.”

Gangplank stepped into the light as he had this aura that was radiating the kind of confidence only monsters and kings possessed. His arm reached for a bottle from the nearby crate, taking a long swig before tossing it aside.

“Kid like you caused quite the mess,” he said, voice thick with amusement. “Half my men are dead. Tell me, what exactly did you think you were doing?”

Dante twisted a bit, groaning as the rope creaked. “Uh, first? Morning breath’s rough, old man. Have you ever heard of mouthwash?”

That earned him a sharp jab to the ribs from one of the others. Karn Veyle, specifically. The hit made Dante grunt, but he kept grinning, bloody lip and all.

Gangplank’s lieutenants gathered around like hungry sharks. Marra “Red Tide” Korrin, was idly spinning a compass between her fingers. Tallow and Pike, were silent. Brask the Cinder’s eyes narrowed at Dante. Garrick Slade, the hound, was leaning against a post, sneering.

“You’ve got balls,” Brask rasped. “Too bad you won’t have them much longer.”

“Depends,” Dante muttered. “Are you planning to hang me by the ankles forever, or are we switching to something more creative?”

Gangplank grinned, teeth white against his beard. 

“You’re a mouthy one. I like that.” He stepped closer, boots thudding on the wet wood. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

Dante shrugged, or tried to, given the circumstances. “Afraid? Nah. Just bored. This is your idea of hospitality? You didn’t even offer breakfast.”

The crew laughed in a low, cruel laughter that filled the cramped space. But Gangplank’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ll learn your manners soon enough.” He motioned to Karn. “Untie him.”

Karn sliced the rope with a rusty knife, and Dante dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks, catching himself on his shoulder with a wince. He rolled over, spit out blood, and pushed himself to his feet with a grin that shouldn’t have been possible in that situation.

Gangplank looked him over like a man inspecting a new blade. “You heal fast. That’s no trick of the sea.”

“Guess I’m just lucky,” Dante said, cracking his neck.

“Luck doesn’t make flesh knit back together.” Gangplank stepped closer, voice dropping. “You’re something else, boy. And I like finding out what that something is.”

Dante’s smirk wavered for a second, but only barely. “Are you planning to dissect me or buy me dinner first?”

That earned him another punch to the gut. He doubled over but laughed anyway. “All right, not dinner, got it.”

Gangplank crouched down, resting his hand on Dante’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You’ve got spirit. I’ll give you that. But spirit breaks.”

He stood, snapping his fingers. “Take him to the hold. Keep him breathing. I want to see just how long this one lasts.”

As they dragged him away, Dante muttered under his breath, “First time getting captured. Gotta say, not as fun as I thought.”

And despite the bruises, the pain, and the blood dripping from his nose, he still smirked.

Days bled together in the Dead Pool’s belly. Nothing but the creak of wood, the sway of the tide, and the smell of salt, blood, and rot. Most men would’ve cracked after a single night. Dante didn’t. He sat chained to the post, hands bound, shirt torn, dried blood crusted on his knuckles and yet he looked more bored than broken.

Gangplank had tried everything short of execution. No food. No water. The kind of beatings that left men praying for death. And still, when the captain came down, Dante was there, his head tilted, smirking, looking like the whole thing was mildly inconvenient.

“You’re either blessed by the sea or cursed by something worse,” Gangplank said one morning, looming over him. “Four days without a bite to eat, boy. Any man would be crawling by now.”

Dante shrugged, eyes half-lidded. “Guess I don’t have a fast metabolism.”

Gangplank frowned. His lieutenants lingered in the shadows. Red Tide, Slade, Karn, all watching the scene like vultures.

“You’re no ordinary stray,” Gangplank continued, pacing. “I’ve had men beg me for mercy before. Had them bite off their own tongues, cry, curse, pray. You? You sit there with that same grin like this is a damned tavern brawl.”

Dante tilted his head. “Well, the company’s not as good, but the entertainment’s about the same.”

That earned him a kick to the ribs. He groaned but didn’t stop smiling. Gangplank crouched in front of him, steel jaw glinting in the lantern light. “Let’s make this simple. You tell me about her… and I might make your end quick.”

“Her?” Dante asked, brow furrowing in mock confusion.

“Don’t play dumb, boy,” Gangplank growled. “The red-haired bitch. The one calling herself Miss Fortune. You’ve been at her side for months. You tell me where she’s hiding, who funds her, and I’ll let you keep your tongue.”

Dante leaned his head back against the post, chuckling. “Oh. Her.” 

He whistled low. “You mean the gorgeous one with legs that could kill a man and a temper that actually might?”

Gangplank’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” Dante went on, voice deliberately casual. “It's hard to forget someone like that. Smart, dangerous, smells like gunpowder and perfume, kind of like your ship, but prettier.”

A tense silence followed. The crew exchanged glances. Gangplank straightened, face unreadable. “You think this is a jest?”

“Little bit,” Dante said. “Honestly, I thought we were finally bonding.”

Gangplank’s fist shot forward, slamming into Dante’s jaw. The crack echoed through the hold, but all it did was make Dante laugh through the blood.

“She talks about me?” Gangplank snarled.

“Can’t say she did,” Dante said, wiping his mouth. “But if it makes you feel better, she does talk about killing you. A lot. Like, passionately.”

That pushed the captain over the edge. Gangplank grabbed Dante by the collar and yanked him upright, eyes burning.

“You’re gonna wish I’d killed you clean, boy,” he hissed.

Dante, hanging by the neck of his torn shirt, smirked right back. “Already do. Your hospitality sucks.”

Gangplank shoved him back down, storming out, boots pounding up the stairs. His lieutenants lingered for a moment as they were curious and unnerved.

Brask muttered, “That one’s got death in his eyes.”

Marra shook her head. “No. Worse. He’s got nothing to lose.”

When the door finally slammed shut, Dante leaned his head back, exhaled through his nose, and chuckled to himself.

“Man,” he muttered, “if Sarah doesn’t sleep with me after this, I’m charging double.”

By the time day nine came, even the rats in the hold gave Dante a wide berth.

The air was thick with salt and sweat, and the only sound was his quiet humming, some old tune he probably made up just to piss Gangplank off.

Every morning, the crew came down expecting him to be weaker. Every morning, he greeted them with the same damn smirk.

So when Gangplank finally came himself, boots heavy on the steps, Garrick Slade following behind with a black case in hand, the air shifted. No laughter. No jeering. Just the sound of that box snapping open. Metal tools gleaming wet under the lamplight. Dante tilted his head as they approached.

“Well,” he drawled, “if this is about my room service complaints, I gotta say, your customer feedback system sucks.”

Slade said nothing. The man was built like ironwood,  eyes colder than the sea. He laid the tools out in careful order. A tattooing rig, its tip glinting like a scalpel, and a small vial of thick, silver liquid that shimmered unnaturally under the light.

Gangplank’s voice was calm. Too calm. “You’ve got a tongue that won’t quit, boy. And eyes that don’t know fear.”

“Thanks,” Dante said. “I work out.”

Gangplank ignored him, dipping the needle into the mercury ink. “But I’m done with jokes.”

He turned to Slade. “Brand him.”

Gangplank’s hands clamped around Dante’s shoulders, pinning him back against the mast. Dante tensed, not from fear, but anticipation.

“What’s this, pirate spa treatment?” He asked, smirking still, though there was a flicker of unease behind his eyes.

Slade stepped close enough for Dante to smell the smoke and rum on his breath. He gripped Dante’s jaw hard, forcing his head still

.

“You wanted to make a name for yourself in his waters,” he said lowly. “Now you’ll wear it.”

And then the needle hit.

It wasn’t normal ink. It burned. The mercury seared his flesh like the molten metal that it is, hissing as it bit into his skin. The scent of scorched flesh filled the room.

Dante jerked, a guttural sound catching in his throat. The first real sound of pain he’d made since being captured. Slade kept going, slow and deliberate, dragging the needle across his cheekbone as Gangplank held him firm. The Bilgewater sigil, the jagged mark of Gangplank’s rule, now etched crudely into his face.

Dante’s breathing grew harsh. He didn’t scream, didn’t beg. He laughed. A broken, breathless laugh that made Slade hesitate for half a second.

“Gotta say…” Dante rasped, blood running down his chin, “…this isn’t the worst tattoo I’ve gotten. Oh wait… it is the only one.”

Gangplank didn’t react, but his grip tightened until Dante’s body creaked. “Mock me all you want, boy. But every man who sees that mark’ll know who owns you.”

Dante’s smirk returned. His breathing was ragged, but alive.

“Yeah?” He panted. “Then you better pray I don’t outlive you, ‘cause I’m coming back for the refund.”

The captain’s expression finally cracked, just enough to show anger. He dropped Dante’s face and turned away.

“Leave him hanging,” Gangplank ordered. “Let him rot with that mark. I want him to remember who carved it every time he looks in a mirror.”

As they left, Dante slumped against the post, cheek blistering and oozing silver.

The pain was unreal, raw, sharp, deep enough to make his healing stutter. But even through the haze, his grin stayed.

He spit blood on the deck and muttered, hoarse but defiant: “Guess I’m officially a local now.”

Hours bled together down in the bowels of the Dead Pool. At first, Dante did what he always did. Grin, joke, act untouchable. But mercury wasn’t just pain. It was poison. The silver ink seethed under his skin, crawling like fire through his veins. His body twitched in ways even his healing couldn’t smooth out. Every heartbeat felt wrong, they were heavy, cold, slow.

He thought he’d felt agony before. This was worse. This was a burn that never ended. The regeneration that had always saved him was now his curse, every time the toxin tried to kill him, his body clawed its way back. And then it started again.

Die. Heal. Die. Heal.

He couldn’t even pass out. His mind refused him that mercy. The cocky grin started to falter. His breaths came ragged. Sweat and blood dripped from his chin.

The metal tang on his tongue was unbearable, like biting coins.

For the first time, Dante stopped laughing.

Gangplank’s men came to check on him once or twice. They found him hanging upside down, trembling, whispering something between clenched teeth, words they couldn’t quite make out.

When one got close enough to hear, he realized Dante was counting. Counting the seconds between the poison’s surges. Counting how long it took for his skin to close again. Counting the heartbeats until the next wave hits.

It wasn’t fear that lived in his eyes anymore. It was rage.

By the tenth day, his skin around the tattoo had turned grayish, the silver veins spiderwebbing beneath. His healing fought it, but the mercury stayed, poisoning him endlessly, a reminder of Gangplank’s cruelty branded deep into his flesh.

He could feel it humming in his blood now, like a second heartbeat.

When the door opened again  another guard checked in, mocking him with stale bread. Dante didn’t speak. He just lifted his head, eyes glowing faintly red through the grime and sweat, voice low and hoarse but sharp enough to cut.

“Tell your captain…” He spat a glob of black-slick blood onto the floor. “…he’s not killing me. He’s making me.”

Then he laughed again. Not the cocky, boyish laugh from before. This one was darker. Rougher. Fueled not by confidence… but by wrath.

SARAH:
Sarah pushed through Nell’s workshop door, the bell’s clang swallowed by the roar of her thoughts. Weeks had passed since she’d last seen Dante; every lead narrowed back to the same place. The Dead Pool. And with Gangplank finally faltering, the endgame had come.

She hadn’t come to Nell’s workshop for counsel so much as materials: a charge big enough to finish what months of raids had started. 

“I need something that’ll take that ship apart from the keel up,” she said without preamble, setting a soot-stained scrap of timber on the workbench as proof of where she’d been.

For a heartbeat her voice broke, the admission pressed through on a whisper. “Nell… I’m sorry. I promised I’d keep him safe. I failed.”

Nell didn’t flinch. She rubbed grease from her palms and fixed Sarah with a look that was equal parts exasperation and hard kindness. 

“You didn’t fail the way you think,” she said. “Dante’s as stubborn as you. He’s not a thing you can guard behind a wall. You know that.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched. “I know. But I’m not leaving him there.”

Nell tapped the bench with a knuckle, then swept open a drawer and began pulling out diagrams and parts. 

“All right,” she said, folding the apology into action. “I’ll make you a charge that’ll make the Dead Pool regret the day it floated. But you do this smart, precise, tide-timed, surgical. No theatre. You get Dante, you get your strike, and if he’s stubborn enough to stay, you drag him away by the ear.”

Sarah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Good. Let’s burn his backbone and ass once and for all.”

Nell’s face softened for the briefest second. 

“Bring him back,” she said. “Or bring proof you tried. Either way, don’t come back empty-handed.”

They set to work. Sarah with the blunt instruments of war, Nell with the patient craft of a maker who knows how to turn grief into something that works.

Sarah slipped across the Dead Pool’s creaking deck like a shadow folded in on itself, Nell’s crude charge strapped tight under her coat. The ship smelled of tar, old gunpowder and a new, metallic tang that turned her stomach, the scent of blood and iron. Every footfall was a promise, every shadow could be a man. She moved down into the belly of the ship, heart thudding harder as the Hold’s lanterns bobbed and guttered. Her hand went to the satchel where Nell had wrapped the device and the schematic, fingers ghosting over the straps. This was the moment. To plant, time the tide, light the fuse, leave.

Then she found him. Dante was slumped against a post near a dim lantern, half-covered in a stray blanket and grime, cheek raw and mottled where silver veins spread out from a crude sigil. The Bilgewater mark had been branded into him. Blackened, jagged, and still angry-looking on his skin. He looked smaller in the low light than any story made him, but his eyes snapped up and everything about him still cut straight to her chest.

For a beat she couldn’t breathe. The sight of that ink, the cruel, hot brand across his cheek hit her like a fist. He saw her then, and relief stole over his face so pure it made her knees wobble.

“Sarah.” It was barely a whisper, but it was all she needed. She dropped into a crouch beside him. 

“Dante,” she said, hands aching, half from running, half from the urge to touch and check and make sure he was really there. “I thought—”

“You did good.” He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You got here.”

She reached up, fingers finding the edges of the sigil, callused and bloody. He flinched but didn’t pull away. 

“They—” she started, voice thick, “they did this to you.”

Dante swallowed. “They tried.” 

He sat up slowly, one hand rubbing at his cheek as if the motion could erase the burn. He propped his chin on his knees for a second, then his expression changed, there was a stubbornness in him that she knew well. “Listen. You need to go.”

Sarah blinked. “What? No. We’re hitting the ship. We—”

He cut her off with a look she recognized from other fights, from other plans: the look that meant whatever came next, he had already chosen. 

“You go. I’ll stay. I promised myself, Sarah. I promised I’d get him. I’m not leaving with the brand and no revenge.” His voice had the brittle edge of someone who’d been carved at the core and kept going anyway.

She reached for the satchel instinctively. “You can’t—”

Dante snapped from his binds and his hand closed over hers and then slid to the satchel, surprising her with the strength he still had. He heaved it free and set it on a low crate. He didn’t look like he was playing for time. He looked like he’d already made his mind up. 

“No,” he said quietly. “You take Nell’s charge. You follow the plan. You go loud from the water. Get the crew in position. Make my life hell from the outside. I’ll put this where it counts.”

“You’re not a bomb tech,” she protested. “You don’t have to—”

He shook his head. “Nell trusts you to do this. Nell trusted me to do what had to be done if I couldn’t get out. And I can’t leave my sword. He’s got my sword. If I’m going to walk away from this, I can’t walk away without Rebellion. It’s the last thing I got that’s mine. I won’t leave it for him to laugh over.”

Sarah’s breath came sharp. 

“Dante… you can’t just—” Her voice broke because she’d already imagined losing him a dozen different ways. This was not one she knew how to stop.

He pushed to his feet then, steadier than she expected, and moved to the small work area where chains and rusted tools lay. He began to rig the device the way Nell had made her on the bench: straps cinched tight to a length of hull plating, a jag of wire threaded into a brittle charge and towered with small, precise bursts of timing powder. He worked deliberately; there was a focus to him that made her ache with fear and pride at the same time.

“This is reckless,” Sarah said, hands hovering over the satchel as if she might yank it back and run. “You’ll die in there, Dante. The blast—”

He looked at her, eyes unreadable, the mercury-slick tattoo paling under blood and sweat.

“If it kills me,” he said, “it’s on my terms. If it doesn’t… I take the blade back, and then we finish what we started.” 

He forced a short, wry grin. “Besides, you’re the one who told me cowardice exists in Bilgewater.”

Everything in Sarah’s chest squeezed to a point. She swallowed hard, then forced herself to move, to follow what he was asking. There was no argument she could have won that wouldn’t cost more than she could bear.

“Promise me one thing,” she said, voice small.

He met her. “Anything.”

“Come find me if you get out,” she said, the words raw. “If you live… come back and find me. Don’t disappear into the dark.”

Dante’s jaw ticked. 

“I always find people,” he replied, softer. “You know that.”

She pressed the satchel back into his hands. “Then go. Now. I’ll start the attack.” 

She let the last words hang between them. A strategy, reassurance, and an order. He set the charge, affixing it under a swollen seam in the Dead Pool’s hold where Nell’s calculations had shown the keel would buckle. He secured the timing fuse, the crude detonator sparing nothing and everything. When he finished, he stood.

He took one last look at her, face raw, and said, “You go. Don’t dawdle.”

Sarah swallowed and, briefly, pressed her forehead against his own. 

“Come back,” she whispered.

He let her go first. She didn’t look back until she reached the ladder into the dark, and then only once, to see him standing in the dim, the brand on his cheek a cruel marker before he slid into the deeper shadows where the men of the Dead Pool watched and waited.

Above deck, the sea was cold and impatient. Sarah crept back to the Scarlet Mercy, took her place, and gave the signal. Men moved like a living thing: ropes loosened, sails whispered, cannon covers fell. The attack began with the first flash over the Dead Pool’s rail. Beneath the hull, Dante waited with his makeshift charge and a sword that still smelled like home, breathing slow and steady against the poison and the brand. prepared to make whatever came next.

DANTE:
The deck burned beneath him, timbers cracking, smoke rolling off the Dead Pool in thick black sheets. The night sky over Bilgewater pulsed red with firelight and cannon flare. Dante pushed through the chaos, boots crunching on shattered planks and glass, his coat tattered, face still bearing the raw, scorched mark Gangplank carved into him. His lungs stung from smoke, but the sound of the cannons told him one thing—

Sarah kept her word.

The sea was chaotic. The Dead Pool’s hull was cracked open like a carcass, leaking oil and flame. The rest of Gangplank’s fleet was in ruin, dozens of ships turned to burning silhouettes on the horizon. Screams and orders echoed across the water, but the once-invincible pirate king’s command carried no weight anymore. His six lieutenants were gone, retreating into the fog on a lifeboat, their loyalty crumbling with the ship.

Dante climbed up to the upper deck, smoke billowing behind him. Gangplank was there. Half his face slick with soot, his greatcoat torn and one arm bleeding through the sleeve. He still looked monstrous, but his aura of invulnerability was gone. He turned as Dante approached, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re still standin’, boy?” Gangplank growled, voice gravel and fury.

Dante stopped a few paces away, his breath steady, eyes locked on the gleam of dark-silver clutched in Gangplank’s hand, the Rebellion. His sword that he remembered was one of the few things he had from the father he never truly met, nicked and smeared with soot but unmistakable.

“That sword doesn’t belong to you,” Dante said, voice cold but even. “Give it back.”

Gangplank barked out a harsh laugh, raising the weapon alongside his own cutlass. “You think you’ve earned this, whelp? You’re nothin’ but a ghost with a death wish.”

Dante stepped forward, fists clenching. “I don’t care what it takes. I’m getting it back.”

The deck rocked beneath them as another explosion went off below. Flames licked higher around them, the sea hissing as molten metal and burning pitch splashed into it. Gangplank moved first, swinging both blades in a wide, brutal arc meant to cleave Dante in half.

Dante ducked low, the cutlasses hissing over his head, and drove forward, bare hands against steel. He caught Gangplank’s wrist, twisted, and the older man grunted as Dante slammed a knee into his ribs, sending him staggering. But the pirate’s strength was still monstrous, he countered with a headbutt that cracked across Dante’s skull, stars bursting in his vision. They traded blows across the burning deck, one armed with rage, the other with raw determination. Gangplank’s cutlass nicked Dante’s side, drawing blood, but the wound sealed as fast as it opened. The pirate’s eye widened slightly.

“You ain’t human…” he muttered, swinging harder. “Then I’ll cut you ‘til you remember what pain feels like!”

Dante caught the Rebellion mid-swing, gripping the steel with a bare hand as it sliced into his palm. His regeneration flared, his own blood hissing against the blade. His eyes met Gangplank’s, cold and unwavering.

“Pain?” Dante growled. “You can’t imagine what I’ve been through.”

With a roar, he tore the Rebellion free of Gangplank’s grasp, the blade shrieking as it left the pirate’s hand. He spun, drove his boot into Gangplank’s chest, and sent him crashing back against the railing. The ship groaned beneath them, beginning to list as fire devoured its heart.

Gangplank staggered, coughing, glaring up through the smoke. “You’ll die here with me, boy!”

Dante smirked faintly, the Rebellion gleaming crimson in the firelight. 

“Nah,” he said, leveling the sword. “You’re the one who’s finished.”

He turned the blade, plunging it through a leaking barrel of powder nearby. Flames leapt instantly, crawling across the deck toward the heart of the ship. The Rebellion cut through the smoke, gleaming with reflected firelight. Gangplank charged, roaring, swinging his cutlass down with brute force, but Dante met it. Steel clashed, sparks flying, the sound ringing across the burning deck. Gangplank’s blows were heavy, meant to crush and break, but Dante was faster. His movements were rough, unpolished, but full of purpose and with each strike driven by everything Gangplank had taken from him. His first family. His peace. His strength.

Gangplank bared his teeth. “You think this’ll end me, boy? I built this city! You’re nothin’ but—”

Dante didn’t let him finish. He ducked under the pirate’s swing, twisted, and drove the Rebellion up and across in one brutal slash. The blade bit deep. Gangplank screamed, his cutlass fell from his grip as his arm hit the deck with a wet thud, blood spraying across the timbers. Dante’s breath came ragged, his knuckles white around the sword. 

Gangplank stumbled back, eyes wide with disbelief. He clutched the gushing stump, laughter breaking through the pain that was mad, hollow. “You… you think this’ll stop me…?”

“No,” Dante said, voice low, cold. “But it’s a start.”

He kicked Gangplank backward into the flames. The fire swallowed him whole, the explosion that followed sending a shockwave through the ship. The Dead Pool’s spine cracked. Wood splintered and screamed. 

Dante staggered as the deck gave way beneath him, heat searing his lungs. He dove off the side, gripping the Rebellion tight as the ship erupted behind him, fire and metal bursting upward, lighting the sea in a molten orange glow. The blast threw him into the water. Salt burned the cuts on his arms; his muscles screamed as he forced himself to the surface. The weight of the sword dragged him down once, twice, but he refused to let go. He kicked hard, the world spinning between fire and waves. By the time he reached the pier, his strength was gone. He pulled himself up by the railing, coughing out seawater, hair plastered to his face. His knees hit the wood, and he barely managed to lift his head—

“Dante!”

Sarah.

She ran toward him through the crowd of stunned sailors and townsfolk, smoke-streaked and wide-eyed. She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his shoulders. For a second she just stared, relief flooding her expression, then she pulled him into a tight hug, trembling with the weight of it all.

Dante wheezed, coughing out another mouthful of seawater, and let out a half-smile. “Guess… we did it, huh?”

Sarah laughed through the tears, brushing his soaked hair back. “You’re insane, you know that?”

He smirked faintly, still half-dazed. “Maybe. But we did it, captain.”

She froze at the word, then laughed softly, shaking her head. “Damn right we did.”

The Dead Pool burned in the distance, collapsing into the sea piece by piece. Gangplank’s reign was over. And as the flames faded into the horizon, Sarah kept her arms around Dante, because even if Bilgewater would remember the fall of a tyrant, she’d remember this.

SARAH:
It had been a week since the night Gangplank burned.

Gangplank’s flagship was gone, nothing but blackened debris still washing ashore, but his shadow lingered. Without him, Bilgewater had erupted into chaos. Every captain, every petty warlord, every would-be pirate king with a ship and a cutlass now clawed for a piece of the throne. Smoke rose from the harbors daily; gunfire echoed through the alleys at night.

The city had always been lawless, but now it was feral.

And so, true to her word, Sarah Fortune stepped up. She moved with purpose, taking over Gangplank’s docks, the trade routes, and the remaining powder caches. The crews that once followed Gangplank either bent the knee or burned. She met with smugglers, negotiated with black powder barons, and silenced assassins who thought her rule would be short-lived. Every night she came back bloodied, and every morning she was already planning the next strike.

And in all that, she hadn’t seen Dante.

Not because she didn’t want to, but because there was no time. She told herself he was safe, that Nell was taking care of him, that she couldn’t afford to break focus now. Not when Bilgewater needed someone to hold the wheel steady before the city sank completely.

But when a week passed, she finally couldn’t take it anymore.

That night, she found herself standing outside Nell’s workshop, sea breeze tugging at her newly acquired coat. The streets around it were quieter than usual, most of the fighting had drifted toward the northern piers, but even then, the smell of gunpowder still hung in the air.

She hesitated at the door for a moment before knocking.

The familiar sound of metal tools being set aside came from inside, followed by Nell’s gruff voice. “If you’re here for repairs, you can wait ‘til morning.”

Sarah smirked faintly. “It’s not the repairs I came for.”

The door creaked open. Nell stood there, goggles on her head, a smudge of soot across her cheek. Her sharp eyes softened when she saw who it was. “Fortune.”

Sarah nodded, stepping inside. “Been a long week.”

Nell gave a low hum. “You look like hell.”

Sarah huffed out a dry laugh. “Feels about right.” 

She paused, glancing around the cluttered workshop, the piles of tools, half-finished projects, and in the corner, Dante’s broken pistols laid out neatly on a workbench. “How’s he been?”

Nell sighed, wiping her hands on a rag. “Alive. Which, knowing that kid, is already a miracle. Still healing. Sleep a lot. Eats like a starving hound.”

Sarah’s expression softened, relief flickering beneath the exhaustion. “Good. That’s… good.”

Nell studied her for a moment. “You’re running yourself dry, girl. I can see it plain as day.”

Sarah gave a faint shrug. “Can’t afford not to. Not yet. Every captain in Bilgewater’s trying to play king. If I stop now, we lose everything Dante and I bled for.”

Nell grunted, crossing her arms. “He told me about that promise you made. About making this city better. Just don’t forget… ‘better’ doesn’t mean you burn yourself out doing it.”

Sarah offered a tired smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve burned for something I believed in.”

Nell snorted. “Yeah, and last time, the kid had to fish you out of it.”

Sarah’s smile faltered slightly, but she didn’t argue. Her eyes drifted toward the stairs leading to the upper floor. “Can I see him?”

Nell hesitated for a beat before nodding. “He’s up. Been restless tonight anyway.”

Sarah took a slow breath, then headed up the creaking steps, the workshop light fading behind her. But she lingered at the base of the stairs, eyeing the shelves behind Nell’s workbench. Her hand found a dusty bottle half-hidden between an oil can and a box of bolts. She didn’t even hesitate, she snatched it up, popped the cork, and took a whiff that burned all the way to her sinuses.

Nell didn’t bother looking up from the half-assembled rifle she was working on. “You plan on sharing that, or is it another one of your emotional support bottles?”

Sarah cracked a faint smile. “Neither. It’s for him.”

That finally made Nell glance up, her gray brows rising. “You’re giving him that?”

“He earned it,” Sarah said simply, turning toward the stairs.

“Sure,” Nell muttered. “Just don’t come cryin’ to me when he pukes on you.”

Sarah smirked and made her way up, her boots thudding lightly against the wood. She paused at Dante’s door before knocking softly and pushing it open.

The room was dim, the faint orange glow of a single lamp flickering over the walls. Dante sat slouched at the edge of his bed, shirtless, bandages still wrapped around his ribs and shoulder. The tattoo on his cheek, the crude, mercury-burned Bilgewater sigil caught the light in an ugly shimmer. His eyes, half-shadowed, looked distant and dull, like he hadn’t slept properly since the fight.

Sarah leaned against the doorframe. “You look terrible.”

Dante didn’t even look up. “You always open with compliments, or am I special?”

There it was… the same dry bite, only raspier.

Sarah stepped in and dropped the bottle into his lap. “You’ll live. Drink up.”

He stared at it, then at her. “You’re giving me alcohol?”

“You say that like I didn’t start stealing from Nell’s stash when I was fourteen,” she shot back, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Consider it a ‘you didn’t die horribly’ present.”

Dante eyed the bottle, then shrugged and twisted it open. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

He took a long drink, and there was no flinch, no wince, not even a cough. He lowered it again like it was water.

Sarah blinked. “Wait—seriously? That’s the cheap kind. I almost blacked out the first time I tried that.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tastes fine.”

“Fine?” She repeated, incredulous. “That stuff tastes like paint thinner.”

He smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Guess I’m built different.”

Sarah folded her arms. “Built stupid, more like. You didn’t even make a face.”

“I just don’t know,” he said, though the grin faded a little as his gaze drifted toward the window.

She studied him, really studied him this time. The brand. The faint bruises still healing under his collarbone. The way he sat too still, like his mind was running laps while his body refused to move.

“You’ve been quiet since the fight,” she said softly. “That’s new.”

He gave a dry snort. “Maybe I finally ran out of things to say.”

Sarah tilted her head. “Or maybe you’re turning into Nell. Grumpy, short-tempered, doesn’t sleep—”

“Don’t,” he groaned, cutting her off. “That’s cruel.”

She chuckled, leaning closer. “Then stop scowling like her.”

“I’m not scowling,” he said automatically, scowling even harder.

That made her laugh, really laugh. For a second, the heavy air in the room cracked, and Dante almost smiled for real. But then her eyes softened again as she glanced at his cheek. “Does it still hurt?”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “It’s not healing like the rest of me.”

Sarah hesitated, then reached out and brushed her fingers lightly over the edge of the mark. His skin was warm beneath her touch, still faintly feverish.

“You don’t deserve this,” she murmured.

He shrugged. “Nobody does. But it’s fine. I’ll live.”

She let her hand drop but stayed close, her voice barely above a whisper. “You sound like Nell again.”

“Great,” he muttered, half-smiling. “Guess it’s contagious.”

Sarah shook her head, smiling faintly as she nudged the bottle back toward him. “Drink, demon boy. You’ve earned it.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Demon boy?”

She grinned. “You handle liquor like one. Don’t tell me you’ve got some freaky resistance or something.”

Dante chuckled slowly, taking another drink. “Maybe I do. But if I do, I don’t wanna know why.”

Sarah leaned back a little, the old mattress creaking beneath her weight. The bottle sat between them, half-empty, catching what little light the lamp gave off. For a while, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was just heavy, like Bilgewater’s humidity after a storm.

Finally, Sarah exhaled and broke it. “I should’ve been there.”

Dante glanced at her, brow lifting slightly.

“When they took you,” she continued. “When everything went to hell. I should’ve been there.” Her voice cracked, barely, but she steadied it fast. “You shouldn’t have had to face him alone.”

Dante leaned his elbows on his knees, staring at the floorboards. “You were busy saving Bilgewater. I don’t blame you.”

“That’s not the point,” she said sharply, then softened. “You almost died, Dante. For my war.”

He gave a tired little smirk. “Nah. I almost died ‘cause I’m an idiot.”

She blinked. “That’s not—”

“Come on,” he cut in, tone dry but calm. “You know it’s true. I was cocky. I thought I could handle anything. Turns out, Gangplank and his merry freaks were way above my pay grade.”

“Dante—”

“I knew it could go bad,” he went on, his voice quiet now, measured. “I just didn’t think it’d go that bad. The mercury… that part was new.”

Sarah frowned. “What’s it like?”

He leaned back, eyes unfocused as if searching for words. “Imagine burning from the inside out, but never getting to stop. You die, kinda. You feel it kill you. But then it doesn’t. You just… reset. Your body’s fine, but the pain doesn’t leave right away. It just hangs there.”

Sarah’s throat tightened. “And you’ve been feeling that since—”

“Since the mark,” he confirmed quietly, touching his cheek. The skin shimmered faintly where the light hit the edges of the brand. “Guess it’s permanent. Little souvenir from Gangplank. Yay me.”

“You shouldn’t joke about it.”

He shrugged. “If I don’t, I’ll start screaming. Humor’s cheaper than therapy.”

That earned him a faint, unwilling smile from her. But it faded when he added, more quietly,

“I think it messed with me, though. The mercury. The healing. All of it. I mean, I don’t even get tired anymore. Or drunk, apparently.” He lifted the bottle, half in jest, half in quiet awe. “Whatever I am, I’m not normal.”

Sarah’s eyes softened. “You think you’re some kind of freak?”

He nodded once, staring into the amber liquid. “Yeah. A super-mutant freak. Built to take hits and keep going.” 

A bitter laugh slipped out from his lips. “Lucky me, huh?”

“Maybe,” she said softly. “Or maybe Bilgewater got lucky.”

He finally looked up at her.

“You think Gangplank would’ve fallen without you?” She began. “You’re half the reason we even made it this far. And you’re still breathing, still fighting. Whatever you are… it’s not a curse.”

Dante gave her a lopsided grin. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Shut up,” she said, but there was warmth behind it.

For a few beats, they sat in silence again. Outside, the faint sound of waves brushed against the docks.

“So,” Dante said finally. “What now? Gangplank’s gone. You’ve got a city to run. What happens next?”

Sarah looked toward the window, the flickering light catching her green eyes. “Now… Bilgewater rebuilds. The captains are already clawing for power. I’ll need to hold them off before the whole place eats itself alive. And maybe, if I do this right, people will stop dying for one man’s greed.”

Dante nodded slowly. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“It will be,” she admitted. “But it’s what I have to do. For my parents. For everyone Gangplank destroyed.”

She glanced back at him. “And you? What happens next for you, mutant boy?”

He thought about it for a moment, then smirked faintly. “Guess I keep doing what I do best… getting shot at, healing, and breaking Nell’s guns.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, but the fondness was unmistakable. “You’re unbelievable.”

He pointed at her with the bottle. “Hey, I helped you take down a pirate king. That’s worth at least one gun repair.”

“Maybe two,” she teased. “If you stop calling me ‘captain’ every five minutes.”

“No promises,” he said, grinning.

“Should’ve known.” 

There was a pause, like the air between them was holding its breath. Sarah studied him, the edge of his jaw, the curve of his neck, the slope of his shoulder until her eyes finally found his again.

“Somethin' 'bout you makes me feel like a dangerous woman

Somethin' 'bout, somethin' 'bout, somethin' 'bout you

Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn't

Somethin' 'bout, somethin' 'bout, somethin' 'bout”

His gaze was steady on her, but the cocky mask was gone. His hand found her waist, sliding under her tunic. “Still the best sight for sore eyes.”

Sarah’s skin went hot under his touch, the sudden nearness of him setting her pulse at a sprint. She leaned closer to him, her breath catching in her throat.

“You’re drunk,” she murmured, but she wasn’t pulling away.

“You started it,” he murmured, thumb skimming along her hip bone. She shivered as his fingers moved over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “And that’s not the booze talking. And I know we’ve been technically dating for a few weeks, considering I was mostly captured.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, and it came out a little shaky. She moved closer, sliding into his lap as she straddled him. His hands moved up her ribs, grazing her breasts through her tunic and making her shiver.

“This is—” she inhaled sharply as his hands gripped her hips. “—definitely not the booze talking.”

He leaned forward to nuzzle at her neck with his mouth, hands dragging her into him, his fingers digging into her skin as if he could crawl under it and make a home there. She let her eyes fall closed, her fingers sliding into his hair as he nibbled at the edge of her jaw.

“You’re a hell of a distraction. You’re a virgin, right?” Dante asked softly between the nibbles.

Sarah nodded against him, her nails raking down his scalp and making him shiver. “Yeah. It didn't seem worth it. Until…”

She leaned her weight into him, bringing her face so close their noses brushed. She could feel his breath, the roughness of his jaw, the way his heart was hammering just as fast as hers. “Until you.”

He inhaled sharply, something hot and almost possessive flashing in his gaze. His hands moved up, raking through her hair and gripping the back of her head so she couldn’t move. “Saying as if I already took it…”

Sarah’s hands found his chest, her fingers digging in. She could feel the heat coming off his skin, the tension pulling him taunt beneath her. It was like sitting on a live fire, knowing he might burn her and not caring.

“I’m saying that if you wanted to—” she swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a whisper. “—I wouldn’t stop you.”

Dante went still for a moment, his eyes searching hers. It was a moment of pure vulnerability, neither of them daring to move. “Considering I’m three years younger than you… I’m also a virgin.”

Sarah’s surprise was brief, replaced almost instantly with something softer. Her fingers traced over the angle of his jaw. 

“I guess that makes us even,” she murmured, her breath hitching as his hands skimmed up her sides beneath her tunic. “But we don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he murmured, cutting off her protests. His hands moved slowly up her spine, pulling her into him until she was practically against his chest. “I just… have no idea how all this works, to be honest. Even if I lived near a brothel growing up.”

Sarah couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her, even though her pulse was roaring against her ears. She ran a hand through his hair, then traced his mouth with a thumb.

“I literally learned anatomy for violence,” she pointed out gently. “But I know basic biology and I want you desperately.”

He gave the ghost of a laugh. “Sounds like fate.”

Without warning, Dante captured her mouth with his in a kiss as demanding as it was tender, hands skimming down to the hem of her tunic.

“Lock the door before Nell comes in…” he murmured.”

Sarah’s eyes flickered to the door for the briefest moment, her heart jumping into her throat.  “Good idea.”

She leaned back, stretching her arms above her head to reach the door handle and giving him one hell of a view under her open tunic. Her big breasts are now exposed. 

“Nell! Give us ten minutes!” She called out, locking the door.

Once locked, she turned back to Dante, straddling him again. He was already staring up at her, hands gripping her waist so tightly his fingernails were leaving marks in her skin. That possessiveness in his eyes was there again, making her shiver as his hands drifted up to her ribs. 

His breath was hot on her neck. “You said we had ten minutes?”

Sarah slid her hands into his hair, tilting his face up to her neck. 

“That’s more than enough time,” she murmured. Her voice wavered as his lips feathered over her pulse point, her eyes fluttering shut.

Dante moved his mouth down her neck to her shoulder, nipping and nipping and suckling as he went. He pushed her tunic off her shoulders, his hands sliding over her bare skin.

“Nah…” he began. “I’ve been wanting you for the day we met. I want you all night.”

Sarah’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his white hair. She could feel the heat between her thighs, the ache that had been building all day finally coming to a head. She leaned back slightly, her breasts pressing against his chest.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” she breathed, writhing in his lap.

“Pretty sure I do,” Dante murmured with a cocky grin. One hand trailed down her spine, lingering over the dip of her spine. He pressed a kiss on her sternum, then looked up at her with a lazy flicker in his eyes.

“Lay back for me?”

Sarah obeyed, sliding off his lap to stretch out on the cot. The mattress creaked under her, thin mattress springs poking her through the worn sheets. The moonlight shining through the open window bathed her skin in an otherworldly glow. 

With her legs slightly parted, she looked like some feral sea nymph washed up on shore. She ran a hand through her red hair, spreading it out beneath her. “Like this?”

Dante’s eyes raked over her, his breath leaving him in a low sound full of hunger. He knelt beside her, his fingers skimming her inner thighs. 

“Exactly like that.” His fingers slid up to her waistband. “My Captain of Fortune…”

He leaned his head down between her breasts. Sarah’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath hitching as Dante’s lips pressed against the valley between her breasts. She could feel his fingers hooking into the waistband of her pants, slowly pulling them down. The cool night air hit her exposed skin, making her shiver.

“You keep—calling me that—” she gasped, her fingers grazing the side of his hair. “It makes me…”

She let out a soft cry as he kissed that sensitive spot again, her legs instinctively spreading wider for him.

He chuckled against her chest, his hands squeezing and spreading her thighs. 

“Makes you what?” He murmured, nipping at the valley between her breasts. “C’mon, Captain… use your words...” 

He moved lower, his tongue trailing hot and wet down her stomach.

Sarah squirmed under him, her breath coming in short gasps. His tongue left a trail of fire wherever it touched, her skin flushing hot under his attention. When he reached her belly button, she bucked her hips instinctively, seeking more friction.

“It makes me need you,” she admitted huskily, her toes already curling, even with her boots on.

Dante’s hands gripped her inner thighs, pushing them further apart. The roughness of his fingers contrasted with the soft, almost tender way his mouth moved lower and lower. Her breath came in quick, sharp gasps as he moved down to the tangle of red hair. 

“And how do you need me, Captain?” He murmured. “Tell me. Use your words.”

“Fuck,” she cursed softly, her hips jerking as his thumb moved over her wet pussy again, even if she still wore her pants and panties. 

“Take off all of my clothes first…”

Dante’s hands moved to her boots, taking them off her feet then immediately went back up to her pants, sliding them and her panties off. She was fully naked before him. 

He reached for his own belt, unbuckling it before her. Sarah watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. When he finally slid his own pants down, revealing the thick, hard length of him, she bit her lip and spread her legs even wider, inviting him without words.

“You’re gonna make me crazy,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the curve of his ribs. “Fuck, you’re huge as well… how do you walk with that thing…”

He leaned over her, his hands planting on either side of her head. He brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, his eyes softening without losing their fire. 

“I’m fine with making you crazy,” he murmured, that smug tilt to his mouth. “Just keep those pretty eyes on me.”

Sarah held his gaze, her hands sliding down to grip his wrists. She could feel the lean muscles of his forearms flexing under her fingers, the tendons standing out as he held himself up. His thick cock pressed against her thigh, hot and heavy.

“As long as you keep looking at me like that, how can I look away?” She moaned out. 

He smirked slightly, his eyes roving over the planes of her face like he was trying to memorize her. He slid his hands back to her waist, squeezing, his fingers pressing into her skin possessively.

“Then this,” he murmured, positioning his hard length at her entrance. “should make you lose your mind even more.”

Sarah nodded eagerly, her hips lifting to meet him even though he wasn't inside yet. Her pussy throbbed, practically dripping with how turned on she was. When he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, she let out a needy sound.

“Oh by the seas,” she whimpered, her toes already curling. “Fuck...”

But he held back, pushing just a little way inside. Then he stilled himself completely, his hands staying on her waist. His breath was just as labored as hers, and he looked like he was holding on by a thread. 

“Is something wrong…?” Sarah panted out, her hands going to his hips as if to urge him on. “Why did you stop?”

Dante’s hands gripped her tighter, his arms shaking slightly. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes practically burning through her. 

“I just didn’t… think it’d feel this good,” he admitted hoarsely.

Sarah's breath caught at his words, her eyes flicking down to where they were connected. Only the tip of him was inside her, stretching her open, and already it felt incredible. She reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes, her palms framing his face. “You’re the last man I expected to hear something like that from.”

She leaned up to kiss him softly, her tongue tracing over his bottom lip as if to taste his words.

“Wanna rest between my breasts?” She asked him while biting her lip. 

“I’m gonna need a lot more of this before I rest,” he murmured, still not moving an inch. “You’re making me feel stuff I don’t know how to handle.” 

He leaned down to press a lingering kiss to her neck. “Gods, Sarah… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen…”

Without warning her went deeper in her and began to thrust. Keeping her legs spread by holding her thighs apart.

Sarah gasped loudly, her head tilting back to give him more room as he buried his face in her neck. He was so deep inside her now, filling her completely. She could feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock as he began to move, his hips snapping against hers.

“So big… fuck, Dante… that's so good…”

He nipped and sucked at her neck, marking her skin even though she was covered in hickeys already. Her hands found his shoulders, nails digging in as he kept up the pace, her head clouded with lust. 

She moaned again, louder and more needy. The sound seemed to stoke him even further, and he hit her G-spot with every thrust. 

“Harder,” she begged, gasping as he shifted his angle. “Oh my… you feel so good.”

He grunted as her hands scratched down his back, his fingers digging in harder to the flesh of her thighs, no doubt leaving bruises behind. His breath was hot and heavy against her ear, his mouth finding every bit of her skin that he could. She was surrounded by him in every way, and it still wasn’t enough.

He began to thrust into her harder, just like she begged. “I’m here, my captain…”

"Fuck... right there..." She arched her back, pushing herself onto him even harder with each thrust. Her breathing became ragged and desperate as she felt herself getting closer. 

One hand moved from his shoulder to grip the headboard tightly while the other tangled in his white hair. “Don't stop… don't ever stop…”

Her hands were everywhere at once, touching his face, his shoulders, his chest, as if she couldn’t decide where to keep them. She could feel his control slipping, his movements becoming more frantic. He moaned her name like a curse and a prayer against her neck.

“Sarah,” he panted in her ear. “Turn around…”

Sarah’s body already felt boneless already, but he was too big to ignore and his words sent a shiver down her spine. She whimpered in protest when he pulled out, her body missing the feeling of being full immediately. But Sarah didn't hesitate. She quickly turned around, presenting her ass to him as she got on all fours. She looked back at him over her shoulder, biting her lip as she wiggled her hips slightly.

Dante moaned openly at the sight of her. He took her in for a moment, taking in the redness of her skin from the hickey’s he’s left and the pale freckled expanse across her back and shoulders, her wild red hair falling in waves down her shoulders. He moved a hand down to slide two fingers between her legs, feeling how wet she was as he leaned over her back. 

“You look gorgeous like this,” he murmured against her neck, his mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses against her skin.

Sarah moaned as his fingers slid through her folds again, teasing her clit. His mouth felt scorching hot against her neck, and she felt his hot, heavy breaths against her skin.

She reached back to grip his hip, trying to pull him closer, her fingers digging into his skin. “Dante... please…”

He pressed another hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck just behind her ear, then suddenly pressed the tip of himself to her entrance again. He slid in again slowly, filling her up again agonizingly slowly.

“I love your ass…” he murmured, his hands gripping her ass cheeks tightly.

“I love that you love my ass,” Sarah gasped out as he bottomed out completely inside her again. Being on her hands and knees made her feel even more stretched and filled than before, and she dropped her forehead to the mattress, pushing her ass back against him.

“You’re… so big…” she panted out, her eyes squeezing shut. “Oh fuck, I can feel all of you…”

Then he started moving again, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. But he was even more rough than before, not caring to be gentle anymore. He gripped her with one arm around her middle, holding her tighter to him like he was staking a claim on her body.

Sarah moaned loudly with every deep thrust, her hands fisting the sheets and pulling them out of shape. The bed creaked and groaned with every move they made, the old mattress springs squeaking in protest. Dante was relentless, his rhythm becoming more and more disjointed.

Sarah was too far gone by now to be embarrassed by the rough sounds she was making, or the way his fingers were leaving even more bruises on her waist as he held her in place. She could feel her orgasm building low in her belly again, but this time it seemed to crawl up her spine and spread through her whole body.

There was little she could do except moan and try to push back against him, her moans getting loud and pleading. “Oh fuck… I’m almost… I’m gonna… oh god don’t stop, don't stop...”

Dante’s response was low and guttural, somewhere between a growl and a moan. He leaned forward to press another kiss to the back of her neck, his other hand gripping tight around one of her breasts. It felt like every part of him was trying to take more of her, to get as close as he could reach.

“I’m right there,” he panted against her skin. “Almost... almost...”

Sarah’s eyes squeezed shut as she felt him thrust even deeper inside her. She could feel the head of his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars, and she let out a loud, desperate moan.

“Please, I’m so close… I need you to make me cum, Dante…”

His fingers dug into her hip and her breast, his hand spreading out to cover most of the expanse of her chest as he panted against her shoulder. She could feel herself climbing even higher, so close to the edge...

“Sarah...” he moaned against her skin, his movement becoming erratic, even more desperate. “You’re gonna make me...”

“I’m gonna make you what?” Sarah whimpered, her fingers twisting in the sheets. She could feel her legs shaking, her knees threatening to give out underneath her. She knew she was going to come any second now. 

“Oh yeah,” she moaned, feeling like she was almost shaking apart. “You feel so good, you feel... I need you, baby boy.”

“...Cum, that’s what,” Dante moaned lowly. “You’re gonna make me cum. And I’m gonna make you too, I promise..” 

He moved one hand down to tangle his fingers with hers, gripping her hand tightly. His pace was sloppy now, a desperate search to bring them both over the edge. He let out a low moan that was practically a growl, low in his chest. “I’m close, I’m close… come with me, Sarah..”

"Right there... right fucking there..." Sarah gasped out, her body tensing as she felt the first waves of her orgasm crashing over her. Dante's hand on hers squeezed tightly as he continued to thrust into her, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“I’m almost there…” she moaned out, her legs shaking. “Almost, Dante… oh fuck, I need… I just… oh fuck...”

Her orgasm seemed to go on forever, her body quivering and shaking around him. He could see her fingers digging into the sheets so hard that her knuckles turned white, and he couldn’t take it anymore. With a shout, he thrust into one last time, his fingers squeezing Sarah’s hand almost painfully as he came hard.

“Sarah,” he moaned, his forehead dropping against her shoulder. All he could make out was a string of profanities and her name as he came deep in her.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck..." Sarah panted, still trembling from her intense orgasm. She could feel Dante pulsing inside her, his hot cum filling her up as he came. His weight pressed down on her, but she didn't mind. In fact, she loved it.

For a few beats, they lay tangled together like that, both panting like they’d just ran a race. 

When she could finally speak again, her voice came out in a hoarse rasp. “My sweet baby boy…”

Dante huffed out a laugh, his own voice raspy and breathless. He moved his free hand to run his fingers through her hair, his heart hammering against her back, his forehead still resting against her shoulder.

“I haven’t been anyone’s sweet baby boy,” he murmured, “in a long time.”

“You are to me,” Sarah said softly, turning her head slightly so she could kiss his hair. “My sweet boy.”

She squeezed his hand in hers, her other hand sliding up his arm to squeeze his small bicep. His muscles were taut and hard under her fingertips, and she murmured appreciatively. “You do know how hot you are, right?”

Dante let out another quiet laugh, a little embarrassed but also pleased with the praise. His hand ran through her hair again, his fingers tracing the outline of her ear before sliding down to stroke the back of her neck.

“You’re just biased,” he murmured. “You’re the one who’s hot.”

He fully turned her, now she was back on her back. His head went in and rested between her big breasts just like she told him earlier.

"Mmm... baby boy..." She purred, running her fingers through his hair as he nestled between her breasts. Her hands gently massaged his head, playing with the strands of hair there. She loved having him like this, all vulnerable and affectionate. 

“You’re a cuddler,” she murmured. “Good. I am too.”

Dante pressed little kisses to the underside of her breast, his hands skimming up her sides. His fingers brushed over one nipple and then the other, making her gasp. 

“They’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips still against her skin. “They fit my hands perfectly. Like this is all supposed to fit.” 

He slid a hand down the curve of her waist, gripping her hip possessively for a moment before going up to be breasts. “Like I’m supposed to be here, right here with you.”

Sarah shivered as his fingers explored her body, his touch rough but reverent. Everywhere his hands and mouth went made her skin feel like it was on fire in the best way. 

"You're the perfect size too," she murmured, running her hand down his back. "Like we go together." 

She traced over the ridge of each of his vertebrae, then down to his ass. She gave his firm flesh a squeeze, making him gasp. “Like right here.”

Despite his protests earlier, Dante moaned as she gripped his ass, his hips bucking against her out of instinct. His fingers slid down her side to between her legs, finding her still wet from earlier. 

“And right here,” he murmured, sliding his fingers through her folds again. “Just so perfect…”

She was soft and wet, and he pressed two fingers inside her easily. His thumb slid up to circle her clit, rubbing it of pure instinct.

Sarah moaned softly at the feeling of his fingers, her hands digging into his hair. She could feel herself getting wetter, her clit swelling as he circled it with his thumb.

"Shit," she mumbled, her eyes fluttering shut. She spread her legs wider as he began to slide his fingers in and out of her, feeling her walls clench around him. “Just stay there… for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dante murmured between her breasts, his mouth pressing another open-mouthed kiss on the swell. 

Sarah moaned again, her hands tangling tightly in his hair. Her head fell back against the mattress. 

“Goodnight, my captain…” he muttered softly. 

"Mmm... goodnight, my sweet boy..." She murmured, her fingers gently carding through his hair as he settled between her breasts. His fingers kept a gentle, rhythmic pace inside her, keeping her aroused but not pushing her over the edge again.

DANTE:
Dante jolted awake, a strangled breath tearing from his throat. Sarah laid beside him, still naked as the sheets were soaked through, cold and clinging to her skin. For a few seconds, Dante didn’t know where he was, only that everything burned. His veins felt molten, his heart like a hammer in a furnace. He clutched his side, expecting to feel a wound, but there was nothing. Just the brand. Always the brand.

He stumbled off the cot to not wake her up and put on his pants and headed towards the bathroom, as he reached the sink, he turned it on and began splashing his face with water, but even that burned. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t right, the eyes glowed faintly red under the lamplight, veins flickering silver beneath his skin like lightning under glass. The mercury. It was moving again. He pressed his hands to the table, forcing his breathing to slow. 

“Get it together, idiot,” he muttered. But the room still tilted. He could smell Gangplank’s ship, hear the screaming, feel the tattoo needle biting into his cheek.

Then, in the mirror’s warped reflection, he saw him. Gangplank, grinning, half of his face gone but still laughing. 

“You think you can kill me, boy?” The voice echoed inside Dante’s head, low and guttural. “You can’t kill what’s already in your blood.”

Dante roared and smashed the mirror, shattering it into a hundred pieces. He stood there for a long moment, chest heaving, mercury sweat dripping onto the floorboards.

Later That Day. He’d packed lightly, two pistols, a few shirts, Rebellion strapped across his back. The sea breeze filtered through the open window as he sat in Nell’s workshop, Nell was out on a supply run and Sarah was doing the same thing she’s done for the last week. He closed his eyes and began to think about what the two important women he cared for in this region would tell him. 

Something among the lines of…

“You’re leaving,” Nell spoke in his mind. It wasn’t a question.

“Thinking about it,” he said. “Don’t want to make it your problem if I start glowing in the dark one day.”

“You’re not a problem, Dante.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that before,” he said, forcing a grin. “Didn’t stop everyone else from dying around me.”

That made her pause and met his gaze. “This about Gangplank?”

He laughed dryly. “It’s about everything, Nell.” 

He stood, pacing. “My first, biological family? Mages burned the house down… killed my mom and brother right in front of me. Second? Bunch of wannabe gangsters blew them up because they got in the wrong man’s way. Third? My adoptive mom and half of Morris Island went up in flames because some demons decided they wanted me for no reason.”

He turned, voice hard now. “So, tell me… what happens next? Gods? Aliens? Another pirate war?”

Nell’s expression softened, but she said nothing.

“Exactly,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I am, but whatever it is… it’s bad luck. For everyone.”

The door opened then, Sarah stood there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. She’d heard most of it.

“You done feeling sorry for yourself?” She asked evenly.

He blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You think you’re cursed, fine. Maybe you are. But if you think running’s gonna fix it, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Dante sighed, rubbing his temple. “Sarah, this isn’t your fight anymore—”

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “You think Bilgewater got this far because I quit when things went bad? Because I ran?” 

She stepped closer, her tone quieter now. “You fought for us, Dante. You bled for this place. Don’t throw it away because you’re scared it’ll happen again.”

He looked away. “You don’t get it.”

She tilted her head. “Then make me.”

He hesitated, then just laughed bitterly. “If I stay, someone dies. That’s the pattern. And I don’t wanna see you added to that list.”

Sarah’s voice softened. “You’re not poisonous, Dante.”

He looked back at her, eyes tired. “Feels like it.”

She reached out, lightly touching his wrist. “Then let us prove you wrong.”

He stared at her for a long moment before pulling away gently. 

“Maybe someday,” he murmured, then slung the Rebellion over his shoulder. “But not today.”

Dante’s eyes snapped open as the imaginary scene ended, with a sad sigh he set down two letters. One for Nell. One for Sarah. Then, he walked towards the door, opening it and leaving the workshop. 

The night air carried the smell of salt and gunpowder, the usual perfume of Bilgewater. Lanterns burned low along the docks, their light dancing across the black water. Most ships were asleep. Most captains were drunk or dead.

Dante stood at the edge of the pier, the surf licking at his boots. He had a small satchel slung over one shoulder, Rebellion strapped across his back. The new tattoo burned against his cheek, the brand of Bilgewater’s past. He traced it once with his thumb, not out of vanity, but to remind himself what survival cost.

A few dockhands gave him wary looks. Nobody stopped him. Everyone in Bilgewater knew better than to question someone leaving with eyes like his, tired, angry, but burning all the same.

He boarded a modest cutter he’d borrowed, more like “borrowed,” because he left a pouch of gold in its owner’s quarters. More than fair pay for disappearing quietly. He loosened the mooring lines and let the sea take him. As the ship drifted from the docks, the city shrank behind him. From here, Bilgewater almost looked peaceful. The lanterns glowing like stars scattered on the tide. He could just make out Fortune’s banners fluttering from her ship, the sound of distant celebration, of gunfire marking Gangplank’s downfall.

“Guess we did it,” he muttered with a smirk. “Didn’t think I’d live to see it.”

He leaned against the rail, staring into the endless dark. For the first time in weeks, there was silence, no shouting, no cannon fire, no ghosts of Gangplank’s laugh in his head. Just the sea, and his own thoughts.

He took a flask from his coat, uncapped it, and raised it toward the horizon. “To all the idiots I outlived.” 

He took a swig, winced, and laughed. “Here’s hoping I don’t screw up again.”

The mercury under his skin still pulsed faintly, glowing silver where the moonlight hit his veins. A reminder. A curse. Maybe a second chance.

“Alright,” he said to no one. “Guns? I’ve got. But next time…” 

His hand flexed, remembering the weight of Gangplank’s sword against him. “Next time I’m not losing because I can’t throw a punch.”

He turned the wheel north or west, toward the open sea, not knowing where it would take him. Maybe Noxus, maybe Ionia, maybe some place that didn’t reek of salt and ghosts. All he knew was he had enough gold to eat, enough bullets to stay alive, and enough anger to keep moving.

The wind caught his white hair as the ship pushed forward into the black horizon. Bilgewater vanished behind him, the city that had given him his first love, his first scar, and maybe the start of something bigger.

“See you around, Captain,” he murmured under his breath, voice almost lost to the tide.

Then he pulled his coat tighter, settled his hand over Rebellion’s hilt, and let the sea carry him wherever it wanted.

For once, Dante wasn’t running from something. He was running toward it.

NOW:
BANG!

The gunshot cracked through the humid Bilgewater air sharply, final. Dante’s breath hitched, but not from pain. Behind him, a body slumped onto the dock with a wet thud. The smell of blood mixed with salt and gunpowder. He turned just enough to see the dead pirate sprawled out, pistol still smoking in his limp hand. Sarah hadn’t missed.

“Still got my back, huh?” He said, half a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, already reloading without looking at him. “Would’ve ruined my night if you got shot before I interrogated you properly.”

Dante’s chuckle was low, but it died when his eyes caught the shimmer of a blade in the dark, another pirate, creeping along the crates, pistol aimed straight for Sarah’s spine. Without thinking, Dante drew Ebony and fired. The bullet punched clean through the pirate’s head before the man could pull the trigger. His body hit the planks, face-first.

Sarah didn’t flinch. She turned her head slightly, her crimson hair catching the lantern light as she met Dante’s eyes.

“Guess that makes us even,” she said.

“Guess so.”

Sarah didn’t need to say another word, she just moved, and Dante followed.

They pivoted together, back-to-back, just like they used to when the odds were worse and the pay was smaller. The night erupted in thunder. Pistols flashing gold and silver, echoing over the crashing surf.

“Left!” She shouted.

“Already on it!” Dante snapped back, spinning and firing twice, two pirates down before they hit the deck. He reloaded with a flick, shells glinting in the firelight as he tossed a grin over his shoulder. “You're still bossy as ever, Captain.”

“Someone has to keep you in line,” she said, smirking as she ducked low, blasting a pirate’s kneecap before finishing him with a clean headshot. “You were always the chaotic one.”

“Yeah, well, chaos gets results.”

“Mm. So do I,” she quipped, twirling a pistol and firing blind over her shoulder, nailing a would-be sniper on the crane above them.

Dante gave a low whistle. “Still showing off, huh?”

“Still watching?” She teased, glancing back at him. Their shoulders brushed as there was a brief spark, dangerous and familiar.

Dante laughed under his breath, shooting another pirate mid-lunge. “Can’t help it. You make a hell of a view.”

Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Careful, Dante. Keep talking like that and I might forget the way you left with a mere letter.”

Gunfire flared between them, muzzle flashes painting the dock in red and gold. When the last pirate dropped, the air fell silent except for the crackle of fire and the hiss of the tide. They stood still for a moment, backs touching, breathing heavy. Sarah finally holstered her pistols. 

“You upgraded,” she said, nodding to Ebony and Ivory gleaming under the moonlight. “Fancy toys. Surprised they haven’t shattered, with your trigger-happy ego.”

Dante smirked, blowing a wisp of smoke from Ivory’s barrel. “Built to last. Can’t say the same for my luck, though.”

Her eyes flicked to the blade strapped on his back, sleek, silver-edged, unfamiliar. “That’s not Rebellion.”

He froze for a half-second. “No. It’s not.”

Her brow furrowed. “What happened?”

“Lost it,” he said simply, his voice lower now. “Along with a few other things.”

Sarah studied him for a beat, seeing through the nonchalance. “You always say it like it doesn’t matter. But it does, doesn’t it?”

Dante holstered his pistols, glancing out toward the sea where the lanterns flickered like ghosts. “Everything matters, Red. I just don’t let it stop me anymore.”

Sarah stepped closer, the firelight painting her hair molten. “Then tell me, Dante… what stopped you from walking away this time?”

He met her gaze, something tired but fierce in his eyes. “You already know the answer to that.”

A long pause, thick with everything they didn’t say.

Then, from the far side of the dock, came another sound. The creak of wood. The shuffle of boots. More incoming.

Sarah gave him a sidelong look and cocked her pistols again. “Round two?”

Dante smirked, reloading with a snap. “You read my mind, Captain.”

Dozens more pirates spilled out from the fog, lanterns swinging, blades gleaming in the humid dark.

Sarah and Dante didn’t need to speak. They just moved.

Dante dropped low first, sliding across the slick boards as bullets whistled past his head. Ebony and Ivory sang in unison, the sound sharp, rhythmic, each gunshot a beat, each ricochet deliberate. He fired off a pair of rounds that hit a hanging chain,  the lantern it held came crashing down, exploding into fire that scattered the first wave.

Sarah was already airborne. She vaulted off a crate, coat flaring like a crimson banner as she landed in the flames, guns blazing. Her every step was precise, graceful, lethal. A pirate lunged at her, and she caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted, and fired point-blank through his chest without looking.

“Still got your flair for dramatics,” Dante called, spinning behind her to shoot the man aiming down his sights.

“And you still can’t aim without showing off,” she shot back, ducking beneath his arm as he fired over her shoulder. Their movements flowed together, her reload filling the brief silence between his bursts of gunfire, his dodges lining up perfectly with her shots. It was chaos choreographed into something almost beautiful.

A pirate tried to flank them. Dante heard the step, didn’t look, just tossed Ivory into the air. Sarah caught it mid-spin, fired twice without hesitation, and threw it back handle-first. Dante caught it, smirking.

“That’s new,” he said.

“I’ve been practicing,” she replied, reloading one pistol with a flick, spinning the other around her finger before firing again.

Then came the brute, massive, scarred, swinging a cutlass big enough to cleave through the deck. Dante barely ducked the first swing, sparks flying as the blade scraped the boards.

Sarah sidestepped, grabbed a rope, and kicked off a post. She swung up, twin pistols aimed down, and unloaded a storm of bullets that drove the brute back toward Dante, who caught the man’s swing mid-motion with his forearm, the impact cracking wood beneath his boots.

With a sharp grunt, Dante twisted, yanked the sword free, and jammed it through the pirate’s gut. He didn’t stop there, he grabbed the man’s own pistol and hurled it into another’s face.

Sarah landed beside him, eyes flicking across the thinning crowd. “Two left.”

“Correction,” Dante said, leveling Ivory. “One left. Bang.”

The last one dropped.

Silence again, except for the hiss of cooling gun barrels and the distant groan of the sea. They stood there, side by side, chests rising and falling in sync. Smoke curled between them like breath.

Sarah holstered her guns first, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You always made a mess of my nights, Dante.”

He holstered his too, giving her a sidelong grin. “And you always make ‘em worth it, Red.”

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then, as the fog began to close around the dock once more, she murmured,soft, low enough only he could hear her saying:

“Feels just like old times.”

“Yeah,” Dante said, voice quieter now. “I almost wish it was.”

Sarah bent down to grab a set of keys, her coat shifting just enough to remind Dante of old habits he’d been trying to forget. 

“Come on,” she said, glancing back at him with that same half-smirk that used to get him into trouble. “Got something to show you.”

Dante exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before following. At the end of the dock sat a small motorboat, it was sleek, fast, and very her. “What the hell is this?”

Sarah hopped down into the driver’s seat with a practiced grace and turned the ignition. The motor purred to life beneath her hand. 

“A new toy,” she said. “Seems like they picked it up off some folks in Zaun who didn’t need it anymore.”

“Of course,” Dante muttered, stepping in and taking the passenger seat.

The hum of the engine filled the silence as they pulled away from the dock, heading toward the distant lights of Nell’s workshop. Neither of them spoke for a long while. The waves slapped against the hull, the sea mist cool against their faces. Not exactly the reunion either of them had imagined, two ghosts sharing the same boat, carrying five years of words neither had said.

“You look like you’ve got something to say,” Dante finally said, eyes on the black water instead of her.

Sarah didn’t look away from the horizon. 

“I’ve got something to ask,” she said quietly. “But I don’t think I’ll get a straight answer.”

That made him glance at her. He didn’t say anything. He just waited.

“In that fight… after Dead Pool fell, after Gangplank died… everything changed,” she said, her tone low, almost reflective. “You take down one monster, and a hundred more crawl out of the wreckage. You try to clean the blood, and it just spreads. Making the small world of Bilgewater change”

“I guess I changed too,” Dante finally murmured.

That earned her a small, bitter smile. “You? Dante No Last Name?”

“Redgrave,” he said simply.

Her brows lifted slightly. “Hm?”

“My last name. Redgrave. Kept it hidden from everyone hunting me. Until now.”

Sarah’s eyes softened, if only for a second. 

“Well, Dante Redgrave,” she said, rolling the name like she was testing it, “you haven’t changed.” 

She looked at him fully this time, eyes gleaming under the moonlight. “You just think you have.”

He held her gaze, then looked down, the ghost of a smile flickering at the edge of his mouth. “So what’s your question?”

Sarah hesitated, then her voice dropped. “I met the girl traveling with you.”

Dante’s posture shifted slightly.

“Blue hair,” she continued. “Calls herself Jupiter.”

He didn’t move, but the faintest trace of a smirk appeared. “Sounds like you’re jealous.”

Sarah’s answering smile was small, sharp, and dangerous. “Only if she’s your type, Redgrave.”

Sarah gave a low whistle, eyes dragging over him again in a slow, appraising, and just a little wicked way. 

“You know, I’m starting to think the years have been too kind to you,” she said, voice laced with teasing warmth. “You’re what? Six-five, shoulders like you could haul a ship by hand… Don’t tell me you’ve been spending all that time lifting barrels instead of getting into trouble.”

Dante smirked, resting an arm on the edge of the motorboat as the salt wind pushed his hair back. “Trouble’s still my day job. Just… bigger trouble now.”

“Oh? Enlighten me,” she said, leaning on the wheel with a tilt of her head. “What kind of ‘bigger trouble’ turns a scrawny kid into this?”

Dante shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Spent some time in Noxus first. Got wrapped up in a few merc contracts, demon infestations, military coups… you know, the usual.”

Sarah snorted. “Typical. Only you would think ‘military coups’ is casual small talk.”

“Then I went to Demacia,” he continued, ignoring her jab.

That made her blink. “Demacia? The place where they hate magic and are uptight snobs? You?”

“Yeah,” Dante said, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “Long story short, they had a little demon and mage problem, like always. Turns out they don’t care what you are if you’re saving their fancy cities from being eaten alive. That’s when I stopped being a ‘mercenary’ and started being a devil hunter.”

Sarah stared for a moment, the wind tugging her crimson hair as she tried to read him. “…You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, leaning back, voice dropping lower. “After that, I found myself back in Zaun. The whole city was a mess of chemicals and crime. But there was something different down there… people actually fighting back. I helped them with a rebellion against Piltover’s and gained its independence. Stuck around long enough to save their shiny topside city too.”

Sarah arched an eyebrow, utterly unconvinced. “Saved Piltover? From what, bad fashion sense?”

Dante gave a quiet laugh. “Try magical robots bent on ending the world.”

That earned him a full laugh from her, sharp and disbelieving. “Oh, please. You expect me to believe that? You vanish for five years, come back looking like a walking statue, and start spinning tales about robot apocalypses?”

He smirked, unbothered. “It’s the truth.”

“Sure it is,” she said, her tone softening but her grin still sly. “And I’m supposed to believe this ‘Jupiter’ girl you’re traveling with didn’t have anything to do with it?”

Dante’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered, just once. “She’s got her own mess to deal with.”

Sarah caught it instantly, leaning closer with a little hum. “Uh-huh. That right there, that twitch, means she’s definitely the reason you’re deflecting.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You really haven’t changed, have you?”

“Nope,” she said brightly. “Still better at reading you than you are at lying.”

Dante chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I missed this more than I thought.”

She smirked, eyes glinting. “You mean me more than you thought.”

He didn’t answer, just gave her a look that said enough. The boat cut through the water toward the dim lights of Nell’s workshop, and for a brief moment, the past and present blurred, two sharpshooters, older, sharper, still perfectly out of sync in all the right ways.

Sarah’s smirk softened into something slyer, more probing. 

“So, tell me about this ‘Jupiter’ girl,” she said, rolling the name around like it was wine she wasn’t sure she liked the taste of. “Blue hair, bad attitude, probably half your age—what’s her deal?”

Dante exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing on the horizon. “She’s… complicated and she’s only a year younger than me.”

Sarah gave a light laugh. “Oh, so she’s your type, then.”

He ignored that, voice low but steady. “She’s the most dangerous girl in all of Zaun.”

Sarah arched a brow, genuinely surprised for a second before her trademark smirk returned. “Zaun? Come on, Dante. Dangerous girls from Zaun are a dime a dozen. Half of them blow themselves up before you learn their name.”

Dante’s eyes flicked to her, sharp. “Watch it, Red.”

That earned him a blink, then a slow grin. He wasn’t joking.

“I’m from Zaun,” he added, his tone like steel under the sea breeze. “Raised under the rot. So if you’re gonna mock where someone comes from, mock me too.”

Sarah tilted her head, her teasing dying down for a moment. “…I totally forgot that.”

“Not something I’d brag about,” he said, leaning back, gaze lost in the night sky. “But Jupiter… she’s the reason I made it out. The reason I got my head on straight. She’s… the only one who saw something left in me when I didn’t.”

Sarah’s grin faltered slightly, replaced by something unreadable. The engine’s hum filled the silence as the boat cut across the waves.

“So she changed you,” Sarah finally said, quiet, almost thoughtful. “For the better?”

Dante’s head immediately went to another girl, a noble girl in demacia, but then, he nodded once. “Yeah. She did.”

A dry laugh escaped her, though there wasn’t much humor behind it. “Figures. Leave Bilgewater half a kid and come back as some kind of hero… all thanks to a girl from Zaun.”

“Don’t get jealous,” Dante said with a small grin, though his eyes stayed soft. “You’re still the one who taught me how to shoot straight.”

That earned him a sharp look and the faintest curve of a smile. “Careful, Redgrave. You’re getting sentimental on me.”

“Just telling the truth.”

Sarah’s eyes lingered on him for a beat too long before she turned back to the water. “Still. Dangerous girl from Zaun or not, I’ll believe she changed you when I see it.”

Dante smirked. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around long enough to find out.”

The boat bumped gently against the pier outside Nell’s workshop. Dante planted a foot on the weathered wood, about to hop off, when a familiar voice cut through the morning air.

“Hey, Redgrave!” Sarah called, leaning down from the edge of the boat with a mischievous grin. Before he could even blink, she pressed a quick, teasing kiss to his cheek.

“You’re…?” Dante muttered, half in surprise, half in amusement.

“Handsome,” she said, brushing her crimson hair behind her ear. “Don’t think too hard about it, or I’ll sail off before you get a word in.”

Dante’s lips twitched into a smirk, though he felt heat rise to his cheeks anyway. “Right. Thanks… I guess.”

“Try not to get shot before the next time we meet,” she added, giving a playful salute before pushing the boat back into the water. The engine roared, and she sailed away, disappearing into the morning haze.

Dante let out a low whistle, brushing a hand over his cheek where her lips had touched. 

“Jinx is gonna kill me if she was here…” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

He hopped fully onto the pier, glancing back toward the retreating boat. A small grin lingered despite the thought of the scolding he’d get later. Some things, he figured, were just worth it.

JINX:
Dante’s boots thudded against the wooden floorboards of Nell’s workshop, dragging bits of grime, blood, and splintered bullets behind him. He didn’t even glance at the curious glances from the few lingering customers. All he wanted was the stairs.

“Where have you been?!” Jinx’s voice rang out sharply, piercing the air like a gunshot. Her blue hair fell over her face as she crossed her arms, glaring daggers at him. “It’s been over a day! I was—”

Dante didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t care, but exhaustion weighed down every bone in his body. He moved past her, ignoring her protests, and made his way upstairs. The door to the bathroom clicked softly as he shut it behind him, muffling the outside chaos.

Jinx huffed, her fists tightening. “Seriously?! Over a day, and he doesn’t even—”

“Relax,” Nell said gently, placing a hand on Jinx’s shoulder. Her tone was calm but firm. “This isn’t unusual. Dante disappears for a day or two sometimes. It’s… just how he works.”

Jinx’s blue eyes narrowed. “I know, I know. But it’s my first time here. I didn’t know what to expect. He could’ve—”

“Exactly,” Nell interrupted, giving her a knowing look. “That’s why you trust him, even when he pushes your patience.”

Jinx let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the railing. “Yeah… yeah, I get it. But still, he’s impossible.”

Nell smiled faintly, shaking her head. “And that is why he’s Dante.”

Jinx perched on the edge of a workbench, legs swinging, eyes narrowed. “I don’t get it, Nell. Back in Zaun, people either feared him or respected him… or both. That gave some kind of… protection, I guess. But here? None of that matters. Nobody knows him. Nobody knows me. It’s all new.”

Nell folded her arms, leaning against a table. “I know it’s different, Jinx. Dante’s heroic side doesn’t always show on the surface, especially here. He’s reckless, yes, but he’s careful in ways most people won’t ever see. That’s how he survives and keeps others alive.”

Jinx snorted, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care if he’s been here before. I haven’t. And this city? It doesn’t owe me anything.”

Nell gave her a soft, knowing look. “You’ll learn that Dante’s way of protecting people doesn’t always follow the rules. He’s… complicated, but reliable when it counts.”

Jinx gritted her teeth, standing up. “Yeah, well, I’d like to see that for myself.” 

She stomped upstairs, stopping at the door to the bathroom. Fist raised, she knocked sharply.

“Dante?!” Her voice was equal parts frustration and worry. “We need to talk.”

THE DARK ANGEL:
The air was thick with a rancid, otherworldly stench, the kind that clung to your lungs and made each breath a battle. Nelo Angelo moved silently, his blackened armor gleaming faintly in the dim torchlight of the tomb. Each step echoed softly against the stone floor, the sound swallowed by shadows that seemed to twist and stretch unnaturally around him.

Ahead, the river of black sludge shimmered, writhing with a life of its own. Tahm Kench emerged from its depths, a monstrous grin spreading across his wide, amphibious face. His eyes glinted with the same cruel intelligence as ever, the kind that promised gluttony and ruin in equal measure. 

“You’ve come a long way, little knight,” he crooned, his voice wet and sticky, sliding along the walls. “But what about my payment? Your master and I made a deal”

Nelo Angelo’s gauntleted hand rested on his sword hilt. 

“Payment is made,” he said, voice low, cold.

The river seemed to twitch, and Tahm Kench’s grin faltered for the briefest second. “You… don’t—”

The next moment, a single, precise strike shattered the pact. Nelo Angelo’s blade cleaved through Tahm Kench’s monstrous form, piercing the heart of the deal as easily as steel pierced flesh. The great demon gurgled, writhing, and dissolved into a blackened froth, leaving only the promise of silence.

Beyond the river, the tomb itself revealed its terrible secret. Four massive orbs hovered in the air, each glowing faintly with imprisoned life. Griffon, Shadow, Nightmare, Phantom. The four greatest demons who had once served Mundus, their power sealed after Sparda’s betrayal and the end of the Void War. They pulsed like restrained storms, eager and dangerous, their presence making the walls hum with energy.

Nelo Angelo stepped closer, his armor whispering against the cold stone. Payment delivered. Job done. And yet, the air seemed to shiver around the orbs, promising that the true challenge was only beginning. The four orbs hovered silently in the center of the tomb, each radiating a faint, ominous glow. Nelo Angelo stepped forward, the weight of his black armor pressing against the cold stone floor. His gauntleted hand reached out, and the air seemed to hum with anticipation.

“Griffon… Shadow… Nightmare… Phantom,” he intoned, each name rolling like a curse and a command in the still air.

As he spoke, the orbs pulsed in response, their energy bending toward him, acknowledging his presence. Slowly, the spectral forms within began to emerge, not fully, but enough to show their power.

Nelo Angelo moved between them, his voice low and resolute. “You serve me now, not as prisoners, but as allies. Together, we will free Morderkaiser. Your are ready.”

Nelo Angelo murmured, eyes glinting beneath his helm. “And your purpose is clear. First, we retrieve the Force Edge, it must be returned to me. Then, the amulets, both halves, currently around his neck and the girl’s. Only with these can Morderkaiser walk free once more.”

He stepped closer to the orbs, extending both hands, and they rotated around him in a perfect, deadly circle. The power was immense, enough to erase all light from the tomb if he willed it. Yet he remained calm, his focus absolute.

“Bonded,” he whispered, a grim satisfaction in his tone. “You are my familiars now. You exist to do what must be done. And together, nothing in this world, mortal or divine, can stand against us.”

With that, the four orbs shimmered brighter, their forms solidifying slightly as though sensing their new master’s command. Nelo Angelo’s eyes glowed beneath his helm as he took the first step out of the tomb. Griffon, Shadow, Nightmare, and Phantom followed, spectral sentinels ready to hunt down Dante and his allies, their fates now intertwined with the resurrection of a long-imprisoned warlord.

Chapter Text

DANTE:
Inside the dim bathroom, Dante stood hunched over the sink, the mirror reflecting a man who looked half-dead and half something else entirely. His coat lay discarded across the chair, soaked through with blood and seawater. The shirt followed, peeled from his skin with a wet sound.

“I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that's real’’ 

His body was a roadmap of violence. Bullet holes, bruises that painted his ribs in purples and blacks. The wounds were fresh. His breath came heavy, almost feral, as he dug into his shoulder with his knife, the steel scraping against metal before a flattened bullet clattered into the basin below.

“The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything”

“Son of a…” he hissed, tossing the knife onto the sink and grabbing the next embedded round near his ribs. His muscles flexed, veins shifting under the skin as faint silver light began to trace along the wounds, slowly knitting flesh, pushing shrapnel out piece by piece. The sound was subtle but unnatural: bone and sinew moving back into place under their own will.

Another bullet hit the floor with a soft tink. Then another. And another.

By the time the last one came free, Dante leaned forward against the sink, breathing hard, his reflection flickering between man and monster. His eyes burned faintly red before dulling back to blue.

“What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away

In the end…”

The knock came as it was sharp.

“Dante?! We need to talk.”

He closed his eyes, the knife still in his hand, and muttered under his breath, “Not the best timing, Bluebell…”

He grabbed a rag from the counter, wiping the blood from his torso, trying to look halfway human again. The blood on his skin hadn’t completely faded. 

The door handle jiggled.

“Dante?” Jinx’s voice was softer this time, uncertain.

He sighed, tossing the rag aside and turning toward the door. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said hoarsely. “Just… don’t freak out when you come in.”

He took one more breath, steadying himself as the last cut was sealed across his shoulder.  Then he waited, half ready for her anger, half afraid of the look she’d give when she saw what he really was starting to become.

The door creaked open.

Jinx stepped inside, still brimming with leftover anger, but the second her eyes landed on him, the words she’d prepared dissolved into silence.

Dante stood shirtless near the sink, his body slick with blood and sweat. A few bullets lay scattered on the floor, each one glistening with blood. Jinx’s throat tightened. 

“What the hell…” she whispered, eyes darting over the half-healed wounds. “You—you weren’t letting yourself heal, were you?”

Dante didn’t answer. He just grabbed his coat, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every muscle still burned.

“Hey!” Jinx stepped closer, voice rising. “Don’t you dare ignore me right now. You go missing for more than a day in this godsdamn city. Bilgewater, of all places, then come back bleeding out like it’s a hobby?”

Still, he said nothing. He kept his back to her, the coat half-slipped over one arm. The silence was heavier than the air itself. Jinx’s hands curled into fists, anger masking the worry that threatened to spill out. 

“If this was Zaun, fine! I’d get it! You vanish, you come back with new scars, big deal! But this isn’t Zaun, Dante!” She shouted, voice cracking at the end. “This place doesn’t know us. Doesn’t care about us. And I can’t just… sit here wondering if you’re gonna come back in one piece every time you disappear!”

He finally stopped moving. The coat dropped to the floor.

“…You wouldn’t understand,” he said quietly, the exhaustion in his voice rough and real.

“Try me,” she snapped back, her eyes gleaming like sparks.

He turned halfway toward her, just enough for her to see the faint glow beneath the fresh scars, the unnatural light crawling under his skin like something alive. His expression was cold, guarded.

“This—” he gestured to the half-healed mess of his chest “—isn’t what I wanted you to see of me.”

Jinx stared, her anger faltering into unease. She wanted to argue, to make a joke, something, but all she saw was the way his hands trembled as he reached for the rag again.

“…Then tell me what’s eating you,” she said, voice softening. “Because watching you tear yourself apart in silence isn’t helping either of us.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Some things are better not said.”

The words hung between them like smoke, it was bitter and unresolved. Jinx swallowed hard, jaw tightening again. 

“You keep saying that one day, you’re gonna protect me. But if this is what that looks like…” she shook her head, stepping back toward the door. “…Then maybe you’re the one who needs protecting.”

Before she could open the door, Dante’s hand shot out and caught hers. Jinx froze. The anger in her chest faltered, replaced by something heavier. It was a mix of worry, confusion, fear. She turned back to him, and when she saw the look in his eyes, she quietly shut the door. The click echoed through the room like a lock sealing the world outside away.

Dante sank down to the floor, his back hitting the sink with a dull thud. He dragged his hands over his face, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the silence. For a long moment, he said nothing, just sat there, every muscle tight as if holding something back. Then, slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded, blood-stained sheet of paper. And  handed it to her.

Jinx frowned, hesitating before taking it. When she opened it, her expression softened. The page was filled with names—rough, messy handwriting, some smudged with dirt and dried blood. Four of them were crossed out. Two more remained untouched.

Karn Veyle

Tallow & Pike

Brask the Cinder

Marra Korrin

Garrick Slade

Her eyes scanned the list again, slower this time. “You… killed these people?”

Dante didn’t answer right away. He lowered his hands but kept one over his mouth, eyes distant. Finally, he nodded. “Just need the last two…”

“Who are they?” Jinx asked, already knowing she might not want the answer. “Are these the…”

“The people that branded me?” He finished for her, his voice low and flat. His hand rose to his cheek, tracing the faint outline of the Bilgewater sigil, the brand burned and inked into his skin with mercury. “Yeah.”

The air between them went still, thick with something that wasn’t quite anger or grief, but both. Jinx didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She just stared at him, this man she’d once thought untouchable, now sitting there like he’d been carved down to the bone.

“…You’re not doing this alone,” she finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at her then, and for a split second, the mask cracked. The faintest flicker of something raw, it was fear, gratitude, maybe both crossed his eyes before he looked away again.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “We’ll see about that.”

Jinx exhaled through her nose, running a hand through her messy blue hair. The silence between them stretched as it was uneasy, heavy, and the air reeked faintly of blood, gunpowder, and the sour tang of dried sweat. That made her wrinkled her nose. 

“You smell like you’ve been wrestling corpses in an alley,” she muttered, trying to force levity into her tone but failing to mask the concern behind it.

Dante blinked, glancing down at himself, his Nate torso was streaked with grime and flecks of dried blood. His coat tossed aside like a shed skin.

“Yeah, well,” he said dryly, “you try killing four bastards and getting branded for it without breaking a sweat.”

Jinx crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Oh, boo-hoo, Mr. Tragic Demon Slayer. You’re still taking a shower.”

He raised a brow at her, half amused, half exhausted. “You giving me orders now?”

“Damn right I am.” She jabbed a thumb toward the small adjoining bathroom. “Soap. Water. Use them. Preferably together.”

Dante smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Still, he pushed himself to his feet with a quiet groan.

“Fine,” he said, gathering his towel. “But if the plumbing explodes, you’re fixing it.”

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, sure. I’ll add ‘plumber’ to my list of talents, right under ‘babysitting dumbasses who don’t bathe.’”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he stepped toward the shower. But before he closed the door, Jinx’s voice stopped him.

“…Dante?”

He glanced back. She looked smaller now, her usual manic energy dimmed. “Don’t shut me out, okay? Not this time.”

He held her gaze for a long, quiet beat, then nodded once. “I’ll try.”

The bathroom door clicked shut. And as the water started running, Jinx leaned back against the wall, arms folded, eyes fixed on the folded kill list on her hand. The sound of the shower filled the room, steady and distant, but her thoughts were anything but calm.

He’d been gone for over a day. Covered in blood, silent about what he’d done. And now that she knew… she wasn’t sure which hurt more, his past, or the way he tried to carry it alone. Her jaw tightened. 

“Idiot,” she muttered softly, though the edge in her voice wavered with something that almost sounded like worry.

⸻

Dante came out of the bathroom toweling his white hair, his usual red coat thrown lazily over one shoulder. The faint scent of soap and steel followed him as he was finally clean. He stepped into their room, eyes immediately catching the spread of parchment and papers on the bed.

Jinx sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, the kill list in one hand, the map of the Shadow Isles pinned beneath her knee. The faint lamplight gave her blue hair a ghostly sheen, and the way she squinted at the map made her look more like a general than the manic girl who used to laugh while setting fuses.

“Planning the next massacre?” Dante drawled, tossing the towel onto the floor.

She didn’t look up. “Just trying to figure out how you plan on killing these last two bozos with bullets and bad attitude.” 

Her finger traced one of the dark circles inked into the parchment, the one labeled Shadow Isles. “You ever been there before?”

Dante leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Nope. Heard plenty, though. Sailors say the mist eats your soul before the water even touches your boots.” 

He shrugged. “Probably exaggerated. Probably.”

“Probably,” Jinx echoed, unimpressed. She glanced at him then, eyes flicking briefly over his torso fully healed, looking at his abs and pecs. “Great, so we’re going to a haunted island full of soul-eating mist. Sounds fun.”

He grinned faintly. “You’ve got a weird definition of fun, Bluebell.”

“Coming from you, that’s rich.”

Dante pushed off the wall and walked over, his shadow falling across the bed as he leaned to get a look at her notes. “So… what’d you and Nell do while I was gone? Break anything?”

Jinx gave him a mock-offended look. “Excuse you. We built things. Not break.” 

She held up a small, round bomb between two fingers. It was crude but functional, painted with a sloppy pink skull. “Made a few of these. Not as strong as my chompers back home, but Nell doesn’t exactly have a stockpile of boom powder. Everything here’s just guns and bullets.”

Dante chuckled. “Guns are her thing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jinx twirled the little bomb before setting it back down. “She’s good with ‘em, but I told her Zaun’s got me, the best gunsmith there is.”

Dante raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

Jinx smirked, leaning back on her hands. “Mhm. Best with guns, best with explosives, best with hands…” 

She paused, eyes glittering mischievously. “In more ways than one… daddy~”

Dante laughed, low and rough, shaking his head. “You never change.”

“Wouldn’t want me to.” She grinned wide, almost proud. Then, softer: “Besides, if we’re heading into ghost-land, you’re gonna need someone who can make a bang big enough to piss off the afterlife.”

“Guess I couldn’t ask for a better partner,” Dante said, half-smiling as he looked at her.

Dante stretched out on the bed, letting out a low sigh as he laid his head on Jinx’s lap. She blinked down at him, surprised for half a second before her fingers instinctively brushed through his damp hair.

“You’re getting too comfortable there,” she said with a faint smirk.

He cracked one eye open. “That’s the point.”

Jinx rolled her eyes but didn’t move him off. “You know… I kinda like it when you do that.”

Dante’s mouth curved into a knowing grin. “Yeah, I already knew that.”

“Cocky bastard,” she muttered, but her voice softened.

For a few quiet moments, neither spoke. Just the sound of Bilgewater’s harbor outside, the distant gulls, the creak of wooden beams, the sea breathing against the shore. Jinx’s thumb traced absently along his temple, her mind wandering back to the earlier encounter in Nell’s workshop. Her expression shifted, a frown tugging at her lips. 

“Hey, Dante,” she murmured.

“Mm?” He hummed without opening his eyes.

“What’s your deal with her? That red-haired pirate lady who came by earlier.”

His eyes opened now, slowly. “Sarah?”

Jinx nodded, pretending not to care, though her tone carried an edge. “Yeah. Miss Fortune. That’s what Nell called her. And she didn’t tell me anything. Just said it’s better you do.”

Dante was quiet for a moment, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. His expression changed, something between nostalgia and regret flickered across it.

“She should’ve told you I was a mess back then,” he said finally, voice low. “I was sixteen. Dumb kid, full of anger and charm I didn’t deserve. She was older… fierce, smart, already a legend here.”

Jinx’s brows shot up. “Wait, the way you’re talking about her sounds like you knew her. But, like a girlfriend kind of knew, or just flirty pirate banter knew?”

Dante smirked faintly. “Girlfriend. First one.”

The words landed like a spark on powder. Jinx blinked, her grin vanishing. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Dante went on quietly. “First real one. First… everything.”

“Everything?” She repeated, her tone sharp and incredulous.

He glanced up at her, and the smirk returned, but it was softer this time, almost apologetic. “Yeah. That too.”

She blinked again, her mind racing. “So… you lost your virginity to a pirate queen. Great. Fantastic. And here I thought I was your first for something.”

Dante tilted his head, his expression somewhere between teasing and sincere. “You were.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” She challenged, though her face was pinker than she wanted to admit.

“My first real love,” he said simply. “Since we were kids.”

That shut her up. Jinx looked away fast, staring at the wall as if it had suddenly become fascinating. “You, ugh, you can’t just say things like that, dummy.”

He chuckled, the sound low in his chest. “Sure I can.”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile, still annoyed but secretly melting. “So lemme get this straight. You, Mr. Demon Hunter. lost it to the sexiest woman in Bilgewater. And I. Miss Chaos Bomb herself, lost it to you.”

“Sounds about right,” Dante said, eyes glinting. “Guess we’re even, huh?”

Jinx groaned and shoved his shoulder lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, closing his eyes again, head still resting in her lap. “But I’m yours.”

Her hand froze mid-motion. Then, slowly, she resumed combing his hair, trying to hide the small, stupid smile tugging at her mouth.

“…You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

He grinned without opening his eyes. “Yeah, I already knew that too.”

Jinx tilted her head, watching Dante lying there so calmly on her lap. The thought just slipped out, half teasing, half suspicious.

“So… you and her, huh?” She started, tracing lazy circles on his shoulder with her finger. “That whole ‘first girlfriend’ thing…”

Dante hummed quietly, noncommittal. Jinx’s grin turned sharp. 

“Don’t tell me—” she looked around the room, her blue eyes landing on the cot beneath them. “Wait. Don’t you dare tell me it was this bed.”

Dante froze. That was all the confirmation she needed. Her jaw dropped. “Oh, come on! This bed?! Right here?!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking suddenly very interested in the wall. “…Technically, it’s been cleaned since then.”

Jinx shot up, eyes wide. 

“That's not the point!” She snapped, crossing her arms. “You seriously, ugh! In the same bed we slept in?!”

Dante didn’t say a word. He knew better. Jinx huffed, cheeks puffed, pacing in a small circle before glaring at him again. 

“And she’s just, ugh!” She mimed curves with her hands, face scrunching up. “She’s taller, curvier, got that stupid perfect hair and that pirate queen thing going on… how am I supposed to compete with that?”

Her words came out too fast, too sharp to be just a joke. Dante stood and stepped closer, his hand gently catching hers mid-gesture. 

“Hey,” he said softly, voice low but firm. “You don’t.”

Jinx blinked, thrown off at his gentleness. 

“You don’t have to compete,” Dante went on, brushing a strand of her blue hair from her face. “Fortune’s part of who I was, back when I was still trying to figure out who the hell that even was.”

He leaned in a little, eyes steady on hers. “You’re who I am now. The only one who’s ever seen all the broken parts and didn’t run from them.”

Her cheeks flushed despite herself. “You’re just saying that ’cause I’m the crazy one.”

“Maybe,” Dante smirked. “But you’re my crazy one.”

Jinx tried to stay mad, she really did, but the way he looked at her made it impossible. Her lips twitched, fighting a smile.

“…Still gross that we’re sleeping in the same bed you banged her in,” she muttered under her breath.

Dante chuckled quietly. “Then I guess we’ll just have to make some new memories.”

Her blush deepened, and she smacked his arm. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he teased, resting his forehead against hers, “you’re still here.”

Jinx slumped back onto the bed, arms crossed, cheeks still puffed in that mix of irritation and embarrassment she was famous for.

“She’s got those big, stupid, perfect pirate boobs,” she muttered, glaring at the ceiling. “Bet that’s why you liked her. Guys always like that.”

Dante groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face before looking at her. “Seriously?”

Jinx turned her head, scowling. 

“What? I’m just saying. She’s all—” she waved her hands in front of her chest dramatically “—and I’m…” she looked down, pouting, “…not.”

For a moment, Dante said nothing. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him in a sudden, tight hug.

“Wha—hey! What’re you—” she started, flailing a little before freezing.

Dante’s voice was quiet but teasing against her hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

She blinked up at him. “You’re dodging the question.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “I’m not. I’m saying you’re fine the way you are. Actually better.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Better how?”

He smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Small has its perks. Easier to move. Less to get in the way. Better balance when you’re throwing bombs at idiots. And… you’ve got a really nice ass.”

That earned him a light punch in the ribs. “You’re such a jerk.”

“And yet you’re smiling,” Dante countered, voice low but warm.

She huffed, trying to fight it, but the tiniest grin broke through. “Maybe a little.”

He rested his chin on top of her head, his arms still around her. “Sarah was a part of the past. You’re the only one in the present. The one that actually matters.”

Jinx’s eyes softened, the jealousy melting away as she mumbled, “You really know how to mess with my head, you know that?”

Dante smirked. “You started it.”

“Yeah, well…” she muttered, her voice small now, “…I’m glad I did.”

He chuckled quietly and held her a little tighter. “Good. ’Cause I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

⸻

The morning light bled through the shutters, streaking the room in slanted gold. Jinx stirred, blinking the sleep from her eyes as the faint sound of metal clinking reached her ears. She sat up, short hair a tangled blue mess, and saw Dante crouched by the foot of the cot, his back to her, holster strapped, pistols gleaming on the table. The Force Edge leaned nearby, its dull silver edge catching bits of sunlight. A few grenades, smoke bombs, and what looked like a half-finished fuse were spread out next to him.

“That’s it?” She muttered, rubbing her eyes. “You’re packing like we’re going grocery shopping, not heading into a haunted corpse island.”

Dante didn’t turn. He was checking the slide on Ebony, the smooth click echoing through the quiet room. “Relax. We’ve got enough.”

Jinx snorted. “Enough? I’ve seen rats in Zaun more heavily armed than this.” 

She grabbed a bomb from the table, inspecting it with a frown. “We’re talking about the Shadow Isles, babe. You can’t shoot ghosts.”

Dante smirked faintly. “You’d be surprised what you can shoot when you aim right.”

Jinx rolled her eyes and flopped back against the sheets. “Yeah, sure. Mister ‘I don’t need armor, my jawline’s bulletproof.’”

He stood, adjusting his holster before sliding the Force Edge onto his back. “You know, I made a name for myself with just two pistols and a sword. No backup, no magic tricks, no army. Just me.”

Jinx leaned her head to the side, watching him with a crooked grin. “And now you’ve got me. So I guess you’ve finally upgraded, huh?”

That earned a soft chuckle from him. “Yeah. Best kind of upgrade.”

Jinx grinned wider, stretching lazily before grabbing her pistol and looping it onto her belt. “Damn right. Just don’t expect me to bail you out if you mess up.”

He gave her a mock salute. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

“Good,” she said, standing and slinging her satchel of bombs over her shoulder. “Because if we die out there, I’m haunting your ass personally.”

Dante glanced back at her, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess I’ll have company then.”

The couple headed to the door and the moment they stepped out of their room, the scent of roasted beans and gun oil hit them first. Down below, Nell and Sarah Fortune sat at the workbench like mother and daughter catching up, mugs of steaming coffee in hand, the tension between them was domestic.

Nell looked up first, eyes flicking between Dante and Jinx, already bracing herself for whatever chaos was about to follow. Sarah, on the other hand, smiled slowly and wicked the instant she saw Dante.

“Well, look what the storm dragged in,” she purred, setting her mug down with deliberate grace. “You still know how to make an entrance, Dante.”

Jinx’s eye twitched. “Oh, great. The pirate queen’s still here.”

Sarah ignored her entirely, tilting her head at Dante with a familiar spark in her eyes. “Still wearing a sword like it’s an accessory, I see. Brings back memories.”

Dante’s jaw tightened, though his tone stayed level. “Yeah. Good ones.”

Sarah smirked, unbothered. “Oh, definitely the good parts.”

That earned her a barely audible groan from Jinx, whose hand twitched toward one of her grenades before Dante’s hand shot out, catching her wrist without looking. “Easy, Bluebell.”

He exhaled through his nose, eyes on Sarah. “What do you want?”

Sarah leaned back against the counter, swirling the coffee in her mug as if they weren’t talking about life-or-death business. “To help you, actually.”

Jinx crossed her arms. Well, we don’t need your help. We’ve got a boat. A good one.”

Sarah smirked, slow and dangerous. “Oh? You mean the little sailing boat tucked away off the east pier? The one with the patched sail and custom engine rig?”

That made Dante freeze and Jinx blinked. “Wait—how the hell do you—”

“Found it,” Sarah said simply, sipping her coffee. “A couple hours ago, actually. Cute little thing. You really should’ve hidden it better.”

Nell sighed into her cup. “You do realize she’s always one step ahead, right?”

Jinx scowled, muttering, “Yeah, well, she’s about to be one step behind when I shove a bomb up her—”

“Jinx,” Dante cut in flatly.

Sarah laughed, the sound rich and teasing. “Same fire as always. You sure know how to pick ’em, Dante.”

He ignored the jab, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you’re offering help, then spit it out, Fortune. What’s the catch?”

Sarah’s grin faded into something more measured, more serious. “No catch. If you want to survive Slade’s army… you’re going to need more than just your sword and her toys.”

The air between them thickened, Jinx glaring daggers, Sarah standing tall and calm, Dante caught between past and present. Nell just sighed again, reaching for the coffeepot. “If anyone’s gonna break my damn furniture, at least finish your coffee first.”

Sarah’s smile faded as she looked back at Dante 

“Listen,” she says, voice flat and dangerous, “you don’t get to be sentimental here. Karn, the twins, Brask. Four of them are dead. In Bilgewater that kind of blood sings. Slade and Marra aren’t going to wait a day to tidy up the mess. They’re lighting everything they can find on alert right now.”

Dante’s jaw tightens. He knows the truth of it, he’d left a message in red and the city was already listening. The idea of barging into the Shadow Isles while Slade’s men were ready was idiotic/

Sarah doesn’t soften. “You go now alone, you run into scouts, traps, ambushes. You get cut off, they pick you apart on their terms. You want revenge? Fine. But you want to live long enough to get it. You move with me, we control the timing.”

Jinx bristles, all teeth. “So you’re a strategist, huh? What, are we signing up for a parade?”

“Not a parade,” Sarah says. “A surgical strike.” 

Her eyes flick to the kill list on Dante’s hand then to his eyes. “You did good work last night. But there’s a cost. You want the last two? You don’t do it with practically nothing.”

Dante pushes a breath out through his teeth. Pride wars with sense in his chest, he’d wanted the list to stay his, small and private and ugly. He’d wanted to close the book on it himself. But he also knows the city, and he knows what a cornered pirate will do.

He reaches into his coat and pulls the crumpled, blood-smeared map. Brask’s map from last night. The paper was stiff with salt and dried ink, someone’s hand had gone over the routes with a shaking, desperate certainty. Dante lays it on the bench between them.

“This came from Brask,” he says, voice low. “I took it last night.” 

He watches Sarah’s face as she glances at the inked harbors and the circled anchorage on Shadow Isle. “You help me, you get whatever you need. I’m not handing this over for a favor, I’m handing it over because if we don’t do this right, it’s not just me who dies.”

⸻

Sarah studies the coastlines, the red crosses. For a beat she didn’t speak, then she tucks the map into her coat with a swift, efficient motion and looked at Dante and Jinx as they arrived. “I’ll move my crew tonight. We’ll shadow your route, flush lookouts, and put a cutter on their slip. You pick the shot. We make sure they don’t get the drop.”

Jinx stares between them, suspicion and relief warring on her face. 

“So he hands over the map and now we trust the pirate queen?” she asks incredulously.

Dante meets Jinx’s eyes. “Trust isn’t the word. It's a strategy. You and I do the dirty part. She gives us the reach.” 

He turns back to Sarah. “One condition. If anyone betrays us, I want them gone before they can run.”

Sarah quirked a half-smile, business and a promise wrapped tight. “You’ll get your heads, Dante.”

Dante nodded once. The map is no longer only his. The list is no longer only his burden. He felt the relief of sharing it. Jinx’s hand found his under the table and squeezed it in a small, stubborn solidarity gesture.

“Then let’s move,” she says, all business now, bombs jangling at her hip.

⸻

The docks reeked of salt, tar, and iron, the smell of Bilgewater’s ports, thick and alive even this early in the morning. The gulls screamed overhead as Dante and Jinx followed the creaking planks toward the largest ship moored at the far end of the pier.

It was impossible to miss.

Sarah Fortune’s flagship wasn’t the same ship Dante remembered from his youth. No, this one was something else entirely. Sleek and deadly, every inch of it screamed power. Iron-rimmed sails gleamed under the morning sun. Twin figureheads carved from black oak as it was two serpents devouring each other, glared down at the harbor like a challenge.

Jinx whistled low. “Damn. Guess being queen of pirates pays better than blowing up selling drugs in Zaun.”

Dante smirked faintly, though there was something heavier behind it. “Yeah. She’s come a long way since last time.”

As they reached the gangplank, a voice boomed from above, it was rough, familiar, and carrying that same gravelly warmth Dante hadn’t heard in years. “Well I’ll be damned! Dante. Never thought I’d see you sailing with us again”

Dante couldn’t help the laugh that broke through. “Grue. Still ugly as ever.”

The two clasped arms in a crushing handshake that turned into a half-hug, all weight and genuine warmth. It had been five years since they last stood face to face, five years since the storm that took their ship and scattered their crew across the seas.

“Five years,” Grue said, pulling back and looking him over. “You look the same. Still can’t grow a beard?”

Dante snorted. “Still can’t shut up?”

Grue laughed so hard it drew the attention of a few deckhands. “Fair enough.” 

His eyes softened as he added, “Heard you stirred some trouble, kid. Bilgewater’s buzzing with your name again.”

“Wouldn’t be me otherwise,” Dante said.

Grue’s grin faded to something more thoughtful. “Fortune’s been expectin’ you. She’s up top, barking orders. But before you go—” he tilted his head toward Jinx “—mind introducin’ me to your… friend?”

Jinx, standing half behind Dante, tilted her head and crossed her arms. “The friend’s got a name.”

Grue chuckled. “Didn’t mean any offense. Just didn’t expect to see this bastard walkin’ around with someone who doesn’t look like they bite the first man to stare too long.”

“Oh, I bite plenty,” Jinx said, her grin sharp. “Just depends on how annoying they are.”

Dante shook his head, amused. “Grue, this is Jinx. Jinx, meet Grue. Old friend. Used to work in jobs Fortune gave us.”

Grue’s smile returned, fond and proud. “Always figured you’d find someone with fire in ‘em. Guess I was right.”

He clapped Dante on the shoulder. “Have you ever thought about settling down, kid? I’m still tryin’ to keep up with my girls. Jessica’s nearly grown now, Tiki’s got my temper, and Nesty, hah, that one’s got her mother’s knack for trouble. She built a smoke bomb last month and nearly sank my house.”

Dante laughed, genuine this time. “Guess the apple doesn’t fall far, huh?”

Grue grinned. “Ain’t that the truth.” 

He looked between the two of them, then nodded toward the upper deck. “Go on, she’s waiting. And Dante—” his grin turned a little wicked “—try not to make the queen jealous, yeah? Girls like that don't like competition.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow, and Dante groaned quietly under his breath. “Great. Just what I needed… bad jokes.”

Grue clapped him on the back again, booming laughter echoing behind them as Dante and Jinx climbed toward the deck where Sarah waited, Bilgewater’s queen framed in sunlight, already looking like she owned the sea. The deck of the ship was alive with motion, rigging creaked, sails unfurled, and the ocean wind carried the smell of salt and gunpowder. 

At the far end, Sarah stood with her back to them, the sunlight gleaming off her red hair like fire. Her coat flared behind her. She turned when she heard their boots on the planks, and that smile, half teasing, half dangerous.

“Well, well,” she drawled. “I was expecting you and Grue to be talking all day.”

Dante raised a hand lazily, trying to play it cool. “Guess I’ve got a thing for disappointing, huh?”

Sarah smirked. “You always did.” 

Her gaze slid past him, landing on Jinx with obvious curiosity. “Nice to see you again, ‘Juniper.’”

Jinx’s eye twitched. “It’s Jinx.”

“Right,” Sarah said, amused, not even pretending to care. “Pretty name. Fitting, too. You’ve got that wild look about you.”

“Thanks,” Jinx shot back, folding her arms. “You’ve got that fake nice thing going on. Must take practice.”

A few deckhands nearby froze mid-task. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Dante exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, enough. Jinx, meet the crew. They’re good people. You might even like some of ‘em.”

Jinx blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Dante said, giving her a look that brooked no argument. “You can’t just hang around me all the time. You gotta get used to… people. Ones who don’t explode on sight.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes. “You’re kicking me off the conversation because she’s here, huh?”

“Because I need to talk to her,” Dante said evenly. “And because you could use the air. Go on, Grue’ll show you around.”

Jinx huffed, her bang flicking over her face like a whip. “Fine. Have your little pirate reunion.”

She turned sharply and stalked off toward the lower deck, muttering something about red-haired hussies and sea-witches with push-up corsets.

Sarah watched her go, lips curving. “She’s got spirit. I like her.”

Dante crossed his arms. “You would.”

Sarah turned back to him, and for a moment the teasing faded from her expression. She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, weathered envelope, edges yellowed, seal still intact.

“I found this,” she said quietly. “In my drawer. The day you left Bilgewater.”

Dante’s breath hitched. He recognized the envelope instantly. His handwriting, scrawled in black ink that had bled a little from seawater.

“You… never opened it?” He asked.

Sarah shook her head. “Didn’t have the guts to. Guess I thought if I read it, it’d make it real that you were gone.”

She ran her thumb along the fold, her tone soft but measured. “I kept it anyway. Even after I became what I am now. You were just a stupid kid back then… reckless, cocky, always bleeding on my floor. But what we were meant something to me and to you.”

Dante looked at her for a long moment at the woman she’d become, harder around the edges, but still carrying that same fire he remembered. 

“And yet,” he said quietly, “you opened every other wound except that one.”

Sarah’s smile was faint, wistful. “Guess I was saving it for when I saw you again.”

The ocean wind tugged at their coats, the waves slapping against the hull like an impatient heartbeat. Finally, Sarah looked down at the letter again, thumb brushing the old ink. “You want me to open it now?”

Dante’s jaw tightened. He hesitated, then nodded once. “If you still want to.”

Sarah stood silent for a long moment, the letter between her fingers trembling ever so slightly as the ocean wind tugged at her hair, the sunlight catching in her earrings as she finally broke the seal. The paper crackled faintly as she unfolded it, the ink faded and smeared from time, but Dante could still remember every word. He’d written it on the night before he left Bilgewater. The same night when they made love. Sarah began to read aloud, her voice low but steady.

“Sarah,

If you’re reading this, it means I finally did something smart and left before I dragged you down with me. I don’t know what’s waiting for me out there, probably a bullet, maybe worse but I can’t stay. Not here. Not when I’ve already buried too many people I care about.

Everyone who gets close to me ends up paying for it. My mother, my brother, Vander, Vi, Powder… I keep thinking it's a chance, but it can’t be. Not anymore.

I’m a curse, A walking one. And I won’t let it touch you too.

I loved you. More than I ever said out loud. You made me laugh when I thought I’d forgotten how. But if I stay, you’ll die too. So I’m leaving before the curse catches up. Don’t come looking for me.

—Dante”

The silence that followed was deafening. The creak of the ropes and the crash of the waves sounded distant, like echoes from another life. Sarah’s hand tightened on the page as her eyes glistened, not with tears exactly, but something heavier, something restrained. She took a slow breath, folding the paper again with care.

“You were sixteen when you wrote this,” she murmured, her voice rougher than she meant it to be. “Sixteen, and you already thought you were poison.”

Dante’s jaw tensed. “Wasn’t thinking. I was just… running before I made it worse.”

Sarah turned her gaze toward him, the faintest edge returning to her tone. “You always did that… turn guilt into motion. Run, fight, kill, repeat.” 

She stepped closer, pressing the folded letter against his chest gently. “But you never asked if maybe some of us chose to stay anyway.”

He met her eyes then, the tattoo on his cheek catching the light. “And how many of those people lived, Sarah?”

That stopped her for a beat. Her fingers curled around the letter again before she slipped it back into her coat pocket, softer now.

“You’re not a curse, Dante,” she said finally. “You’re just someone who hasn’t learned how to stop blaming himself for surviving.”

Dante looked away, jaw tightening as he muttered, “Doesn’t feel that way.”

Sarah studied him a moment longer, her eyes were on his, the way he carried weight like armor and then she exhaled, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“You’ve grown,” she said quietly. “Taller, broader, hotter… but still the same idiot underneath.”

That earned her a small, tired chuckle. “Guess some things don’t change.”

“No,” she said, tilting her head, eyes soft now. “But at least now, you’ve got someone who looks at you like you’re worth saving. Don’t waste that, Dante.”

He didn’t reply, just looked out toward the sea. Sarah’s gaze followed him, and for a brief, fragile second, there was no tension.

JINX:
Jinx wasn’t exactly thrilled to be “meeting people.” Dante’s words still echoed in her head—“You need to socialize with people that aren’t just me.”

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered, kicking the ship’s railing as she walked along the deck. “Because I’m just so good at that.”

The Reaper’s Kiss was massive compared to their small sailboat. It was sleek, polished, and far too clean for her taste. Every plank gleamed like it had been scrubbed by angels, and the scent of salt and gunpowder hung faintly in the air. The crew, though, were unmistakably pirates, they were scarred, tattooed, loud, and eyeing her like she’d just wandered in from a circus act.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Oi, you’re the girl who came with the boss’s old flame, ain’t ya?” One of the deckhands called, a burly man with a shaved head and a gold tooth that glinted in the sunlight.

Jinx grinned, twirling her pistol idly in her hand. “Depends who you mean by boss and flame.”

That earned a few chuckles from the nearby sailors that were half impressed, half wary.

She made her rounds reluctantly. There was Talon, the wiry navigator with too many maps and too little patience, Red, a broad-shouldered woman who handled the cannons like they were children, and Nils, the cook who smelled perpetually of rum and onions.

Jinx leaned against a crate, watching them bustle about. “So, lemme get this straight, you all just… live on this thing? No explosions, no turf wars, no shady deals?”

“Just the sea,” Red said, hoisting a cannonball with one arm. “And the occasional idiot who tries to rob us.”

Jinx’s grin widened. “You mean fun idiots.”

“Depends on how many limbs they still have after,” Red replied dryly.

The pirates laughed. Jinx couldn’t help but laugh too, but hers was awkward, like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

The truth was, she wasn’t used to this. Back in Zaun, socializing meant Silco giving orders or Sevika threatening to toss someone out a window. Most days, she was in her hideout, surrounded by blueprints and empty bottles, talking to bombs instead of people. And when she did go out, it was in the shadows, waiting for the signal, for the chaos, for the scream that meant it was her cue. Now here she was, surrounded by living, breathing humans who expected small talk.

She scratched the back of her neck, eyeing the crew’s laughter. “You guys ever… get bored? Like, there’s nothing to shoot, nothing to blow up. Just… water?”

Grue, passing by with a crate on his shoulder, laughed. “That’s the idea, kid. Peace and quiet.”

Jinx made a face. “Ugh. Sounds like death.”

“Better than the kind that leaves you floatin’ face down,” he said, smirking.

“Fair point,” she muttered.

As she wandered toward the bow, she caught herself glancing back toward the spot where she knew Dante and Sarah were. Laughing? Talking? Maybe reliving old times?

Her lips tightened.

“Peace and quiet,” she echoed under her breath. “Yeah, right.”

She pulled a small bomb from her belt and began tinkering with the fuse, just to keep her hands busy. The pirates gave her a wide berth, sensing the danger and maybe the mood.

The sound of boots on wood broke through the hum of the sea breeze.

Jinx didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. She could recognize the rhythm of his steps anywhere. The steady, confident, a little too casual for someone who carried that much weight.

Dante walked with Sarah at his side, both of them framed by the light cutting through the sunlight. Sarah had that same effortless swagger she always carried, her hips swaying, coat half-open, eyes bright with mischief and control. Dante walked beside her, hands resting in his pockets.

And that burned just a little. Jinx sat on a barrel, tinkering with a small bomb as the Reaper’s Kiss crew gathered at their stations. The wind tugged at her long bang over the right side of her face.

“Everything ready?” Dante called out.

Grue gave a sharp nod from the helm. “Yeah. We’ve got fair winds and full powder. Just say the word.”

Sarah leaned against the railing, arms folded, watching the crew with that old commanding grace. 

“Word’s given,” she said, then glanced at Dante, a smile tugging her lips. “Unless you’ve forgotten how to sail with a queen.”

He snorted. “You’re not my queen.”

“Never said I was,” Sarah murmured, amused.

That earned a few knowing laughs from the crew. Jinx’s jaw flexed, her fingers twisting a bolt just a little too tight. She cleared her throat loudly. “Hey, uh, less flirting, more steering! Or are we just gonna float here while the Shadow Isles have a tea party without us?”

A few pirates chuckled under their breath. Sarah just turned her head, that slow, sly smirk curling up her lips. “Feisty little thing, isn’t she?”

“Always has been,” Dante said, glancing at Jinx with a faint grin, one of those looks that made her stomach twist even when she wanted to punch him.

“Yeah, well,” Jinx muttered, setting down her wrench and hopping off the barrel. “Someone’s gotta keep you two lovebirds on task.”

“Lovebirds?” Dante echoed, raising a brow.

Jinx shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “You’re the one grinning like you’re don’t already got a girl.”

He smirked. “I am yours.”

Sarah laughed softly, brushing her hair from her face. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

That did it. Jinx’s eye twitched.

Sarah spun toward the bow, calling out to the crew, “Let’s move already! Shadow Isles won’t haunt themselves!”

Grue barked a command, sails unfurling with a snap as the wind caught them. The ship lurched forward, cutting through the shimmering blue toward the horizons.

⸻

Later, Dante came to stand beside Jinx, yet she didn’t look at him, not yet. Her arms were crossed tight, her jaw set.

“You okay, Bluebell?” He asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she said too fast. “Just… seasick. Or people-sick. Or—whatever.”

He gave her that half-smile again, the one that said he saw right through her. “You know, you don’t have to compete with her, right?”

Jinx scoffed. “Compete? Pfft. Please. I’d win.”

“Then why’s your bomb shaking?”

She glanced down. Sure enough, her hand was trembling ever so slightly, the small bomb’s fuse quivering with it. She frowned, shoved it in her pouch, and grumbled, “Shut up.”

Dante chuckled, turning his gaze toward the sea. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

As the ship sailed forward, Bilgewater slowly shrinking behind them, Jinx leaned against the railing. The salt wind bit at her face, and she finally let herself breathe, even if her stomach still knotted when she caught Sarah glancing back at Dante.

But this time, she didn’t say anything. And the sea had gone quiet. Only the creak of the wood and the distant rush of water against the hull broke the silence. The Reaper’s Kiss cut through the open sea like a knife through glass, sails full and steady under the dim starlight.

Jinx sat on the bow, one leg dangling over the edge, watching her reflection shimmer in the dark water below. The stars scattered across the surface like flecks of gunpowder waiting to ignite. Behind her, she could hear the faint clatter of boots, the murmur of the night crew, and, closer, the familiar, rhythmic clink of metal against leather. Dante, checking his pistols.

“You ever stop working?” She asked without looking back.

“Only when you stop thinking,” he said, stepping up beside her.

Jinx shot him a sideways grin. “So never, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The wind tugged gently at her hair, the faint scent of salt and gun oil wrapping around them. Jinx’s eyes traced the horizon, a dark line where the stars seemed to drown into the sea.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” She asked softly. “To reach the Isles, I mean.”

Dante leaned on the railing beside her, eyes narrowing as he calculated silently. “Hard to say. If the winds stay this way, three days, maybe four. If the fog gets bad or the currents turn against us…” 

He exhaled. “Could be longer.”

Jinx made a face. “Ugh. Great. Trapped on a boat with Miss-Big-Boobs and her merry band of barnacles.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You’re not exactly easy company yourself, you know.”

She turned toward him, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me? I’m delightful. I make things explode. I bring flair.”

“And headaches,” he teased.

Jinx rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. She drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. “You ever notice how quiet the sea gets at night? It’s weird. Like it’s waiting for something.”

“Yeah,” Dante said quietly, his gaze still on the horizon. “It’s the kind of quiet that comes before trouble.”

“Or after it,” Jinx murmured.

He looked at her then, studying her face in the pale starlight. There was something about the way she said it. In that soft, thoughtful, not the usual chaos-laced quip. For all her sharp edges, Jinx had these moments where the noise died down, and what was left was almost… fragile.

She caught him staring and tilted her head. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said with a small smile. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“That you don’t need to be jealous of Fortune.”

Her eyes flicked toward him, defensive but curious. “I wasn’t—”

He raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe a little,” she admitted, crossing her arms. “But can you blame me? She’s all… tall, red, dangerous, busty. Like if a romance novel had legs.”

“Yeah, well,” Dante said, leaning closer, “romance novels don’t blow up ships or snore in their sleep.”

Jinx smacked his arm. “I don’t snore.”

He grinned, the sound of his laughter low and easy. “Sure you don’t.”

For a while, they just sat there, bathed in starlight and the hum of quiet waves. The air between them softened.

After a moment, Jinx rested her head on his shoulder, speaking quietly. “You ever wonder if the ocean remembers? All the people who died in it. All the ships it took.”

Dante’s expression darkened, but he nodded. “Yeah. But maybe it forgets too. Maybe that’s the mercy of it.”

Jinx hummed softly. “Guess I could use some of that.”

He didn’t answer, he just reached over and laced his fingers through hers. Jinx leaned against the railing beside Dante, one hand idly spinning a small, unfinished bomb between her fingers like a coin.

“So…” she started, her tone light but edged with curiosity. “What exactly are we walking into? You’ve been dropping hints since we got to Bilgewater, but I still don’t get it. What’s waiting for us there?”

Dante’s eyes stayed on the water, the reflection of the moon glinting in his silver irises. “Slade and Marra and whatever of their army is left, and maybe the dead that never learned how to stay buried.”

“Creepy.”

He gave a faint, humorless smile. “That’s putting it nicely. The Isles weren’t always cursed. Used to be a kingdom, a proud one. Until some idiot thought he could cheat death for his wife. Now it’s just rot and memory.”

Jinx glanced up at him, studying his profile in the moonlight. 

“Sounds like your kind of place,” she said, trying to sound teasing, but it came out quieter than she meant.

He huffed through his nose. “Mm. sure.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Only the wind and the groan of the ship filled the air. Then, softly, Jinx asked, “You ever think about removing it?”

Dante blinked, looking at her. “What?”

“The brand.” She gestured toward his cheek, the faint metallic tattoo that caught the moonlight, the mark Bilgewater burned into his skin. “You’ve had it for years. You ever think about getting rid of it?”

He touched the side of his face without thinking, fingers tracing the familiar ridges of scar tissue. “I did. Once.”

“And now?”

He exhaled slowly, eyes falling to the waves again. “Now I don’t know if I want to. The mercury’s been in my blood too long. It… changed things. My healing. My senses. I’m not even sure I’d still be me without it.”

Jinx frowned, setting the bomb down on the railing beside her. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “But it’s the truth. It’s been part of me for five years. You learn to live with it after a while. Like a bad tattoo that burns sometimes.”

She crossed her arms, her voice softer now. “You shouldn’t have to just live with it. You didn’t choose it.”

“No,” Dante agreed quietly, “but it reminds me of why I survived. Of what I swore I’d never become again.”

Jinx studied him for a long moment, her gaze tracing the mark that once branded him property, then the quiet determination in his eyes. 

“You really think it doesn’t bother me?” She muttered.

He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“I see it every time you turn your head,” she said. “Every time someone stares too long. I hate it. Not because it’s ugly or anything, but because it’s theirs. And they don’t deserve to still have a mark on you.”

Dante didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, slowly, he reached out and brushed his thumb along her wrist. “You really don’t make it easy to hate this world, you know that?”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

His lips curved slightly. “Good.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was heavy, like a quiet understanding that didn’t need words. The sea around them seemed to darken, fog beginning to form at the edge of the horizon.

Dante’s gaze lingered on it for a moment before he spoke again, low and thoughtful. “Once we reach the Isles… don’t trust what you see. The dead there, they don’t just haunt. They whisper. Try to make you remember things that never happened.”

Jinx smirked faintly. “Good luck with that. My memories are already a mess.”

He chuckled softly. “Then you’ll fit right in.”

Her grin faltered, her tone softening. “You’re not going to leave me behind, right? Even if things get… bad?”

He turned to her, eyes steady in the moonlight. “Not a chance.”

Dante leaned his elbows on the railing, eyes following the slow churn of the sea beneath them. 

“So…” he began, his tone casual but with that faint, knowing lilt of his. “How’d the socializing go?”

Jinx groaned immediately, dragging her hands down her face. “Ugh, don’t start.”

He chuckled, tilting his head just enough to glance at her. “That bad?”

“They’re pirates, Dante,” she said flatly. “Half of them smell like rum and gunpowder, and the other half tried to ask me if I could make bombs that sing. And when I said maybe, they all laughed like I was joking.”

“Sounds like you fit right in,” he teased.

“Ha-ha,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “You know what I mean. I don’t do… small talk. Or laughing at dumb jokes. Or being normal. I just flirt dangerously to get a job done.”

Dante smirked but said nothing. The wind tugged at his white hair, his gaze drifting back toward the horizon. After a moment, Jinx frowned at him. 

“Why’d you even make me do it?” She asked, tone quieter now, less bite, more curiosity.

He didn’t answer right away. He straightened up, resting one hand on the railing. 

“Because,” he said finally, “I don’t want you to end up like me.”

She blinked. “Like you?”

He nodded slowly. “A lost puppy that only knows how to fight and move on. I spent half my life chasing ghosts and the other half trying not to care about people because every time I did, they died. It’s… easy to fall into that. To keep your world small.”

Jinx’s jaw tightened. “So you’re saying I’m clingy?”

He gave her a look that was half amused, half sincere. “I’m saying you’re your own person, Jinx. You don’t need me to stand in front of you all the time. You’ve got your own voice. You should use it.”

She stared at him, quiet for a few heartbeats. The waves slapped against the hull, the wind whispering through the rigging. Finally, she muttered, “You could’ve just said that instead of throwing me at a bunch of drunk sailors.”

Dante snorted. “Would you have listened?”

“…Probably not,” she admitted.

“Exactly.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, with her arms still crossed, Jinx spoke again. “You know, when you told me to go ‘socialize,’ it kinda felt like you were… pushing me away.”

He glanced at her, surprised by the softness in her tone. She kept going, staring at the water instead of him. 

“Like maybe I was too much. Too loud. Too… me.” She laughed awkwardly, but it didn’t sound real. “I know I can be a lot. I get it. People in Zaun used to tell me all the time. But hearing it from you, even in your quiet Dante way, it stung a little.”

He was silent for a long while, then finally spoke, voice low and steady. “Hey.”

Jinx hesitated before looking at him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “If anything, you’re the only person who’s ever made me want to stay anywhere longer than I should. You’re not too much. You just… need space to be yourself, that’s all. And I want to give you that.”

Her lips quirked upwards, but her voice came out smaller. “You’re lucky you said it like that, or I might’ve blown you up.”

Dante chuckled, bumping her shoulder gently with his. “You’d miss me too much if you did.”

“Maybe,” she said, smirking. “But I’d keep your coat.”

“Not happening.”

Their laughter faded into the hum of the sea. The ship swayed softly beneath them, the moonlight painting silver ripples across the water.

Jinx’s voice was quiet. “Fine. I’ll try this whole ‘social’ thing. But if one of them tries to touch my bombs again, I’m turning them into soup.”

“Deal,” Dante said, smiling faintly. 

Jinx kept watching the water sway under the ship, her reflection breaking and reforming with each ripple of moonlight. The silence between them had settled into something warm, steady, like the hum of the ocean itself.

“…Hey,” she said finally, voice softer than before. “Thanks.”

Dante tilted his head toward her. “For what?”

“For… y’know. Making me socialize.” She made a face, scratching her cheek. “Even if I sucked at it.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You didn’t suck that bad.”

“Yes I did,” she shot back immediately. “I nearly blew up a crate because one of the crewmen thought it’d be funny to poke at one of my grenades.”

He chuckled under his breath. “That’s their fault, not yours.”

Jinx smirked a little, but her voice lowered again, more thoughtful this time. “Still… I guess I needed that push. If Silco were still around, I’d probably still be stuck in my dusty hideout in Zaun, buried under piles of gunpowder and old memories. He never really wanted me to go out there, not unless it was for a job. Always said I was ‘too valuable’ to risk.”

Dante listened quietly, his expression unreadable. She continued, fingers fidgeting with her blue hair. “I think part of me liked it, being hidden. Safe. But the other part…” 

She glanced up at him, eyes flicking between his. “…The other part was dying in there. You know?”

He nodded once, eyes softening. “Yeah. I know.”

Jinx smirked again, trying to shake off the heaviness. 

“Still funny though,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “You tell me to socialize, but you’re the one who barely talks to anyone unless it’s business or bullets.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “I talk plenty.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You mostly grunt, flirt when it’s convenient, and somehow make every girl within a mile blush like it’s nothing.”

He gave a low, amused huff. “That last part’s not my fault.”

“Yeah, sure,” she teased, smirking. “Sarah. Me. Hell, I bet half the crew already has a little crush going. You’re like a walking bad-boy poster.”

Dante chuckled, shaking his head. “You jealous again?”

Jinx scrunched her nose. “Maybe. A little. It’s annoying when everyone wants what’s mine.”

He leaned closer, voice dipping low and smooth. “Good thing I’m not theirs, then.”

Her smirk faltered into something soft smile, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Yeah… good thing.”

They stood there, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm, the air between them heavy but calm. Jinx looked back toward the dark horizon, the endless stretch of sea ahead and murmured, “Guess we both kinda suck at being around people, huh?”

Dante smiled faintly. “Maybe. But we’re getting better at it.”

She grinned then, leaning into him again, letting his warmth steady her. “You sure you’re not just saying that so I don’t blow up your coat?”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

SARAH:
As the ship neared the fog of the Shadow Isles, the water around them turned still, too still. The waves that had once lapped against the hull now moved sluggishly, the air dense with a creeping chill. Even the gulls that had followed their voyage were gone.

Sarah stood by the helm, her sharp eyes scanning the dark horizon. Then, quietly, she called out, “Dante. A moment.”

Jinx looked up from where she sat fiddling with one of her bombs. Dante gave her a reassuring glance before following Sarah toward the lower deck. The sound of creaking wood and muffled sea wind filled the space as Sarah led him into her quarters. A lantern swung lightly overhead, casting gold and shadow over her face.

“What’s this about?” Dante asked, folding his arms, his tone cautious but curious.

Sarah didn’t waste words. “We found something, something that might actually help you.”

He arched a brow. “Help me?”

She gestured toward her desk, where a few scattered pages lay open, filled with scrawled notes and anatomical sketches. “A way to remove that brand of yours. Completely.”

That got his attention. His hand instinctively brushed his cheek, tracing the faint outline of the Bilgewater sigil burned into his skin,

Sarah continued, “It’s not magic. It’s surgical. The brand’s ink was made with a chemical compound: mercury. It can be extracted, but only through a precise procedure. You’d need specific reagents and stabilizers to keep the mercury from spreading through your bloodstream.”

Dante frowned, studying her. “And I’m guessing those reagents are why you wanted to head to the Isles with me, huh?”

“Exactly.” Sarah tapped one of the sketches. “They’re materials found only there. Materials that can neutralize corrupted toxins. My crew’s been collecting intel on them for months.”

Dante exhaled slowly, leaning against the table. “That’s… impressive. But you don’t need to worry about me. I could just burn it off and heal it.”

Sarah’s gaze hardened. “And risk spreading mercury through your whole system? That brand isn’t regular ink anymore, Dante, it’s fused to your blood. You try to burn it out, it’ll melt into your veins. You’d poison yourself from the inside out.”

He paused, his usual smirk faltering. “You sure about that?”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping low. “You think I’d bring it up if I wasn’t? I’ve seen what mercury poisoning does to normal men. You’re not normal, sure, but that brand was made to hurt you, not mark you. Both Gangplank and Slade knew what they were doing.”

Dante went quiet for a moment, staring off to the side. The fog outside pressed against the window, thick and ghostly, making the room feel smaller.

“Guess you’ve been keeping tabs on me longer than I thought,” he murmured, tone soft but not unkind.

Sarah folded her arms. “Let’s just say I don’t like seeing my old flame walking around half-broken.”

He gave a faint, lopsided grin. “You always did have a soft spot.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Just… think about it, Dante. If we make it back alive, this could be your chance to finally be free of that brand. Of Bilgewater.”

Dante’s gaze dropped, his hand brushing the sigil again. The faint thrum beneath his skin was a reminder.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll think about it.”

Outside, a crewmember shouted, “Land ahead!”

The fog parted just enough for the jagged silhouette of the Shadow Isles to emerge. The black cliffs crowned with dead trees and green fire flickering in the mist. And for the first time in years, Dante felt a chill that wasn’t just the sea.

DANTE:
The first glimpse of the Shadow Isles came like a bruise on the horizon, the black cliffs jutting out of the mist, their tips crowned with dead, skeletal trees. Sickly green fire pulsed faintly in the fog, casting the illusion of veins crawling through the air. The ocean itself looked wrong here, too still, too dark, as if something beneath the waves watched them back.

Jinx stood near the bow, her arms crossed tight against her chest, the wind whipping her hair across her face. For once, she wasn’t grinning or humming under her breath. Her wide blue eyes flickered between the fog and the faint, ghostly glow crawling across the water’s surface.

“Creepy doesn’t even begin to cover it…” she muttered, half to herself. “Feels like the whole place is… breathing.”

Dante stepped up beside her, adjusting the strap across his chest. His expression was harder to read, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. “You’re not wrong. Places like this… they remember what’s died here.”

Jinx glanced up at him, noticing how the usual sharpness in his gaze had dulled into something closer to caution. The brand on his cheek seemed to throb faintly, catching the green light like a warning.

“Hey,” she said softly, bumping her shoulder into his arm. “You look as freaked out as I feel.”

He smirked faintly. “Guess that makes two of us.”

Sarah’s voice broke through the fog. “We’ll need to pick a landing point before the mist thickens. Shadow Isle currents shift fast, you get caught in the wrong one, you’ll end up circling till the sea eats you.”

Dante turned to her, tone firm. “Then we split.”

Sarah’s brow arched. “Split?”

He nodded, unfolding the map, laying it across the rail. The paper trembled in the wind, ink smearing slightly from sea spray. “You and your crew circle the island, check the ports, scout for any sign of Slade and Marra’s forces. If they’ve got ships, they’ll be close to shore. I don’t want them sneaking up on us.”

Sarah frowned, eyes scanning the cliffs. “And what about you?”

“Jinx and I’ll go inland,” Dante said. “You mentioned needing supplies for that… procedure. We’ll find them. The longer we wait, the more likely their men will scatter or regroup.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “You sure about that? The Isles aren’t just haunted, they’re alive. They’ll eat you alive if you go in blind.”

He gave a faint smirk. “Wouldn’t be the first time something tried.”

Jinx stepped closer, resting a hand on the rail. “And what if we run into ghosts, huh? Or worse?”

Dante looked at her, his tone calm but resolute. “Then we do what we always do. We blow it up.”

That earned a small grin from her, uneasy, but genuine. “You’re damn right we do.”

Sarah exhaled, shaking her head. “Fine. You’re impossible. But if I don’t hear cannon fire or see a flare by sunset tomorrow, I’m coming in after you myself.”

Dante’s grin softened. “Wouldn’t expect any less.”

As Sarah turned to bark orders to her crew, Jinx leaned closer to Dante, lowering her voice. “You really think we can find that surgery stuff in this ghost island?”

He glanced toward the misty shore ahead, where jagged rocks jutted like teeth. “If the stories are true, then yeah. Everything we need, and everything we don’t, will be waiting for us there.”

The ship began to slow, the creak of ropes and pulleys filling the silence as they prepared to drop anchor near the fog-choked coast.

Jinx swallowed, fidgeting with the small grenade holstered on her thigh. “Guess we’re really doing this, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dante said, his voice steady but his eyes distant. “One way or another.”

The longboat was lowered into the dark water. Jinx and Dante climbed in, side by side, as the mist swallowed them from the crew’s sight. The rowboat scraped against wet black sand as the mist thinned just enough to reveal the shore of the Shadow Isles. The air felt heavy, carrying the faint hum of something ancient and hungry.

Dante stepped off first, boots sinking slightly into the damp ground. Every footfall seemed to echo, like the island itself was listening. Behind him, Jinx climbed out, one hand already twitching toward her belt of grenades.

“Okay…” she muttered, glancing around. “Ten outta ten on the haunted-house vibe.”

The trees ahead weren’t truly trees at all, they were twisted shapes that once were, now half petrified and half bone. Ghostly vines clung to them, pulsing with faint green light. The sky overhead was a bruised gray, streaked with faint cracks of teal lightning that didn’t make a sound.

Dante reached into his satchel, pulling out the small packet Sarah had handed him before they left. Inside were notes written in her elegant, looping hand, ink blotched by sea air. Jinx leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the pages.

“‘Components for mercury extraction and containment,’” Dante read aloud, eyes narrowing. “Distilled Soulwater, found near grave pools… and something called Heartroot moss.”

Jinx wrinkled her nose. “Sounds gross.”

“Most things that work usually are,” Dante said, scanning ahead. He crouched, setting the rest of their gear down beside him. The Force Edge and the pouch of small tools, bandages, a flare, and the few bombs Jinx managed to make. Sarah had slipped in a small lantern too, one that burned with a strange blue flame instead of fire.

Jinx picked it up, shaking it a little. “Huh. How’s this thing even working?”

“It’s not fire,” Dante murmured. “Soul energy. The Isles have it everywhere, you just don’t wanna touch it raw.”

The flame flickered brighter, catching the faint shimmer of footprints in the mud ahead. Human, but old. Jinx crouched beside him, eyes narrowing. “Someone’s been here. Recently?”

Dante nodded at her words. “Maybe. Could be scavengers. Could be something worse.”

A faint whisper rolled through the mist, words twisting but never forming. Jinx froze, hand hovering over her pistol. “Tell me you heard that.”

He nodded again. “Ignore it. The Isles like to play tricks.”

“Play tricks? You mean like talking fog?”

“Yeah,” he said grimly, scanning the treeline. “Voices of the dead. They’ll try to get in your head if you let them.”

Jinx straightened, trying to sound unfazed even though her voice wavered. “Pfft. Not the first time I’ve had voices in there.”

Dante gave her a look that was half concern, half amusement. “Yeah, but these ones don’t flirt back.”

That earned him a weak smirk before she turned serious again. “So we find this moss crap and soulwater, right? What then?”

He folded the note, tucking it into his pocket. “Then we find Slade and Marra, or we find Sarah and the crew.”

Jinx stayed silent at Dante’s words as she picked up the lantern and started walking forward, her boots crunching through the ash-stained ground. “Fine. But if some ghost tries whispering sweet nothings in my ear, I’m blowing it up.”

Dante followed close behind, sword resting against his shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, Juniper.”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered, but there was a trace of a grin hiding there too.

As they walked deeper into the black forest, faint green motes floated up from the soil, like sparks of dying souls rising toward the sky. The deeper they went, the more the whispers grew, forming faint echoes of laughter, cries, and something else… something rhythmic, pulsing under the surface like a heartbeat buried in the earth. The forest opened into a clearing that shouldn’t exist, as if something massive had torn the land open and left it bleeding. Black stone jutted out of the ground in spires, slick with condensation that glimmered faintly under the soul-light. The air grew colder, so cold that when Jinx exhaled, her breath turned to frost.

At the center of the clearing lay what Sarah’s notes called a grave pool. It wasn’t water, it was something darker, thicker, shifting with dim green light. Ghostly faces shimmered on its surface, vanishing when looked at directly.

Jinx slowed her steps. “…You sure this is it?”

Dante crouched at the edge, studying the unnatural ripple. “Yeah. Soulwater.” 

He grabbed the lantern from Jinx and dipped it low, letting its blue flame catch the faint reflection of writhing shapes beneath the surface. “Sarah said the energy from these pools reacts to mercury, it’ll pull it out, but it needs a stabilizer. That moss.”

“Right, the Heartroot whatever.” Jinx kicked a rock into the pool. It hit the surface and sank without a splash, like falling through glass. “This place sucks.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Dante murmured, scanning the treeline. His hand drifted toward the Force Edge. “Stay sharp. The Isles don’t stay quiet long.”

The mist stirred. At first, Jinx thought it was the wind. But then came a sound. A wet and rhythmic, like something walking on broken limbs. Dante rose slowly, motion smooth but tense. “We’ve got company.”

From the fog, figures began to emerge, half-rotted silhouettes, armor fused into bone, their eyes faint embers in hollow sockets. Old pirates, soldiers, mercenaries, whatever they were in life, now they moved with the same purpose: hunger.

Jinx’s pulse spiked. Her hand shot to her pistol, thumbing back the hammer with a sharp click. “Guess they don’t wanna talk?”

“Not their strong suit,” Dante said, drawing Ebony and Ivory in one motion. He didn’t even aim, he just started firing.

Twin cracks split the air, each shot bursting with faint red energy as skulls shattered and bodies crumpled, but every time they fell, mist poured out of them, reforming, twisting back into shape.

“Dante!” Jinx shouted, firing alongside him. “They’re not staying dead!”

“I noticed!”

Jinx dove behind a stone pillar, pulling a small bomb from her belt. “Then maybe this’ll help!” 

She hurled it into the crowd. The explosion tore through the air, light flaring blue-white instead of orange. The shockwave scattered the mist, some of it screeching like metal against glass before vanishing.

When the smoke cleared, Dante holstered his guns and nodded. “Nice one.”

“Please,” Jinx said, panting. “That was barely a warm-up.”

But even as she smirked, her gaze drifted back to the grave pool. The calm surface had begun to ripple again, faster this time, like the pool itself was breathing.

She swallowed. “…Hey, Dante?”

He followed her gaze and felt the prickle crawl up his spine. Something was coming. But before it could rise, Jinx’s voice dropped, quieter than he’d ever heard it.

“Do you ever think maybe…” She hesitated, staring at her pistol, the faint reflection of her pink eyes glowing in the barrel. “Maybe I’m not enough for this kind of thing?”

Dante turned to her, surprised. “What?”

“I mean, look at them,” she said, motioning toward the mist. “You’ve got a demon sword, demon blood, those fancy guns I’ve made. I’ve got… bullets and some toys I barely made with Nell’s scraps.” 

She forced a laugh, but it cracked halfway through. “You ever think I’m just slowing you down?”

Dante studied her, really studied her. The way her hand shook even when she tried to hide it. The way her eyes darted everywhere except at him. He holstered his guns and walked closer, slow and deliberate. 

“Jinx,” he said softly, “I’ve fought a god, devils, and things that didn’t even have names. You know what saved my ass more than once?”

She frowned. “What?”

He gave her a small, crooked grin. “A bomb with a smiley face on it.”

That earned a laugh, a real one this time, quiet but raw. “You’re such a liar.”

“Maybe,” he said, looking back at the pool. “But if I didn’t think you were enough, you wouldn’t be here.”

The pool pulsed again, louder now, deeper. The mist recoiled. Whatever lived beneath the grave pool was finally waking up.

Dante drew the Force Edge, the blade humming faintly. “Time to prove it.”

Jinx grinned, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Hell yeah.” 

She loaded a new round, twirling her pistol. “Let’s wake the dead.”

The ground trembled under their boots. The grave pool split open, black water rising like tendrils dragged upward by invisible hands. A roar tore through the clearing that was deep, guttural, and hollow all at once. A colossal shape clawed its way free from the mire.

It wasn’t flesh. It wasn’t bone. It was both.

A corpse-giant, made of dozens of tangled skeletons, fused together by spectral ooze and shards of rusted armor. The stench of death rolled out from it like a wave. Its empty eye sockets burned green, and as it reared up, the entire pool drained into its body.

“…Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jinx muttered. “That thing’s cheating!”

Dante stepped forward, blade already in hand, the faint purple glow of the Force Edge cutting through the green fog. “Welcome to the Shadow Isles.”

The creature lunged.

Dante met it head-on, the impact shaking the ground. Metal screeched against bone as he slashed through a massive claw, sending shards scattering. The beast’s body simply reformed, twisting, bone sliding over bone, like it couldn’t remember it was supposed to be dead.

“Okay, that’s new,” Dante grunted, ducking under another swing.

Jinx, already darting along the edge of the clearing, pulled two grenades from her belt. “Then let’s teach it some anatomy!”

She threw both, one high, one low. They detonated midair with twin flashes of azure, burning away sections of the creature’s body with volatile explosions. The undead giant shrieked as its midsection crumbled, exposing a pulsating green core buried in the mess of bone.

“There!” Dante shouted.

“On it!” Jinx fired, each bullet striking sparks off the exposed heart, but it only seemed to anger it more. The creature let out a soul-splitting wail, its arm elongating unnaturally and sweeping across the clearing.

“Jinx!” Dante shouted. But too late.

The hit sent her flying, crashing into the stone and rolling hard. She coughed, pain shooting through her ribs, but when she looked up, Dante was already in the air. The Force Edge glowing purple.

“Let’s end this!”

He brought the blade down with a roar. The strike split the air, cutting through the creature’s chest and deep into the ground. Light burst from the wound, then the entire thing erupted, green fire consuming it from the inside out. When the echoes finally died, only ash and shards of armor remained, sinking slowly back into the pool.

Minutes later, silence returned to the clearing. Jinx sat against a cracked stone, catching her breath while Dante cleaned off his blade with a bit of tattered cloth. The faint sound of waves somewhere in the distance was the only reminder they weren’t completely lost.

“Okay,” Jinx exhaled, tossing a bone fragment aside. “I’m just gonna say it… killing demons is way easier than killing whatever the hell that was.”

Dante chuckled lowly, slipping the Force Edge into its sheath. “You’re not wrong. Demons you can predict. They bleed, they burn, they scream. The undead? They cheat.”

Jinx smirked faintly. “Guess that’s why you like fighting demons more.”

He gave a half-grin. “Maybe. Though the demons we’ve run into lately? Pretty low to mid-tier stuff. The real ones…” 

He trailed off, eyes darkening slightly. “You don’t wanna meet them.”

That caught her curiosity. “What’s the difference? What makes a ‘high-class’ demon?”

Dante paused, thoughtful. “Power, mostly. The kind that bends reality. The kind that makes other demons kneel. They don’t necessarily need claws or fire, they just exist, and everything around them starts to rot.” 

He glanced at her, a wry smile tugging his mouth. “Closest we’ve come to that? Probably me.”

Jinx blinked, half teasing, half serious. “Because you’re the son of Sparda.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Silence hung for a moment, broken only by the hiss of steam rising from the dying pool. Jinx tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you ever tell Sarah that?”

Dante didn’t answer immediately. He just looked out toward the mists curling beyond the clearing. “No,” he said finally. “And I don’t plan to.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s see…” Dante began to count with his fingers. “Singed used my blood to make Vander into a super-demon-wolf. Viktor used it to power himself for his glorious evolution. The Rabbit wanted to use my blood to merge the spirit and our realm together. Seems like everyone that knows I’m part demon wants to use me. Besides you.”

Jinx studied him for a long moment, then quietly got up. She walked over to a patch of glowing moss growing near the pool. Heartroot Moss, just like Sarah’s notes described. Carefully, she began to gather it into one of the empty vials.

“Well,” she said softly, glancing at him with a faint smirk, “guess good thing you’re stuck with me.”

Dante looked at her with a rare, small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “And I’m glad.”

She grinned, brushing dust from her cheek. “Good boy.”

The fog only grew thicker the deeper they went, wrapping around them like a living thing. The air reeked of brine and rot, every step sinking slightly into the cold, wet earth. Dante led the way, pistols, while Jinx trailed a few steps behind, her eyes scanning every flicker of movement in the haze. They came upon the remains of a makeshift camp, half-collapsed tents and dying embers scattered across the ground. A few footprints lingered in the mud, heavy bootprints. Dante crouched, brushing his fingers along the damp ash.

“Less than a day,” he murmured. “Maybe twelve hours.”

Jinx tilted her head, glancing around. “So Slade’s men were camping here? Guess even zombies don’t mess with pirates.”

“Slade’s crew are more organized than they used to be than they used to be under Gangplank,” Dante said, standing as his eyes swept over the scene. “I got that much from the four names before I put ‘em down.”

Jinx shifted her weight, curious. “Yeah? What did they spill?”

Dante’s gaze hardened. “That Slade’s planning a full-scale strike on Bilgewater and on Sarah. He’s rallying what’s left of Gangplank’s loyalists under his name.”

Jinx blinked. “Who’s Gangplankt again?”

“The pirate king that killed Sarah’s parents when she was a kid.” Dante said casually. “I was there when he died, cut off his arm before he sank to his death.”

Jinx kicked a broken bottle, watching it roll into the weeds. “So, pirates worshipping a dead guy. Sounds about right for Bilgewater.”

“Yeah, well,” Dante muttered, glancing toward the tree line, “that’s not the worst of it.”

 He knelt again, his sharp eyes moving over the trampled mud, the broken pattern of prints. “They broke camp in a hurry. Too clean for panic. Organized retreat. They’re not heading deeper.”

Jinx frowned. “Not deeper?”

He shook his head, pointing to a patch of disturbed earth where a compass had fallen and cracked open. “The tracks curve east, toward the coast.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re saying…”

“They’re already gone,” Dante finished, standing and holstering his pistol. “They packed up hours ago. While we were making our way here, Slade’s men were moving toward Bilgewater.”

Jinx’s shoulders stiffened. “So we’re walking into the fog while they’re sailing straight for her?”

Dante nodded grimly. “Looks that way. He’s smart enough to make it look like he was hiding here. Throw us off just long enough.”

Jinx crossed her arms. “You sound way too confident about that. You been doing recon work behind my back?”

A faint smirk tugged at Dante’s lips. “I used to do this for a living. Hunting devils, tracking targets… you learn how to read a trail.”

Jinx’s expression softened, though a spark of something else flashed in her eyes. “You know,” she murmured, “it’s kind of unfair how hot you sound when you’re being all detective-y. Makes me wet.”

Dante glanced back at her, one brow lifting and with a smirk. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said with a grin, stepping closer. “You’re out here analyzing footprints and I’m thinking, ‘damn, this guy’s brain is illegal. Give it to me right here, right now.’”

He chuckled under his breath. “You really need better taste, babygirl.”

“Not changing it now,” she shot back, smirking.

But as her playful grin faded, the reality settled between them. Bilgewater was in danger, and they were a day behind. Dante’s expression turned serious again.

“Whatever Slade’s planning, it’s not small,” he said quietly. “And if he’s doing it in Gangplank’s name, he’s aiming to make Bilgewater burn.”

Jinx’s smile vanished completely. “Then we better stop wasting time.”

Dante nodded “Yeah. Let’s move.”

As they pushed onward, the fog swallowed the remnants of the abandoned camp behind them. The trail ahead twisted deeper into the mist, and though neither said it aloud.

The fog began to thin as they reached the jagged coastline, the black cliffs of the Shadow Isles giving way to a narrow inlet where faint lights flickered between the mist. The sound of waves slapping against hulls reached them first. Jinx was the first to spot the ship. 

“Hey,” she nudged Dante and pointed toward the faint silhouette of sails half-shrouded in green fog. “That’s Fortune’s ship.”

Dante exhaled in relief. “Good. At least they close by.”

By the time they stepped out of the fog and onto the darkened pier, Sarah and Grue’s crew were already moving, lanterns swinging, boots thudding against damp wood as they combed the shoreline. Grue was barking orders when he noticed the pair approaching. “Well, I’ll be damned, look who crawled out of the mist.”

Sarah turned at that, her pistols at her hips and her coat whipping in the cold sea breeze. 

“You two took your time,” she said sharply, though her expression softened slightly at the sight of them. “Find anything?”

Dante stopped a few feet from her, his tone even. “Yeah. And you’re not gonna like it.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Slade’s not here,” he said grimly. “Neither’s Marra. They were camping on the west ridge yesterday. They’re already gone.”

Sarah’s hand tightened around the hilt of one of her pistols. “Gone where?”

“Bilgewater,” Dante said. “They’re moving fast. Probably already halfway there. They’re planning a full-scale strike. In Gangplank’s name.”

The words hit her like a gunshot. The color drained from her face, anger flaring just beneath the shock. 

“That bastard,” she muttered. “He’s using Gangplank’s ghost to rally the rest. Every scavenger with a grudge will answer that call.”

“Exactly,” Dante said. “They’re not hiding, they’re gonna make a statement.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The sea hissed below them, restless and cold. Then Sarah drew a deep breath and looked up at Dante again. “Did you at least get what we came for?”

Dante reached into his pack and pulled out a small satchel wrapped in oilcloth. Inside, faint green light shimmered. The samples of the grave moss, fragments of bone powder, and vials filled with spectral liquid. 

“All of it,” he said. “The ingredients you needed.”

Sarah took it, inspecting the contents quickly, her expression softening with a strange mix of relief and guilt. 

“You actually found it,” she said quietly. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“You said you needed it for the surgery,” Dante said, stepping closer. “To get this brand off my face. You think this’ll work?”

Sarah nodded, her voice steady again. “It should. We’ll need precision tools and the alchemical stabilizers, but this is what makes it possible.” 

She glanced at his cheek, the faint mercury lines glinting beneath his skin. “You’ve carried that poison long enough.”

Jinx crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Sarah looked at her, then at Dante. “We set sail immediately. If Slade’s heading for Bilgewater, we’ll need every hour we can get.”

Grue was already shouting for the crew to haul the ropes and raise the anchor. Lanterns swung wildly as the ship came alive again.

Dante looked back toward the mist, the eerie glow of the Isles fading behind them. “Feels like we’re walking out of one nightmare straight into another.”

Jinx gave a crooked grin, though her eyes betrayed her worry. “Then let’s make sure the next one’s theirs.”

Sarah smirked faintly at that before turning toward the horizon. “All aboard. We’ve got a city to save.”

As the sails caught the wind and the Shadow Isles disappeared behind them, the tension aboard the ship settled into a heavy silence, one that carried the weight of war, old ghosts, and unspoken fears.

⸻

The voyage back to Bilgewater began under a sickly sky, the kind that couldn’t decide between dawn or storm. The sea was eerily still, pale green waves breaking against the hull like sighs from something old and forgotten. The Shadow Isles had vanished behind the fog, but their presence lingered in the air like a curse that followed them home.

Dante leaned against the railing near the helm, his coat fluttering from the wind and his gaze fixed on the horizon. The wind teased through his white hair, but his thoughts were far from calm. Sarah stood beside him, maps and notes clutched under one arm, her other hand resting on her hip as she tracked the distant skyline. Jinx sat on a crate nearby, spinning a small bomb between her fingers, the faint clicking sound filling the quiet.

Finally, Dante broke the silence. “How long would it take?”

Sarah looked at him, brow arched. “For what?”

“The surgery,” he said, tapping his cheek. “You said it could remove the brand. How long until I’d be… back on my feet?”

Sarah’s expression softened slightly, but her voice stayed practical. “Under normal circumstances? Two weeks, maybe more. The extraction isn’t the hard part. It’s keeping the mercury from spreading while the tissue regenerates. One wrong cut and it seeps into your bloodstream.”

Jinx made a face. “Sounds like a blast.”

Sarah shot her a dry look before continuing. “But… you’re not exactly normal, are you?”

Dante gave a humorless smirk. “Guess not.”

“With your healing factor,” Sarah said, stepping closer, “you might be back in a few days. A week, tops. But—” she leaned on the railing, eyes narrowing at him “—that’s still time you wouldn’t be fighting. And right now? Bilgewater needs every blade it can get.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “So you’re saying wait.”

“I’m saying survive first,” she replied firmly. “If you go under the knife now, you won’t make it to the docks before they’re overrun.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of waves filled the pause, the distant groan of wood and rope underscoring the weight of the decision hanging between them.

Jinx tossed her bomb and caught it, her tone light but her eyes serious. “So, what, you’re keeping the fancy face mark a little longer? Gotta say, it kinda suits you. Makes you look meaner.”

Dante smirked, glancing at her. “Meaner, huh? You like that?”

Jinx’s cheeks pinked slightly, though she played it off with a shrug. “Better than the clean-cut version. That guy probably used soap.”

Sarah snorted softly. “He didn’t.”

Jinx glanced at her sharply, instantly catching the old familiarity in her tone, and Dante subtly cleared his throat. 

“Right,” he muttered. “Anyway…”

He looked back out toward the horizon, the first shadow of Bilgewater’s cliffs barely visible against the dark sea. “We’ll handle Slade first. Then… maybe I’ll finally let you cut this thing out.”

Sarah nodded once, practical as ever. “Good. I’ll have the tools ready either way.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time, just calm, steady, like the quiet before a storm. Jinx leaned back, gazing at the waves. “You think Slade’s ready for us?”

Dante grinned faintly, the kind of grin that came before chaos. “Doesn’t matter if it is. We’re coming either way.”

Sarah smiled too, though her eyes stayed sharp and calculating as she turned back toward the helm. “Then let’s make sure we give them one hell of a homecoming.”

⸻

The sails snapped hard as Bilgewater’s jagged skyline came into view. Smoke curling in thin, black tendrils from the portside docks. The air stank of gunpowder and salt, the kind of scent that never meant good news. Jinx leaned forward on the railing, wind whipping her twin braids behind her. 

“Guess we missed the welcome party,” she said, her grin thin.

Dante’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. The sporadic flashes of cannon fire, the distant shouts echoing off the cliffs. It wasn’t a full siege, more like a coordinated strike, but the damage was clear. 

“Could’ve been worse,” he muttered.

Sarah appeared beside them, her spyglass raised, one boot braced on the railing. She swept it across the bay, voice calm but edged with command. “You’re right. They’re only hitting the outer docks. Slade’s forces are spread thin. Probably expected their generals to lead the charge.”

Dante gave a dry chuckle. “Too bad they’re not around to show up.”

Sarah glanced at him, lowering the scope slightly. “Thanks to your handiwork.”

He shrugged. “Guess I saved you a few cannonballs.”

Jinx tilted her head toward the sea, squinting. “Still a few too many out there for comfort.”

Sarah adjusted the scope again, then froze. Her jaw set, eyes narrowing as she focused on a massive ship anchoring near the eastern dock, its hull blackened with burn marks. 

“There,” she said. “Slade’s flagship. The Widow’s Fang.”

Jinx leaned beside her, trying to catch a glimpse. “Ugh, that thing looks like it crawled out of hell.”

Sarah’s lips tightened. “Fitting. He’s steering it himself.”

Dante stepped up beside her. “Slade’s there?”

She nodded. “And Marra. Looks like she’s running the cannons. If they breach the harbor wall, the whole east quarter’s done.”

The three of them stood there for a long moment, watching the chaos unfold. Smaller ships darting between the wreckage, fire lighting the horizon like embers in fog. Finally, Sarah exhaled and straightened, snapping the spyglass shut. “Alright. We hit the Fang first. Take the head, the rest falls apart.”

Jinx grinned. “Straight to the boss fight. I like it.”

Dante crossed his arms, thinking. “He’ll have a full crew on board. Maybe fifty men, minimum. You’ll need someone to cover the ship while we go in.”

Sarah smirked. “Already thought of that. Grue and the gunners handle the distraction. You two slip in from the aft side, quieter that way. I’ll join you once we breach the deck.”

Jinx tossed a small bomb in her hand. “So basically, blow up their favorite toy and shoot whoever’s left?”

Dante gave her a sideways smirk. “More or less. But don’t jump the gun this time.”

She pouted playfully. “No promises.”

Sarah turned to her crew, barking sharp orders. Ropes were cut, cannons loaded, the ship turning with a deep, wooden groan toward the enemy line. Dante reached for Ebony & Ivory, checking the chambers. 

“You ready for this?” He asked without looking at Jinx.

Jinx cracked her neck and loaded her pistol. “You kidding? Been bored since the Isles.”

As their ship surged forward into the smoke and thunder of Bilgewater’s harbor, the trio braced themselves. The Widow’s Fang cut like a black silhouette through the mist. Every few seconds, cannon fire flashed from her deck, lighting up the shattered docks.

Dante and Jinx crouched low in the shadow of a derelict tugboat drifting alongside. The hull groaned beneath their boots as they prepared the grappling line.

“Alright,” Dante murmured, checking the hook’s tension. “Once we’re on, stay close. Marra’s gunners will be all over the starboard side. We take the aft ladder, stay low, hit the deck when I say.”

Jinx rolled her shoulders, her grin half-hidden by the rising fog. “Got it, captain. Silent entry, no fireworks… unless someone sees us, then I blow ‘em sky high.”

“Preferably before that,” he muttered, hooking the line.

She chuckled. “You’re no fun sometimes.”

They scaled the rope with practiced ease. Dante first, his boots finding quiet purchase on the slick iron plating, followed by Jinx, who moved like a cat despite the pistol and grenades on her hip. Once aboard, the creak of the ship surrounded them, footsteps above, faint voices, the smell of oil and salt and old blood.

Jinx whispered to Dante. “Feels weird being on a ship that wants to kill me.”

Dante’s smirk was brief. “That’s how Bilgewater is.”

They slipped between stacks of crates toward the mid-deck. But as they paused behind a bulkhead, Dante stopped. His eyes lingered on the dark water beyond the railing, distant cannon fire echoing in the night.

“Jinx,” he said quietly.

She turned, noticing the shift in his tone. “What?”

He hesitated, his expression was something rare for him. “You don’t have to be here. This… revenge thing? It doesn’t end well. Never does.”

She frowned. “You’re saying that now?”

He looked at her, the dim lantern light catching the tired edge in his expression. 

“Every story like this ends the same way. Someone chasing vengeance loses everything that mattered along the way. Usually someone they—” he exhaled, voice low “—care about.”

Jinx blinked, her smirk faltering. “Oh.”

Dante shook his head, staring toward the deck above where muffled shouting rang out. “If anything happens to you because of this, because of me, then this whole thing—” 

He clenched his jaw. “It’d prove I didn’t learn a damn thing.”

For a moment, the chaos above faded. Only the sea and the soft groan of wood filled the space between them. Jinx stepped closer, her tone softer but still carrying that spark. “Dante… you remember what happened three weeks ago? The whole mess with Viktor’s metal army with Ambessa’s Noxian invasion?”

He gave her a wary nod. She poked his chest lightly. “We survived that. The end of the world. You really think some crusty pirate and his girlfriend are gonna take us down?”

A small laugh escaped him despite himself. “You make it sound simple.”

“It is simple,” she said, grin returning. “We don’t die. Everyone else does.”

Dante huffed out a quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” she said, stepping past him, “but I’m your impossible.”

Before he could respond, she moved, kicking open the hatch to the upper deck, her gun flashing once in the dim light. A sentry dropped instantly, and she glanced back over her shoulder with a wicked smirk. “Now quit brooding and help me make some noise.”

Dante grinned, drawing Ebony and Ivory. “Careful what you wish for.”

And with that, the two surged onto the Widow’s Fang, shadows cutting through smoke and flame. Side by side, again.

The deck of the Widow’s Fang erupted into chaos.

Gunfire cracked through the night, each flash illuminating the storm-slick wood and tattered sails. Smoke coiled around the masts like ghosts, cannon bursts lighting the horizon where Bilgewater’s coast burned faintly in the distance. Jinx vaulted over a crate, rolling into cover, her pistol already barking three clean shots that dropped a trio of pirates before they could aim. Dante moved beside her, fluid and precise. Ebony and Ivory spitting fire in perfect rhythm, every shot calculated, every movement brutal efficiency.

“Guess subtlety’s off the table!” Jinx shouted over the roar, tossing a small bomb that sent a group of deckhands flying into the mast.

“Wasn’t your strong suit anyway!” Dante quipped, cutting down another with the Force Edge as it gleamed under the moonlight, cleaving through armor like parchment.

The deck was soon a blur of smoke and screaming steel. Pirates charged from all sides, like desperate, cornered men, and Dante moved through them like a storm given shape. His coat flared, each strike deliberate, every shot paired with Jinx’s mad laughter echoing through the din. 

Then, a booming voice cut through the noise. “Well, well, well… the little stray of Bilgewater finally crawls back from hell.”

From the rear deck, Slade emerged and beside him, descending the steps with feline grace, came Marra, dual pistols drawn, eyes like burning sapphires.

Without hesitation, Jinx sprinted sideways, vaulting over the railing to the lower deck as Marra followed, both vanishing in a hail of gunfire and smoke. That left Dante and Slade. 

The pirate captain cracked his neck. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again, boy. Last time I did, Gangplank and I made sure you were bleeding mercury like a gutted fish.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Guess I made an impression.”

Slade grinned, sharklike. “Didn’t even know what we were pumping into you. Gangplank said it’d make you a mark of fear. I think it just made you uglier.”

Dante raised his sword, its edge glowing faintly purple from its demonic energy pulsed. “Yeah? Let’s see if you can still talk after I cut that grin off.”

Slade charged, with a hooked blade. He swung, sparks exploding as metal clashed with Force Edge. Dante met the strike head-on, boots skidding across the deck as he twisted, kicking Slade backward with a burst of force. The impact sent Slade crashing into a mast, but he came back swinging, slashing through the air, every strike leaving trails of dark energy. Dante dodged, ducked, countered, until Slade feinted, grabbed him by the coat, and slammed him into the railing.

“You think you’re better than me?” Slade snarled, pressing the blade toward Dante’s throat. “You think you’re special?”

Dante gritted his teeth, eyes flashing red. “No. But it makes me harder to kill.”

He twisted, his demonic strength exploding in a flash, his hand gripping Slade’s wrist, bones creaking as he crushed the arm. Then, spinning with impossible speed, Dante drove his sword through Slade’s shoulder, pinning him against the mast.

Slade roared. “You’ll bleed just like the rest!”

“Been there,” Dante said coldly, wiping blood from his lip. “Didn’t stick.”

Above them, the ship rocked as Jinx’s laughter echoed through the smoke. A chaotic melody of madness and joy as she and Marra traded volleys across the deck below. The battle raged in two halves. The calm, deadly precision of a pirate against the roaring chaos of a gun-crazy prodigy.

Jins slid across the slick boards, firing her pistol in short, controlled bursts, using the recoil to spin into cover. Marra was quick , too quick, her twin pistols spitting molten rounds that blew apart barrels and carved splinters from the mast behind Jinx.

“Running already?” Marra taunted, voice echoing over the crash of waves. “Thought you’d have some bite!”

Jinx popped out of cover with a manic grin, a grenade already primed between her teeth. 

“Oh, sweetie—” she spat the pin, lobbed it, and ducked as the blast tore half the railing apart, “—you’re about to find out!”

Marra darted through the smoke, flipping over the debris with effortless precision. Her boots barely made a sound as she landed, her silhouette cutting through the fog like a phantom. But Jinx was already moving, she knew better than to stand still.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Marra’s shots tracked her perfectly, one grazing Jinx’s shoulder and another tearing through her belt pouch. Jinx cursed under her breath, ducking behind a toppled crate.

“You’ve got good aim,” she shouted. “Too bad I’m better at making a mess!”

She kicked a loose lantern that fell right between them, oil splattering across the deck before igniting. Flames roared to life, casting both women in red-gold light. Jinx’s grin wild, Marra’s eyes cold as steel.

“Cute tricks,” Marra said, reloading one pistol with a flourish. “But you can’t hide behind your chaos here.”

“Who said I was hiding?” Jinx replied and fired. The bullet wasn’t aimed at Marra. It hit the support beam behind her, one holding a dangling chain from the ship’s crane. The chain snapped loose, swinging like a hammer.

Marra twisted, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow, but the distraction gave Jinx her opening. In one motion, Jinx pulled a spark bomb, barely stable enough to hold. She pressed the side and threw it right at Marra’s feet.

The explosion wasn’t big, just loud and blinding. Marra stumbled, eyes burning white with the flash. She barely recovered in time to see Jinx charging forward, knife in hand, feral grin splitting her face.

“You should’ve stayed pretty!” Jinx screamed.

The blade plunged deep , right beneath Marra’s ribs. The pirate gasped, choking on her breath, her pistols slipping from her hands as Jinx twisted the knife and pulled it free. Marra staggered back, clutching her side, but Jinx didn’t stop. She raised her gun, aimed square at her head and fired once.

The shot echoed across the entire ship. Silence followed, save for the crackle of fire and the faint sound of waves. 

Jinx exhaled, lowering her gun, her expression unreadable for a heartbeat, then she smirked faintly. “Guess that’s one less bitch to worry about.”

⸻

Up on the main deck Slade froze as his head turned toward the sound of the gunshot, eyes widening as he saw Marra’s lifeless body collapse in the flames below.

“Marra…?” He breathed, disbelief flashing across his face.

That single moment of hesitation was all Dante needed. Force Edge pierced through Slade’s chest, bursting out his back in a flash of crimson light. Dante’s face was calm, no anger, no satisfaction, just quiet finality. “You should’ve kept your eyes on me.”

Slade’s mouth opened, a gurgle of blood bubbling out before he slumped forward. Dante let him fall, his sword sliding free with a wet sound. The ship went eerily quiet again, the battle dying around them as the last of Slade’s men threw down their weapons or fled into the dark sea.

Dante stood amid the carnage, breathing steady, the stormlight glinting off the blood streaking his coat. He turned, seeing Jinx climbing back up from the lower deck, smoke curling behind her, hair tangled, face smudged with soot and that wild, beautiful grin still there.

She met his eyes and smirked. “Told you I could handle myself.”

Dante’s lips curved slightly. “Didn’t doubt it for a second.”

The firelight flickered between them and for the first time since the fight began, the air felt lighter. The vengeance was done. But somewhere in the back of Dante’s mind, he knew that revenge never really ended. It just changed faces.

The air on the ship was thick with smoke and salt, but for the first time in days there was no gunfire, no screams, no clashing steel. Only the rhythmic creak of the ship as it drifted on the open waves.

Jinx sat on a broken crate, her knees pulled to her chest, chin resting on her arms. The firelight from the wreckage painted her face in amber flickers, catching on the smudges of soot and dried blood. Dante leaned against the mast beside her, Force Edge buried blade-first into the deck, his eyes distant, like he wasn’t really seeing the sea at all.

“So…” Jinx finally said, breaking the silence. “You did it. Got your revenge. Killed the people who branded you, who made your life hell.”

Dante didn’t answer at first. He just exhaled through his nose, a faint, humorless chuckle slipping out. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess I did.”

Jinx tilted her head, frowning. “Doesn’t sound like you’re happy about it.”

He looked down at her, the corners of his mouth tightening, his eyes tired in a way she hadn’t seen before. 

“Because I’m not,” he admitted. “It’s over, but… it doesn’t feel like it. Feels hollow.”

Jinx’s expression softened. “That’s the curse of revenge, dummy. You think it’s gonna fix the hole in you, but all it does is make another one.”

He smirked faintly at that. “Since when did you get so philosophical?”

“Since I started dating a broody half-demon who thinks silence solves everything,” she shot back, grinning.

Dante chuckled, a real one this time. But it faded quickly. His gaze drifted toward the ocean, the faint light of Bilgewater barely visible on the horizon. “Still… they’re gone. And yet, I can’t shake the thought that it’s all fake.”

Jinx leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Yeah, well, you’re allowed to be a little messy.”

He gave her a sideways look. “Messy, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” She smirked. “You smell like burnt gunpowder and regret.”

Dante rolled his eyes, running a hand through his damp white hair. “Thanks, Bluebell.”

“Anytime, babe.”

They sat there for a moment, the waves lapping softly against the hull. The tension between them eased into something fragile but peaceful.

Then Jinx frowned. Her eyes flicked toward the water, the ripples growing larger, slower, darker. “…Uh, Dante?”

He didn’t look. “What?”

“I think something’s—”

“Not now,” he said, still caught up in his thoughts. “Let me just—”

“Dante.”

He sighed. “Jinx, I’m trying to—”

“LOOK.” Jinx grabbed his face with both hands and forced him to turn around.

Behind him, the ocean was boiling.

A shape the size of a fortress rose from the depths. Tentacles thicker than ship masts curling upward, barnacled flesh glistening under the moonlight. Its eyes, dozens of them, blinked open all at once. The sea churned violently, waves hammering against the hull as the creature loomed higher, its silhouette blocking out the moon.

Dante blinked once, twice. Then, flatly: “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The air split with a boom as the Kraken’s tentacle came crashing down, a shadow blotting out the entire sky. Jinx barely had time to widen her eyes before everything stopped. The world turned to glass. The rain froze mid-air. The waves hung like a painted wall of blue and white.

Dante blinked and realized the sound had died too. Even the wind was gone. All that remained was the low, steady hum beneath his skin, like the vibration of a tuning fork buried deep in his bones. He looked down. His veins were glowing. Faint, electric light pulsed beneath his skin, a residue of violent energy crawling up his arms and across the brand on his cheek.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his voice echoing strangely in the dead air. “Still got some juice of that anomaly from the Hexgates.”

He flexed his hand. The light flared, time bent. The world was frozen, but he wasn’t.

Jinx was suspended mid-motion, one hand reaching for her gun, mouth open in a half-formed shout. The Kraken’s tentacle hovered inches above her head, every droplet of seawater sparkling like stars.

Dante exhaled sharply and holstered his pistols. “Alright, let’s make this quick.”

He darted forward or more like blinked, because the distance folded beneath him. In the slowed world, he moved like lightning, each step a ripple of distortion in the frozen air. He reached Jinx, catching her around the waist, and pulled her clear of the impact zone. The strain hit him immediately, his pulse pounding, his muscles burning with unnatural resistance. The Acceleration rune’s power wasn’t meant to last this long, at least not yet.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he grunted through his teeth, dragging her behind a shattered section of the deck. “You owe me one for this.”

He crouched, adjusted her position so she wouldn’t get flung overboard when time resumed and looked back at the Kraken.

Up close, it was worse. Its flesh shimmered with a green necrotic glow. Its tentacles twitched even in stillness, dripping ink that burned through the wood like acid.

Dante drew Ebony and Ivory, took aim at the beast’s central eye, and exhaled. “Let’s see how fast you flinch.”

He snapped his fingers. The world rushed back to life in an instant. The Kraken’s tentacle smashed down where Jinx had been, splintering the deck into a geyser of debris. The roar of time snapping back hit like thunder, wind, rain, and chaos all at once.

Jinx gasped as she came to her senses, blinking wildly. “Wha—DANTE?! How the hell—”

He was already firing, the pistols spitting crimson rounds into the creature’s massive eye. “No time! Move!”

The Kraken screamed, rearing back, the sound was able to rattle the ship’s bones. Lightning ripped through the clouds, and its massive tentacles smashed against the deck again and again.

Dante spun Ebony and Ivory, firing relentlessly, each bullet sparking against the creature’s slimy hide. But the earlier time-stop had drained him. The quicksilver style energy still flickered faintly across his veins, every movement heavier than the last.

“Dante!” Jinx shouted, reloading mid-dive as another tentacle tore through the ship’s mast.

“I’m fine!” He barked, vaulting over debris, eyes flashing crimson. “Just—”

He didn’t finish. The Kraken’s tendril snapped around his torso with bone-crushing force, yanking him clean off the deck.

“DANTE!”

The sound of Jinx’s scream drowned beneath the Kraken’s roar as it lifted him high into the storm. Dante struggled, his ribs creaking under the monstrous grip. The stench of rot filled his lungs. It pulled him closer, its maw splitting open like a gaping abyss, rows of translucent teeth glistening with seawater and corruption.

“Great…” Dante growled, blood dripping from his lip. “Dinner and a show.”

He closed his eyes, the mark on his cheek burning white-hot as his demonic power surged. A low hum built in the air. Then a whisper of heat. Then—

A detonation of crimson fire. Flames burst from every vein as Dante’s human form burned away into his Devil Trigger. His eyes blazed red as magma veins split through the Kraken’s flesh where he touched it,  smoke hissing from the contact. The monster screamed in pain, its skin blistering under the sheer heat radiating from him.

“Not… today,” Dante snarled, his voice distorted.

With one last burst of power, he unleashed a shockwave of demonic flame, the Kraken’s tentacle erupting in molten gore. In reaction, the kraken hurled Dante like a meteor through the storm, trailing crimson light across the sky.

He slammed into the mountain range beyond Bilgewater with a thunderous impact. A shockwave lighting up the coastline as rock and dust erupted skyward.

“Dante!” Jinx screamed again, gripping the railing, rain lashing her face. But all she could see was the burning mountainside in the distance, a smear of red smoke against the night.

THE DARK ANGEL:
From a distance, high above the storm-churned sea, where the jagged cliffs of Bilgewater met the endless dark, a figure stood motionless upon a precipice. The rain parted around him, unwilling to touch the aura that pulsed from his presence. His horned helm caught the flashes of lightning, reflecting streaks of cobalt and violet across the slick stone. 

Nelo Angelo.

Behind him, the four orbs of shifting, ethereal light hovered in formation. Griffon, Shadow, Phantom, and Nightmare. The spectral remnants of Mundus' loyal demonic creation. Each sphere pulsed faintly with its own rhythm, orbiting him like an unholy halo.

The air trembled with restrained power. Far below, the great Kraken writhed in agony, one tentacle scorched to ash from where Dante had erupted into his Devil Trigger.

Nelo’s gaze followed the trail of crimson light that had streaked from the monster’s grasp into the mountain range. It was like a meteor’s fall, the unmistakable mark of Sparda’s bloodline unleashed.

For a long moment, silence. Only the distant thunder was heard.

Then Nelo spoke, his voice deep. “Impressive… brother.”

Griffon crackled with static, his distorted laughter echoing from his sphere. “Heh! You see that? He’s got that fire in him. Almost too much for his own good.”

The other three spheres pulsed once, they were silent, but radiating agreement. Nelo’s helmet tilted slightly toward the horizon, where the Kraken’s roar still shook the sea.

“This… was necessary,” he said at last, his tone unreadable. “I needed to know the strength he carries… how far he’s fallen from Sparda’s legacy, or how close he’s come.”

Lightning illuminated the silhouette of his armored form, his cape torn and dark as void. “Let him bleed. Let him suffer. Only through that will he learn the true meaning of power.”

Griffon snickered. “He’s not gonna like it when he realizes you’ve been watching him play hero with that manic girl.”

Nelo’s hand tightened on his sword’s hilt, faint light seeping through the cracks in his gauntlet. “He doesn’t need to like it.”

The words echoed across the storm as the five vanished in a ripple of blue flame, leaving behind only the thunder, the Kraken’s distant bellow, and the faint smell of ozone and sulfur.

EKKO:
“The Loose Cannon and the Devil of Zaun,” Zeri read aloud, her voice echoing softly through the Firelight base. The younger kids sat cross-legged on the grassy ground, eyes wide as they listened. “Both were admired from afar, spoken of only in whispers. Some say they protected our city from Enforcers and demons before vanishing after the Hexgates War… never to be seen again.”

She closed the little notebook she’d made, the cover painted with electric green lightning bolts and two crossed weapons: a sword and a minigun.

Ekko stood nearby, leaning against the giant tree’s trunk with his arms crossed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You really finished a whole story about them in under a month since they died, huh?”

Zeri looked up at him. “Someone had to. You’re too busy trying to keep Zaun standing without them. Besides…” — her gaze flicked to the far wall, where Dante’s Rebellion and Jinx’s Rhino hung like sacred relics — “we keep their weapons as memorials. People have to remember why they mattered.”

“Yeah…” Ekko sighed, walking over and gently patting her head. “I still wish they were here, kiddo.”

Zeri smiled faintly. “Me too.”

She looked around the base as the younger kids slowly drifted off toward their families, the air filled with the hum of neon machinery and distant thunder. “So… that guy Aunt Vi told us about last night. Who is he?”

“Arius,” Ekko said, the name rolling off his tongue with a note of unease. “Vi says he’s supposed to help Piltover and Zaun rebuild after the war with Ambessa and Viktor. But she doesn’t trust him. Sevika doesn’t either. Neither do I.”

“And Heimerdinger?” Zeri asked.

“He’s cautious. Caitlyn too. But she made a fair point, we need help. We lost our strongest champions. And there’s been reports of… demon sightings again.”

Zeri blinked. “Demons? Here again?”

“Small ones. Contained. Arius’ company, Uroboros, has been taking them down. Says they use their energy to make powerful new weapons. The Council loves it. The richer they get, the less they care where that power comes from.”

Zeri frowned, sparks flickering around her hair. “They never learn, huh? Not even after Aunt Jinx blew up the Council building? Or Uncle Dante blew up the Bridges.”

Ekko chuckled softly. “Nope. They’re even changing the Enforcer uniforms, according to Vi.”

Zeri raised a brow. “Seriously? What’s next, gold shoulder pads and moral superiority?”

Ekko smirked, pulling a folded paper from his jacket. “You’re not far off. Check this out.”

Zeri unfolded it and groaned. The new designs looked almost ceremonially militaristic, blue suits, white chest plates, gold accents, a strange cosplay of Demacian armor and Enforcer gear.

“Ugh. Looks boring.” she muttered, then snapped her fingers and zapped the paper to ash.

Ekko grinned. “That’s exactly what I said. And apparently, they’re making it a branch of the Enforcers that Vi and Caitlyn will lead.”

Zeri tilted her head. “A new branch? What’s it called? Please tell me it’s something cool.”

Ekko sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “…‘Darkcom.’”

Zeri blinked, then yelled, “FUCK!”

“Zeri,” Ekko warned half-heartedly.

“It’s an ass name, and sounds evil, don’t lie.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know.”

Zeri dropped her shoulders with a dramatic sigh. “I wonder what Dante and Jinx would say if they were still with us…”

Ekko looked up toward the memorial. The candles flickered faintly beneath the mounted weapons. “Dante would probably laugh and say, ‘Figures they’d name it something stupid.’”

Zeri smiled faintly. “And Aunt Jinx would blow it up just to prove the point.”

Ekko snorted. “Yeah. She’d definitely do that.”

JINX:
Gunfire, cannon blasts, and the shrieks of men filled the night air, the sea itself churning in chaos. The kraken’s massive tendrils ripped through the waves, slamming against the decks of ships, snapping masts like matchsticks.

Jinx was running out of breath. Her hands shook as she jammed another clip into her pistol, sweat and seawater stinging her eyes. She ducked behind a shattered railing for cover.

“Come on, come on—” Jinx hissed through gritted teeth, slamming her gun’s side to unjam it. “Where are you, Dante?”

Another crash, the kraken’s shadow swallowed the ship as a tentacle slammed down, cracking the deck in half. Jinx lost her footing and hit the boards hard, pain shooting up her arm. She rolled, fired upward, and one of her grenades detonated against the creature’s slick skin, not enough to hurt it, but enough to make it recoil for a moment.

She gasped, clutching her pistol, and looked around. The chaos was everywhere. People screamed, ships sank, the sea was red. But then she spotted a flicker of familiar red. Sarah Fortune’s hair, standing tall near the wreck of the helm, firing her twin pistols in rapid rhythm while Grue and a few of the crew hauled wounded men behind cover.

“Fortune!” Jinx shouted, stumbling across the fractured deck, ducking under flying debris and the reek of smoke. “Fortune!”

Sarah turned just as Jinx vaulted a fallen beam, landing hard beside her. “Jinx, what the hell’s going on? Where’s Dante?”

Jinx’s breath came in ragged bursts, her eyes wide and glowing pink under the lightning. “He—he tried to stop the thing. Used some freaky time-thing of his to get me out of the way, then he transformed and—”

“Transformed?” Grue barked, reloading as he covered them. “Into what?”

“The kraken threw him!” Jinx yelled over the thunder, pointing toward the cliffs. “It… he… Dante’s gone! The monster hurled him into the mountain range!”

Sarah’s expression froze. The gunfire seemed to fade around her for half a heartbeat. “…You’re saying he’s dead?”

Jinx shook her head violently. “No! He’s Dante! He doesn’t die that easily!” 

Her voice cracked, panic bleeding into fury. “But we can’t hold out forever!”

Sarah’s jaw tightened, her crimson hair whipping in the wind as another tentacle crashed near the ship. “Grue! Get the survivors off the harbor!”

Grue nodded. “Aye, Captain!”

Sarah turned back to Jinx, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, girl  if Dante’s alive, he’ll find his way back. But right now, you and I are what’s left of this fight.”

Jinx looked past Sarah, at the roaring sea, the monster’s silhouette rising like a black mountain against the storm. Her heart pounded. She wanted to scream, to jump into the waves and swim toward the cliffs, but Sarah’s grip steadied her.

Jinx nodded slowly, wiping the salt and soot from her cheek. “Fine. Let’s blow this thing back to the depths.”

Sarah grinned, fierce and wild. “That’s the spirit.”

As another shadow fell over them, both women raised their guns. The deck shuddered again, lightning illuminated the kraken’s massive eye and Jinx, the Loose Cannon of Zaun, smiled despite the fear twisting in her gut.

“Alright, big guy,” she muttered, pulling a bomb from her belt and lighting it with her teeth. “Let’s make Dante proud.”

DANTE:
Dante groaned as his eyes fluttered open, his body aching from the impact. He lay at the center of a massive crater carved into the side of the Bilgewater mountain range, smoke rising around him from the sheer heat of his fall. The air burned in his lungs as he forced himself to move, boots scraping against the cracked stone.

“Son of a—” he muttered, spitting blood as he finally pushed himself upright.

From the edge of the crater, he saw it, the east harbor, barely visible through sheets of rain and lightning. A raging storm vortex had formed, its center dominated by the monstrous form of the kraken, its tentacles tearing through ships and docks like they were paper. Explosions and cannon fire lit up the storm, and in between flashes, Dante swore he saw Jinx still fighting.

His hand clenched tight around the Force Edge, its blade humming faintly. “Janna, help me out here…” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

The wind howled in answer, as if the skies themselves responded. Dante’s eyes flared crimson. His demonic aura surged outward in a wave of heat, vaporizing the rain as his body ignited with power.

He spread his wings, black and red, the membranes cracking with infernal light. “It’s do or die!”

With one powerful thrust, he shot into the storm, slicing through the air like a crimson comet. “Hold on, Jinx.”

To the people of Bilgewater, he was a streak of scarlet light against the swirling clouds, a demon’s star cutting through the night. But to Jinx, even from the chaos below, that light meant one thing. Dante was back.

The kraken sensed him instantly. A roar split the sea, and a tentacle the size of a tower whipped upward toward him. Dante landed on it, the impact sending ripples of demonic energy along the beast’s flesh. He sprinted forward, claws digging in for traction as the creature swung again. A second tentacle lashed out. Dante cartwheeled over it mid-run, talons skimming the slick surface before he found footing again, sprinting straight toward the monster’s head.

The kraken snapped its limb like a whip, sending him flying into the storm. “Tch, dammit!”

He twisted midair, landing on a splintered chunk of a ship caught in the storm’s vortex. Without missing a beat, he sprinted across it, leapt again, and landed on another writhing tentacle.

“Try harder!” He shouted, his voice echoing across the sky.

The kraken reared back, trying to swallow him whole, but Dante used the momentum of its movement, diving low before shooting upward. He twisted around to the creature’s rear, both hands gripping the Force Edge.

“Eat this!” He slammed the blade down. A burst of violet energy erupted from the strike, the shockwave tearing through the rain as the kraken screamed in pain.

From below, Jinx and Sarah looked up just as Dante’s silhouette flared against the storm, a winged demon wreathed in red lightning, cutting through the chaos like a god of war.

The kraken retaliated, swinging two more tentacles toward him. Dante darted upward, wings slicing through the wind, though one strike grazed him across the ribs, sending blood splattering into the rain. Another came straight at him, but Dante caught it. Snarling, he redirected the entire limb with raw demonic strength, forcing it to impale the kraken itself. The monster bellowed in agony, its eye flaring with bioluminescent rage.

Dante landed on the remains of a floating ship’s hull, his wings folding slightly, eyes glowing like molten metal.

“I’ve got you now,” he growled. His voice low, steady, and dangerous.

The ship lurched as a tentacle slammed nearby, showering him with splinters and seawater. Dante stumbled back, then his eyes caught a glimpse below deck,  open cargo, powder barrels, chains, broken ballista bolts.

A grin spread across his face. “Perfect.”

He kicked open the hatch and dropped inside. The hold was half-flooded, a violent sway tossing debris everywhere. Dante grabbed a broken harpoon gun, jammed it between two support beams, and rigged it with powder barrels, connecting the fuses using torn sailcloth and his lighter.

“Improvised demon-slayer 101,” he muttered, wiping the seawater from his face.

The hull shuddered again and the kraken had wrapped a tentacle around the ship, crushing the side like paper. Dante felt the whole frame tilt as he ran back up the stairs, lighting the fuse behind him. He vaulted onto the main deck just as the barrels detonated, bursting through the hull and taking one of the kraken’s limbs with it. The beast roared, ichor raining down like molten tar.

Dante shielded himself with his wings, gritting his teeth as fragments of the ship rained down. “Alright, ugly. My turn!”

He kicked off the mast, sliding across the deck and grabbing two rusted cannons, one in each hand. The recoil cracked his shoulders, but he fired both point-blank into the tentacle pulling the ship. The impact made the beast recoil, and Dante leapt through the explosion, using the blast wave to carry himself forward.

The kraken raised another limb thicker.  Dante landed on it and  pulled out Ebony and Ivory.  Dante sprinted along the remains of the shattered deck, Ebony and Ivory blazing in his hands. Each shot detonated on impact, tearing chunks of flesh and bone from the kraken’s limbs. Every recoil pushed him harder, faster, his movements a blur of red and silver amid the storm’s fury. He vaulted off a collapsing mast, spinning midair as he crossed both pistols before him. His eyes flared crimson.

“BURN!”

The twin guns roared as he pulled the triggers.

Two crimson bullets spiraled together, twisting into a single infernal vortex before slamming into the kraken’s right side. The explosion lit the entire bay, a sunburst of demonic fire shredding through storm and scale alike.

The kraken reeled back, screaming in a voice that shook the sea itself. Dante landed on the drifting wreckage, sliding backward. He holstered his pistols and reached for Force Edge, unsheathing it with a hiss of energy that crackled violet against the rain. His aura surged. “One last time.”

He raised the sword high overhead, then brought it down with a roar that split the night.

A wave of pure demonic power erupted from the blade, slicing through the storm like a lightning bolt. The kraken’s massive body froze for a heartbeat… then split cleanly in two, from crown to core. Both halves collapsed into the ocean, the impact sending up a tidal wall that drenched everything, the ships, the crew, and even Jinx, Sarah, and Grue on the main deck.

The sea hissed and steamed as fragments of black flesh sank into the depths.

Dante landed hard on Sarah’s deck, his Devil Trigger fading. His demonic features melted away, leaving him pale, breathing heavy. His legs buckled for a second before he jammed Force Edge into the planks, using it to stay upright.

“Dante!” Jinx ran to him, throwing her arms around him before he could even speak. He caught her weakly, managing a tired smirk.

Sarah approached slowly, eyes wide,  awe and disbelief flickering across her face. “Dante… what are you?”

Grue, still staring at the crimson glow fading from the clouds, whispered under his breath. “…The Devil who freed Zaun.”

He turned to Dante, his voice trembling. “You’re the one who destroyed the bridges connecting Piltover and Zaun… over a year ago, aren’t you?”

Dante exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down harder than the storm ever could. The glow in his eyes faded completely, leaving only that worn, human calm that made him look almost ordinary again. He finally answered Grue, voice low and even. “Yeah… that was me.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Rain tapped gently against the ship’s railings, the thunder fading into the distance as the kraken’s corpse drifted beneath the waves. Sarah took a half step forward, her face unreadable. “So the stories were true… you were the Devil of Zaun. You brought down the Bridge of Progress.”

Dante gave a small shrug. “I didn’t do it for the story.” 

He looked out toward the horizon, his voice soft but rough-edged. “I just did what had to be done. Same as anyone else trying to keep their home from burning.”

Grue shook his head, still in disbelief. “That’s not something anyone else could’ve done. You took on an army alone, and now a damn sea god…”

He motioned vaguely toward the sea. “And all this time, you were walking around like some hired gun.”

Sarah crossed her arms, studying him. “That’s why you heal faster than any man I’ve seen. Why you can dodge bullets like it’s a dance.”

Dante smirked faintly. “Guess the cat’s outta the bag.”

Before the air could get too serious, Jinx threw her hands up dramatically, her voice cutting through the tension with a smug grin. “Oh, please, like this is news. I’ve known for ages!”

She jabbed a thumb toward Dante, bouncing on her heels. “You don’t share a bed with a guy like him and not notice when he survives things that should turn you into paste.”

Sarah groaned under her breath. “Gods, Jinx…”

Jinx just smirked wider, leaning against Dante’s arm with that mix of pride and affection only she could pull off. “Told ya he wasn’t normal. He’s my Devil Boy.”

Dante couldn’t help but laugh quietly, shaking his head. “You make it sound worse every time you say it.”

“Yeah, but it’s true.” She winked, nudging him playfully. “And you’re stuck with it.”

Dante exhaled, looking around at the soaked deck, the ruined harbor, and the people still fighting in the distance. “Maybe being stuck with it isn’t so bad,” he murmured.

Sarah and Grue exchanged a glance,  a mix of awe, relief, and understanding. Whatever Dante was… whatever he had become… he was still their Dante. The same reckless, infuriating, loyal man who’d once fought for Bilgewater before the rest of the world knew his name.

THE DARK ANGEL:
The storm still churned over Bilgewater, its thunder rolling like the growl of some great beast.

High upon the cliffs, Nelo Angelo stood unmoving, like a statue of blackened steel and blue fire. His burning eyes followed the figure below: Dante, standing among mortals, bloodied but victorious.

Nelo’s voice rumbled beneath the storm. “The younger half… he grows stronger. The beast was formidable, yet he carved through it. Still…” his helm tilted slightly, “…he hesitates. That hesitation is human.”

A calm, almost melodic voice cut through the wind behind him. “One can no more command their demonic power without feeling…” it said, “…then one can restrain the tides by standing in the sea.”

From the shadows stepped a man wrapped in bandages, his entire face hidden. A dark green suit clung neatly to his frame, a katana gleaming faintly in his hand.

“This is our time to strike,” the bandaged man said softly. “He’s tired, wounded. The master’s command was clear—”

“No.”

The single word cracked like a blade being drawn. The man tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smile in his tone. “No? You know what our master would say, Dark Angel. Mordekaiser needs both sons. You would disobey him?”

Nelo turned, the faint blue glow of his helm reflecting off the rain. “There is no honor in striking down a warrior who cannot stand. Even now, we are not ready.”

He raised an armored hand, gesturing toward the four hovering spheres that pulsed faintly behind him. “Even with these four, we risk failure. Mordekaiser desires the younger son tempered in battle. Only when he is strong enough, when the other half has submitted,  will the forge be complete.”

The bandaged man exhaled a quiet laugh. “You’re a fool, Nelo. A knight playing at honor in a world that forgot it.”

The next moment, Nelo’s hand was clamped around his throat, fingers digging into the bandages. The air trembled with demonic pressure.

“And you,” Nelo growled, “are not even real. A construct. An illusion given form.”

“I have… a name…” the bandaged man strained, his voice hissing through the wrappings.

Nelo leaned closer, voice like venom.

“No. Just like the rest of you… false. Hollow.”

His grip tightened. “Gilver.”

He threw the bandaged man across the cliff. The impact shattered stone and sent the body tumbling into the mist below. Turning back toward the storm, Nelo’s cape tore in the wind as he muttered, “Gather the lesser demons. Let them test him again. When he reaches his limit…”

The blue glow in his helm flared, his voice sinking into a growl. “…I will be there to break him myself.”

DANTE:
Dante leaned against the railing, watching as Jinx, of all people, chatted animatedly with Grue. Her laughter carried faintly over the waves,  a rare, light sound after all that had happened. A small smile tugged at Dante’s mouth. He didn’t even notice Sarah approaching until her shadow crossed beside his.

“So,” she said, folding her arms. “Long, strange day, huh?”

He gave a short chuckle. “Yeah. Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Sarah studied him for a moment. “You know, I thought I’d be more shocked about the whole part demon thing.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking it pretty well.”

She smirked, rain-slicked hair clinging to her face. “It’s been five years since we last crossed paths. First, I thought you were some mutant, now it turns out you’re half hellspawn. Honestly? Kinda tracks.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, looking back toward the deck. Then her tone softened. “Tell me something, Dante.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you love her?”

He froze, eyes drifting back toward Jinx. The storm’s distant rumble filled the silence.

“Sarah, I…” He sighed, shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry. I—”

She shook her head before he could finish, red hair swaying. “Don’t. It’s alright. Really. Especially considering our little age gap.”

He looked down, guilt flickering in his eyes, but she just smiled faintly,  that same confident, teasing smirk from years ago.

“Do yourself a favor, Little Stray,” she said, voice barely above the wind. “Tell her.”

“Sarah—”

She reached up, patting his cheek with her hand. “No, no. My turn to walk away this time.”

Then, with a grin that was equal parts playful and bittersweet, she gestured to herself. “Just admit it, though,  you’re gonna miss this.”

Dante smirked, shaking his head. “Maybe a little.”

Sarah chuckled and turned away, the sea breeze catching her hair as she walked back toward her crew, leaving Dante standing there, eyes following her for a moment before drifting back to Jinx.

“Hey,” Jinx’s voice broke the quiet.

He looked at her with a smile, rain-damp hair clinging to her face, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “You looked all broody over here, so I figured you were thinking too hard again.”

Dante raised a brow. “That obvious, huh?”

“Please,” she said, waving the folded note in her hand. “I know that look. ‘Broody demon boy reflecting on the meaning of vengeance.’ Classic.”

He chuckled under his breath, but his eyes went to the note. “You still have that thing?”

Jinx smirked, unfolding the worn paper,  the list of names. Only two were left uncrossed. With slow, deliberate strokes. 

Karn Veyle

Tallow & Pike

Brask the Cinder

Marra Korrin

Garrick Slade

“There,” she said, holding it up with a proud grin. “Curse broken. No tragic ‘love lost in revenge’ nonsense. You win.”

Dante looked at her, the corners of his mouth softening. “Guess I do.”

She nudged his shoulder with hers. “So what now, Mr. Devil? We’re gonna ride off into the sunset or something?”

He let out a quiet breath. “No… I think we’ll stay here for a while. Get this brand taken care of first. Then maybe pick up some merc work. Bilgewater always needs someone to kill things that go bump in the sea.”

Jinx’s grin widened. “So, mercenary power couple? I like the sound of that.”

Dante chuckled. “You’re not planning on blowing up half the harbor, are you?”

“No promises,” she said, crossing her arms. Then, her tone softened a bit. “Besides… if we stick around, I’ll get to hang with Nell. She’s been showing me real gunsmith stuff,  like, actual engineering. Not just boom-boom ‘til it works.”

He smiled at that, genuinely. “That sounds good for you.”

“Yeah,” Jinx said, eyes flicking up to him. “Good for us.”

The storm finally began to break, moonlight cutting through the clouds above. Dante looked out toward the horizon, then back at her.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Good for us.”

She bumped his arm again, lighter this time. “See? Told you revenge stories don’t have to end bad.”

He laughed softly, pulling her closer by the shoulder. “Guess so.”

THE BLACK ROSE:
“If you crave freedom, Atakhan,” LeBlanc purred, setting a timeworn helmet upon the marble pedestal, “then tell me where the Darkin weapon lies.”

The air in the pale chamber thickened as black goo began to seep from the helmet’s visor, oozing, twisting, pooling into a grotesque silhouette. A hulking, faceless demon emerged, its body a mass of dark sinew and writhing human hands. The ancient mages, LeBlanc and Vladimir, stood unmoving as the creature straightened, towering over them both.

Atakhan’s gaze, though eyeless, seemed to drift toward the other end of the chamber, where the Darkin glaive rested against the white wall. He approached it slowly, studying its dormant glow.

“A weak tether,” the demon rumbled, its voice deep and wet with decay. “Long forgotten…”

Then, as it exhaled, clouds of delicate pink petals spilled from its breath, unnatural, hauntingly beautiful.

Vladimir’s eyes narrowed. “The First Lands.”

LeBlanc’s lips curved slightly. “Ionia. The last true doorway to the spirit realm.” 

She turned her back to the demon, lifting the helmet from its pedestal once more.

“Yes,” Atakhan hissed. “Come claim your prize… in my world.”

Vladimir stepped closer, his crimson eyes glinting. “Listen to your puppet, LeBlanc. You have no host. And even if you did, the Grand General would never authorize another campaign in Ionia.”

LeBlanc shot him a sidelong look that was sharp, dismissive. Behind her, the demon shifted, its many arms dragging along the floor with a hiss of metal on stone.

“I have done your bidding!” It bellowed. “Release me, witch!”

From the helmet’s hollow eyes, a black lash of liquid darkness lashed out, striking LeBlanc’s cheek. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she calmly wiped the stain away with two fingers,  examining it as though it were dust.

“Poor Khatash-Li,” she murmured, leaning close to the helmet’s open maw. “Did you not hear? Mordekaiser replaced you… with the elder son of Sparda.”

The chamber shook as Atakhan roared, all six of its arms propelling it forward like a massive, crawling beast. Vladimir sidestepped, blood magic swirling at his fingertips, but LeBlanc didn’t move.

With a flick of her wrist, chains of crimson darkness erupted from her hand, wrapping around the demon’s neck and limbs mid-charge. The creature strained, screaming, but the bindings held firm.

“Losing our host was… unfortunate,” LeBlanc said softly, her voice steady over the demon’s growl. “But as for the might of Noxus—” she turned her head slightly toward Vladimir, her eyes gleaming beneath her hood, “—it won’t be necessary. A single whisper can cut deeper than a thousand blades.”

Vladimir exhaled, letting the blood sphere dissolve into mist. “To Ionia, then.”

Chapter Text

DANTE:
Rain hammered against the docks, the scent of salt and gunpowder thick in the air. Lanterns swung in the wind as three figures stood shoulder to shoulder amid the bodies of a dozen men. Dante, now sporting a scar where the Bilgewater tattoo on his cheek was. spun Ebony and Ivory in his hands before holstering them, his coat billowing from the sea breeze. “Ninety-nine times, huh? Think this guy ever learns?”

Jinx, her slightly longer hair that reached her jaw was sticking to her cheeks from the rain, blew smoke from the barrel of her pistol and smirked. “He’s persistent. I’ll give him that. Dumb, but persistent.”

Grue kicked a corpse aside, holstering his heavy revolver. “Persistent? More like suicidal.”

From behind a stack of crates, Mad Dog Denvers stumbled forward, blood dripping from his arm, eyes wide in disbelief. “You— you freaks! You don’t die, do ya?! You’ve been haunting this damn city!”

Dante looked over his shoulder at him with a half-smile. “Yeah, well. Call it a bad habit.”

Jinx giggled, twirling a spent casing between her fingers before flicking it at him. “Boom, habit.”

The three turned and walked away through the rain, Grue  lighting a cigarette as the bodies smoldered behind them.

⸻

Denvers collapsed to his knees, coughing blood into the puddles forming around him. His breath came shallow and ragged as he stared at the dark horizon. He muttered to himself, voice trembling. “Five years ago… it all went to hell the moment that freak walked into Bilgewater. Dante… that bitch Fortune… you two burned Gangplank’s empire to the ground.”

He laughed weakly, the sound hollow and broken. “Shoulda killed you when I had the—”

A sudden whoosh of air cut him off. A black scythe pierced clean through his chest, lifting him slightly off the ground. His eyes went wide as the blade pulled back, leaving a trail of smoke.

From the shadows emerged three devils, twisted, lean forms cloaked in dark mist, their eyes glowing red. They screamed as one, voices overlapping in demonic distortion:

“DANTE!”

Denvers fell face-first, his blood mixing with rainwater as the devils turned toward the direction Dante had gone, their mouths opening in warped, hungry grins. The storm howled louder.

⸻

The cellar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of salt, booze, and old wood. The low murmur of the tavern above rumbled faintly through the floorboards. Dante lounged back on a cracked leather couch, boots kicked up on a barrel, a half-empty bottle of rum dangling from his hand. Across from him, Grue leaned over the table, pouring himself another shot with a grin. Jinx sat beside Dante, slouched over with a glass of bright orange liquid, a straw sticking out of it like it didn’t belong in Bilgewater at all.

Grue squinted at her drink, one brow raised. “Orange juice? You’re tellin’ me the little powder keg of Zaun drinks juice?”

Jinx took a long, exaggerated sip and smacked her lips. “Yup. Deal with it. And…”

Jinx flipped them both off. “One of us has to stay sober when you two start trying to outdrink each other like idiots.”

Dante grinned around his glass. “You calling me an idiot, sweetheart?”

Jinx gave him a sly look, the corner of her mouth twitching. “If the dumb coat fits.”

Grue burst into laughter, slapping the table. “She got you there, man!”

Dante just rolled his eyes, taking a sip. “Next thing you know, she’ll be asking for breakfast cereal and bedtime stories.”

“Keep talkin’,” Jinx warned, spinning a bullet on the table with one finger. “See how fast I turn this OJ into a Molotov.”

Grue chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day the Devil of Zaun and the Loose Cannon were domesticated enough to argue over juice.”

Dante smirked, tapping his bottle against Jinx’s glass. “Yeah, well… even devils need a break.”

Jinx clinked her glass against his in return. “And juice keeps the chaos fresh.”

⸻

The streets of Bilgewater were quiet for once. Lanterns swayed lazily in the sea breeze, and the murmur of distant taverns echoed over the wharf. Dante and Jinx walked alongside Grue, their boots clacking against the wet cobblestone. Grue adjusted his coat, glancing at the pair. “So… I was thinkin’. Tomorrow's a rest day, right? You two should come by. My girls keep askin’ when you’ll visit again.”

Jinx perked up instantly, her eyes lighting up. “Wait, really? They still talk about me?”

Grue chuckled. “Are you kiddin’? You’ve basically turned my house into a warzone of glitter and homemade explosives. Nesty tried to make a rocket outta the stove last week. Said, ‘Jinx showed me how!’”

Dante gave Jinx a side-eye, smirking. “Teaching kids how to start kitchen fires now, huh?”

Jinx crossed her arms, mock-defensive. “Hey, I told her to wait ‘til she had adult supervision!”

Grue laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… next time, try teaching ‘em how to not burn the house down, huh?”

“Fine,” Jinx said with a grin, nudging Dante’s arm. “We’ll swing by. I got a few new tricks I can show ‘em, safe ones this time.”

Dante smiled quietly, watching her talk. “Yeah. We’ll be there, Grue.”

The older man gave a slow nod, his face softening under the lantern light. “Good. They like havin’ you around, both of you. Guess I do too.”

He clapped Dante’s shoulder once, solid and honest. “You’ve been good for this place, kid.”

Dante gave him a faint smile. Grue turned to leave, raising a hand in farewell. “Tomorrow then. And tell her to bring some of that orange juice. My girls are hooked.”

Jinx called from up ahead. “See?! I told you it’s good!”

Dante just laughed and jogged to catch up to her, his coat trailing behind him as the two disappeared down the lantern-lit street, for once, just another pair of misfits finding a bit of peace between storms.

⸻

Nell’s workshop lights glowed soft amber through the rain-streaked windows. The smell of oil, metal, and sea salt clung to the air. A strangely comforting mix that reminded Dante  of every place he’d ever called “temporary home.” Nell sat at her workbench, glasses perched on her nose, a folded letter trembling slightly between her  fingers. The words “From Rock” were scrawled neatly across the envelope. She let out a sigh and tucked it away besides her tools, just as the door creaked open.

“Still up?” Dante’s voice carried a low, easy drawl as he stepped in, brushing rain from his coat. Jinx followed, her blue hair slightly frizzed from the mist, clutching her jacket close.

Nell looked up with a faint smirk. “You two always come back lookin’ like drowned rats.”

“Hey, we won this time,” Jinx shot back, pointing a thumb toward Dante. “And Mr. Broody here only got stabbed once tonight. Progress.”

“Just a scratch,” Dante muttered, heading over to the counter. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’d rather not,” Nell replied dryly, leaning back in her chair. “Last time you said that, I had to scrub blood off my floorboards for a week.”

Jinx laughed, already kicking off her boots. “So what’re you working on, Nell?”

“Nothing for tonight.” Nell’s tone softened. “Just cleaning up. Got a letter from Rock.”

Jinx perked up. “Oh, your kid?”

Dante gave a small, genuine smile. “That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah…” Nell exhaled slowly, then waved them off with a hand. “Now go on upstairs before you drip all over my tools. I ain’t patching up your mess and my floor tonight.”

Jinx stretched her arms lazily and gave a tired grin. “You’re the best, Nell.”

“Damn right I am,” Nell said, watching them ascend the stairs. “Try not to shoot each other in your sleep this time.”

“That was one time!” Jinx shouted back, her voice muffled as she disappeared into the loft.

Dante paused halfway up the steps, glancing back down at Nell. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

Nell met his gaze, a knowing half-smile tugging at her lips. “Always do. You just make sure she doesn’t blow up my roof.”

Dante chuckled lowly. “No promises.”

He headed up, the old wooden steps creaking softly under his boots. Nell sat for a moment longer, listening to their voices fade above her. The two demons of chaos who somehow brought a little life back into her quiet workshop for the last four months. 

GOLDSTEIN:
Nell sat in silence for a long moment before pulling the letter back toward her. Her fingers hesitated at first, then, with a tired sigh, she slid the letter free and unfolded it. The paper was creased and oil-stained, but the handwriting was neat. Precise. Her boy always did have that neatness drilled into him. She read the lines under her breath.

“Ma, things are changing fast here. Uroboros has gone official. Piltover signed the partnership a few months ago. Real funding, real facilities. We’re building something bigger than Hextech could ever have expected. They’ve even asked me to recommend engineers for recruitment… and I told them about you.”

Nell’s brow furrowed slightly, her thumb smudging one of the inked words.

“They need someone who knows the old ways, who can make a gun breathe, not just fire. The pay’s good, Ma. You wouldn’t have to scrape by fixing merc toys in Bilgewater anymore. You could work beside me. It’s safe here.”

She lowered the letter slowly, her jaw tightening as she stared at the flickering lantern light.

“Safe…” she murmured bitterly, rolling the word around like it was foreign. “Ain’t no such thing when people with power start makin’ weapons together.”

The paper crackled as she folded it again, more gently this time. She slipped it back into the tin, staring at her reflection in the dull metal lid. Nell had seen what “partnerships” looked like. She’d lived through Gangplank’s fall, through the collapse of every dream that came with a contract signed in good faith. And yet…

Rock’s handwriting lingered in her mind. The way he’d written “work beside me.”

Her gaze drifted to the stairs, where Dante and Jinx’s faint laughter could still be heard through the floorboards.

“Family or freedom…” she muttered. “Always a damn trade-off.”

Nell leaned back, tired eyes settling on the half-built Chomper on her bench. Jinx’s new piece. Something wild, unpredictable, uniquely hers. She reached over, adjusting a gear just slightly until it clicked into place.

“Guess I’ll think about it in the morning,” she said softly. “Ain’t the first devil’s bargain I’ve had to make.”

The lantern’s flame danced once, painting her face in warm gold before she turned it down, letting the workshop fall into darkness, the letter’s words echoing faintly in her thoughts. “You could work beside me.”

JINX:
The morning haze rolled over Bilgewater like a ghostly tide, sunlight breaking through the fog in pale, crooked beams. Dante and Jinx made their way through the narrow street, the smell of salt and steel still clinging to the air. When they reached Grue’s place, a squat, weathered house patched with old iron plating and smoke-stained woodc they could already hear laughter inside.

Jinx was the first through the door, bright as ever, calling out, “Alright, where’s my crew?!”

Three small voices immediately shouted back. “Jinx!”

Grue’s daughters rushed to her. Jessica and Tiki were clinging to her waist, the youngest, Nesty, perched on her shoulder within seconds. Jinx laughed, spinning them around as bits of confetti burst out from somewhere, which Dante wasn’t sure where she got form. 

Grue stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and shaking his head with a grin. “You spoil ‘em more than I do.”

“’Course I do. I’m the fun one,” Jinx shot back, ruffling Jessica’s hair. “You’re the ‘eat your veggies or I’ll growl’ one.”

Dante leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Can't believe it,” he said, voice casual but teasing. “The Loose Cannon herself turns out she’s actually good with kids. Almost motherly.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Jinx froze mid-laugh, blinking once, then forced a smile, tossing her bang off her left side of her face.

“Yeah, well… maybe I just see a bit of myself in ‘em,” she said lightly, turning back toward the kids. “Hyper, loud, dangerous… total package.”

Dante chuckled, not catching the shadow behind her eyes. “Guess that makes you the cool aunt, huh?”

“Yeah. The aunt.” She said it with a grin, but her tone dipped, just enough for Grue to notice.

As Jinx ran off with the girls, playing some chaotic version of tag, Grue stepped closer to Dante. 

“You got a real one there, Dante,” he said, voice low but sincere. “Don’t take her for granted.”

Dante gave a small nod, watching as Jinx laughed with the kids, her laughter a little too bright, a little too practiced. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said softly.

He didn’t notice the look Jinx gave him from across the room, a flicker of something fragile and wistful. She hid it with another smile when Tiki tugged her arm.

“Come on, Jinx! Play pirate!”

“Pirate?!” Jinx gasped dramatically. “You’re all gonna regret that!”

The house filled with laughter again, masking the quiet ache that she carried alone, wondering if the universe had already decided she wasn’t meant for something like that… and afraid to ask Dante, in what he’d say if she told him she wanted it. Jinx took the girls outside and knelt in the yard, sleeves rolled up, showing the girls how to properly make a smoke bomb… or, as she called it, “a fun science project with extra boom.” One of the girls clapped her hands as the small device puffed a harmless burst of pink smoke into the air. Jinx whooped like a maniac, arms raised in triumph.

Dante watched from the steps, biting into an apple which was stale so he spat it across the yard.

“You sure this is safe?” He asked dryly.
“Relax, daddy daycare,” Jinx shot back. “No casualties. Yet.”

Later, inside, Dante found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor, a paper crown crooked on his head as the girls declared him “Pirate King Dante.” Jinx burst out laughing when one of the kids handed him a broom for a sword.

“Guess the mighty demon slayer’s been dethroned,” she teased.

He smirked, sweeping the broom toward her. “Not if I take the throne by force.”

The girls squealed as Jinx dodged, grabbing a mop handle and joining the mock duel, sparks of laughter and wood clacking together until she tripped and Dante caught her by the waist. For a heartbeat, the room went still, her hands on his chest, his breath brushing her hair, before one of the girls yelled, “Ew, gross, they’re looking at each other!”

Jinx immediately pushed off him, cheeks flushed. 

“Alright, mutiny time!” She shouted, rallying the girls to tackle Dante in a heap of giggles.

⸻

It wasn’t long after that, the sun was bleeding out behind the horizon, painting Bilgewater’s crooked skyline in rust and gold. The smell of brine and smoke hung heavy in the air as Dante and Jinx walked side by side down the narrow boardwalk, her boots clunking against the wet planks, his sword strapped across his back. It was one of the rare quiet evenings. No bounties, no demons, no explosions. Just them. Jinx kicked a loose shell across the dock, hands tucked in her jacket pockets. For a while, the only sound was the distant call of gulls and the groan of the sea.

“Hey, Dante,” she said finally, her tone uncharacteristically calm.

He glanced at her. “Yeah?”

“Teach me how to fight.”

Dante arched an eyebrow. “You already know how to shoot better than half the world, and you’ve got enough explosives to level half of Piltover. What else could you possibly need me to teach you?”

Jinx’s eyes stayed forward, her expression unreadable for a long moment. “Hand-to-hand. Sword work. Real fighting.”

That caught him off guard. “You?” 

Dante tilted his head. “Since when do you wanna trade trigger time for blade time?”

Jinx’s steps slowed. “Since her.”

Dante stopped completely. And when she turned to face him, he saw it, the memory flickering behind her eyes.

She didn’t say Ambessa’s name. She didn’t need to.

The image burned there, still fresh, even after five months. Jinx on her knees beside his crucified body, Ambessa’s shadow falling over her. The pull of braids, the slam of metal, the helpless rage as she swung his sword. All sloppy and desperate, only to be beaten down like a child.

Her voice dropped low. “She tossed me like I was nothing. I couldn’t even scratch her, Dante.”

He said nothing, just listened.

“I thought all my toys made me strong. That I could blow up anything that scared me.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Turns out you can’t blow up someone like her. Not when she’s faster, stronger… trained.”

Jinx’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “Piltover, Zaun… we’re the weakest. Out there, the world’s full of monsters that don’t care how loud your guns are. And if I’m gonna help you find Vergil… if I’m gonna keep up with you—”

She met his eyes. Her voice wavered, just slightly. “—I can’t just be a trigger-happy maniac anymore. I need to be more.”

For a moment, the dock was silent except for the waves slapping against the pylons. Dante studied her, the same girl who once laughed in the face of death, now standing straighter, fiercer, but with a quiet resolve that reminded him of someone else entirely. Then he gave a small smirk. “Alright, Bluebell. You want training, you got it. But I’m not going easy on you. You’ll wish Ambessa was hitting you instead.”

Jinx’s grin returned, the real one this time, sharp and bright. “Good. I like it rough.”

Dante chuckled, shaking his head as they started walking again. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Follow me.”

⸻

Dante and Jinx strolled through the Bilgewater markets, the sound of crashing waves mixing with the chatter of sailors and clanging steel. Stalls lined the narrow pier streets, each one boasting weapons of every shape and size. Weapons such as cutlasses, cleavers, curved sabers, and jagged blades were still dripping with sea salt.

Jinx trailed just behind Dante, eyes darting from one rack of swords to the next. “So what exactly am I lookin’ for again? ‘Cause half of these things look like they belong on an anchor chain.”

Dante smirked over his shoulder. “Something that won’t slow you down. You rely on speed and agility, not brute force. You need a blade that moves like you do.”

She huffed, snatching up a curved sword and giving it a few test swings. The weight instantly dragged her arm. “Nope. Too heavy.” 

She dropped it back onto the pile with a loud clang. She tried another, a short sword this time. Too balanced. Then one that was all jagged edges and menace, but it caught on her jacket as she swung, nearly taking her sleeve with it.

Dante laughed. “You sure you don’t want a stick instead?”

“Ha-ha,” she shot back flatly. “Keep talkin’, and I’ll buy one just to hit you with.”

After a dozen failed tries and a lot of eye-rolling, Jinx finally froze. At the end of a quieter stall, tucked between rusted blades and old pistols. But a single sword rested on a simple wooden rack. It wasn’t large or loud like the others. Its design was clean, graceful even. The blade shimmered faintly, thin and refined, the steel marked by faint lines that caught the lantern light like ripples on water. She reached for it. The weight was light. Perfect. The grip molded naturally into her hand, and when she gave it a swing, it cut the air cleanly, no drag, no pull.

“Now that,” Dante said, watching her stance, “actually suits you.”

Jinx grinned, flipping the sword once with ease. “Guess I’m not just a guns and bombs girl anymore.”

“You’re full of surprises,” he said, half-smiling. “Sleek, sharp, fast? Yeah. That’s definitely you.”

She looked at the blade again, it was elegant, almost too pretty for the chaos she usually brought with her and shrugged. “It’ll do.”

As Dante paid the vendor, Jinx didn’t even bother asking where it came from or how something that fine ended up in a Bilgewater street stall. She didn’t care.

It felt right.

When she slid the sword into its scabbard and strapped it across her back, Dante tilted his head, smirking. “Not bad, rookie. You might actually stab something before you blow it up this time.”

Jinx flicked him off without looking back. “No promises.”

⸻

Dante led Jinx up through the tangled paths beyond Bilgewater’s docks, where the fog thinned and the noise of the city faded. The clearing they reached was wide, framed by jagged rocks and broken ship masts driven into the earth like ancient spears. The sound of gulls echoed faintly above, but otherwise it was quiet, perfect for what he had in mind.

Jinx dropped her satchel to the ground and stretched her arms with a grin. “Alright, so how’s this go? You show me a few moves, I copy ‘em, and boom! Instant sword master?”

Dante gave a dry laugh. “You wish. First, I need to know how you want to be trained.”

She blinked. “Uh… with a sword?”

He shook his head, stepping into the clearing. “I mean style, Jinx. You want Demacian or Noxian?”

That made her pause. “Wait… there’s a difference? You know both?”

“Picked up a few things over the years,” he said with a shrug. “Demacian style’s discipline,  clean, structured, all about precision and timing. Every strike’s part of a pattern. You mess up once, you’re done. It’s about control, restraint.”

He lifted his hand, mimicking a flawless, almost regal slash through the air.

“Now,” he went on, shifting his stance, “Noxian style’s the opposite. It’s brutal, direct. You fight to overwhelm, to dominate. No formality, just raw instinct and aggression. You win because the other bastard doesn’t get the chance to hit back.”

He swung again, this time the motion snapping with speed and power, like a storm breaking through the air. Jinx tilted her head, considering it, her expression half-serious for once. “So one’s a dance… the other’s a brawl.”

“More or less.”

She looked down at her sword, fingers brushing the hilt. “We fought Noxians. Ambessa and her army. And I saw what that kind of fighting looks like.” 

She met his eyes. “If I’m gonna keep up with you out there, I need to learn the one that hits harder. So yeah… Noxian.”

Dante smirked faintly. “Didn’t think you’d go for the civilized one anyway.”

Jinx smirked back, resting the blade against her shoulder, mimicking Dante. “Please. Me, all proper and polite? You’d die of shock.”

He drew The Force Edge, letting its weight hum in the silence. 

“Alright then,” he said, stepping closer. “Lesson one: If you’re choosing Noxian, you better be ready to bleed for it.”

“Bleeding’s kinda my thing,” she said, raising her sword and flashing a manic grin.

Dante’s smile sharpened. “Sure thing.”

Without another warning, he lunged at her, their blades met in a clash of sparks, the training beginning with the sound of steel and laughter echoing through the Bilgewater cliffs.

“Oh, you want a villain, lemme show you how I evil
Oh, you think I'm difficult, I'll show you I'm a devil
Sharpshooter lethal, top of food chain like an eagle
Whack-a-mole your weasels, I'm a machine, diesel
Gotta crush, gotta crush”

It wasn’t even two minutes before Jinx’s breath came in ragged bursts, her hair sticking to her neck as she lowered her sword. Sweat streaked down her face, a few smudges of dirt and blood splattered across her arms. Dante, on the other hand, barely looked winded, his movements measured, calm, almost casual.

He gave her an amused look. “You’re dragging your feet, babe. You sure you’re still breathing?”

“Shut up,” Jinx panted, trying to steady her stance again. “You move like— like you’re toying with me.”

“That’s because I am.” Dante rested Force Edge against his shoulder, tilting his head slightly. “You think I’m hitting hard right now? This is me going easy.”

Jinx shot him a glare, though her hands trembled slightly on her hilt. “Easy? I can barely keep up! What the hell kinda training did you go through, huh?”

Dante was quiet for a beat, his smile fading just a touch. The wind cut through the clearing, carrying the scent of salt and rust from the sea.

“You really wanna know?” He asked finally.

“Yeah.” 

He sighed and sheathed his sword, pacing a few steps away as his eyes went distant, remembering his time in the empire of Noxus. 

“Noxus doesn’t train you,” he said. “It breaks you first. You learn to fight while hungry, bleeding, half-dead, with people who’ll kill you the second you slip. Not even reaching the shore, I got thrown into an ambush. A warship stopped by boat and harpooned into it. They basically raided me and I fought back.”

Jinx’s eyes widened slightly, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

“Then came the beasts,” Dante went on. “Arena fights, every day for two months straight. Soldiers, warlocks, monsters that looked like they crawled out from Hell, which considering we're devil hunters might as well be. If you lived, you got stronger. If not… they buried you where you fell.”

He cracked his neck, a ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “And the weather? Freezing winds in the north, sand that cuts skin and dry climate everywhere else. Every step in Noxus hurts. That’s why they’re strong, pain’s their teacher.”

Jinx swallowed hard, looking down at her trembling hands. “And you… survived all that?”

“Survived, learned, and left after I realized the kind of people that paid me for jobs.” He turned back to her, his smirk returning. “So yeah, Jinx. I’m holding back, because if I didn’t, you wouldn’t be standing right now.”

She huffed, half-laughing, half-gasping for air. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer and nudging her sword up with the Force Edge. “But if you’re serious about learning, you’ll be thanking this ass later.”

Jinx met his gaze, her eyes were tired but kept that fire. 

“Then stop talking, Hellblood,” she said, raising her blade again. “Let’s go again.”

Dante’s grin widened. “That’s more like it.”

Their blades met once more, steel ringing, sparks flying, her exhaustion burning away under the weight of his legacy and her own defiance.

“I go rogue, thorns on a rose
Switch my mind up like I want it, then I don't
Heads explode, my little blue clones
I blow this place up, now these ashes fall like snow”

The afternoon stretched long beneath the Bilgewater sun, the air thick with the tang of salt, sweat, and steel. Dante didn’t let up. Every time Jinx stumbled, he had her get back up. Every time she lost her footing, he corrected her stance, adjusting her shoulders or wrist with a steady hand. It wasn’t a brawl. Not chaos. Not the wild, explosive dance she’d learned in Zaun’s alleys.

This was discipline. Flow. Control.

By the time the moon began to rise from the sea, her arms ached so badly she could barely lift her sword. Her palms were blistered, knuckles raw. Even breathing hurt, but she didn’t quit. Dante was the one to finally call it for the day. 

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” he said, lowering the Force Edge into the dirt.

Jinx didn’t argue. She dropped her sword and collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving.

“You’re insane,” she muttered between breaths. “Actual psychopath.”

Dante smirked as he walked over and sat beside her. “And yet, you survived the day. Congrats.”

She groaned, rolling onto her back and letting the breeze cool her flushed face. “Barely.”

After a moment, she shifted, laying her head on his lap. Dante blinked, a little surprised, but said nothing. He simply leaned back on one arm, his other hand absentmindedly brushing through her blue hair. Jinx let out a soft, content hum. “That was… brutal.”

“Yeah,” Dante said quietly. “But you did good. You’re learning faster than I expected.”

She cracked an eye open, grinning lazily. “Heh. Guess I’ve got a good teacher.”

He chuckled lowly. “Guess you do.”

For a long while, neither of them said anything. The sounds of Bilgewater’s gulls, waves, and distant chatter filled the silence. Dante’s hand never stopped moving, gentle against her scalp, the rhythm almost soothing.

Jinx’s voice came softer this time, half-lidded, tired but warm. “You know… I kinda like this.”

“What, the training?” He asked softly. 

“No,” she murmured, smiling faintly. “This. Just… being here. With you.”

Dante looked down at her, the wildness in her finally quiet, if only for a moment. He smiled to himself, thumb brushing along her temple.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

THE BANDAGE MAN:
The night air in Bilgewater was thick with rum and salt, the kind that clung to your lungs and never left. Down a crooked alleyway, where torchlight flickered against wet cobblestone, he walked. Gilver.

The bandaged man in green. A polished katana at his hip. Every step was taken deliberately. Controlled.

He stopped before a shanty tavern door half-hanging from its hinges. The stink of sweat and fish bled from the cracks, mingled with the off-key tune of a lute. Inside, drunks laughed, argued, and whispered about who Miss Fortune had chosen for her next job. Gilver stepped through the doorway. The chatter dimmed. He moved with a calm, unnatural grace as though the noise, the smell, even the people around him, barely registered as real. His gaze found one man, the poor bastard everyone pointed to when someone needed information. The drunk leaned back, squinting up at him through the haze.

“Whatcha want, stranger?”

Gilver’s voice was calm, smooth as oil. “Information.”

The man snorted, taking another swig. “That’ll cost ya.”

A faint humming slipped from behind the bandages. “No. It won’t.”

The next moment came faster than the drunk could blink. With a whisper of steel, a flash of crimson. The katana slid back into its sheath with a soft click. The man’s head tilted, confusion flickering across his face before he slumped forward, a thin line of blood tracing his throat.

The tavern fell silent. Gilver turned to the trembling barkeep. “Miss Fortune’s crew. Where?”

The barkeep stammered. “B–Bobby’s Cellar. Down by the eastern docks! That’s where her people drink!”

Gilver nodded once, as though satisfied with the answer. “Thank you.”

He stepped over the corpse without another glance, as he exited into the rain, he drew his katana halfway from its sheath, enough to let the silver edge catch the moonlight.

“Miss Fortune…” he murmured, voice low and almost reverent. “Let’s see what your kind truly values.”

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the blade slid home, and he vanished into the winding streets, leaving behind nothing but silence and the steady drip of blood on wood.

JINX:
Dante pushed open the door to Nell’s workshop, the familiar smell of oil, metal, and gunpowder hanging in the air. The lamps inside flickered with a soft amber glow, casting long shadows across piles of half-finished weapons and blueprints scattered on every table.

“Home sweet home,” Dante muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he started up the creaky stairs. “I’m gonna crash before my legs decide to fall off.”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Jinx teased with a grin. She lingered downstairs, her satchel slung over one shoulder and her hair falling in loose strands around her face.

Nell looked up from her desk, pushing her glasses down slightly. “You two look like you’ve been through hell and back again. What were you doing? Training?”

Jinx plopped a rolled blueprint onto the worktable and smirked. “Something like that. But look what I’ve been cooking up.”

Nell unrolled the paper, her brows arching as she studied the design. Two sleek handguns, mirror images of each other, their shapes a balance of elegance and chaos. The names were etched in Jinx’s messy handwriting across the top: Luce & Ombra.

“Beautiful work,” Nell said, impressed. “Your style’s improving.”

“They’re mine,” Jinx said proudly, tapping the page. “Modeled after Dante’s Ebony and Ivory, but faster, lighter, more responsive. Perfect for someone who likes to move while shooting.”

Nell smiled faintly. “And what about those two classics of his?”

Jinx smirked, already pulling out another smaller schematic. “Glad you asked. I’m thinking of upgrading them too. I built them ages ago out of busted pistols and scrap parts, and I’m shocked they’re still holding together. But with your help, we could make them even stronger, maybe integrate some Bilgewater flare into them. Something that can match Dante’s power output without cracking the frames.”

Nell leaned back in her chair, folding her arms thoughtfully. “You’ve been thinking like a real gunsmith lately.”

“Yeah, well,” Jinx shrugged, her grin softening, “guess I finally wanna build something that doesn’t explode in my face.”

That got a small laugh from Nell, who then gave her a knowing look. “You’ve done enough for one day, sweetheart. You’re exhausted, I can see it.”

Jinx yawned right on cue, rubbing the back of her neck. “Maybe a little…”

“Go on,” Nell said, waving a hand toward the stairs. “Get some sleep. We’ll start on Luce and Ombra tomorrow. You’ll need a steady hand and a clear head if we’re gonna get those two beauties right.”

Jinx nodded, gathering her papers. As she turned to head upstairs, she gave Nell a small, tired smile. “Thanks, Nell. For… y’know, letting us stick around.”

Nell’s voice softened. “Always, kid. Now get some rest before your boyfriend decides to snore the roof down.”

Jinx chuckled quietly as she disappeared up the stairs, the sound of her boots fading, leaving Nell alone with the blueprints and a quiet look of pride in her eyes.

Jinx creaked the door open to their room and quietly slipped inside. The space had changed a lot in the four months since they’d started living under Nell’s roof. What used to be a bare room was now comfortably cluttered with their touch: Dante’s coat hung on a wall hook beside a rack of weapons, Jinx’s scattered blueprints and half-built gadgets covered a workbench under the window; their bed which they got was big enough for two and perpetually messy as it was a jumble of mismatched blankets and spare ammo belts. A small lamp burned in the corner, painting the room in soft gold.

Dante stood near the bed, already kicking off his boots and peeling out of his coat, exhaustion written across his posture. He turned slightly when he heard her close the door behind her.

“Finally done scheming with Nell?” He asked with a small grin, voice low and gravelly.

“Something like that…” Jinx said, lingering by the door. Her tone was lighter than usual, but there was something off, not in a bad way, more like she was… nervous.

Dante noticed immediately. She wasn’t bouncing around, wasn’t talking a mile a minute, wasn’t teasing. She was fidgeting, twirling a lock of her hair, her eyes darting between him and the floor.

He tilted his head. “Alright… what’s with the shy act? That’s not my Loose Cannon.”

Jinx pouted a bit at the nickname but smiled anyway, stepping closer. “Okay, but, um… don’t laugh.”

Dante raised a brow, curious now. “No promises.”

“I mean it!” She said, jabbing a finger at him before 

“Close your eyes.” She requested softly.

Dante shot her a suspicious look but complied, closing his eyes. "This better be good, babygirl."

Jinx waited a moment, making sure his eyes were really closed. Then, with uncharacteristic shyness, she started unbuttoning her shirt, taking it off and tossing it aside. Her small breasts were now free. 

“Okay… open them up.” She said softly, a hint of nervousness in her voice. 

Dante’s eyes flickered open, and he was greeted by the sight of Jinx standing in front of him. Her top half bare. A sight he’s used. But one thing caught his eyes. 

“Wow.” He murmured softly as he saw the piercings on Jinx’s nipples. “Are those… piercings?”

Jinx couldn’t help but blush, a mix of nerves and anticipation making her heart race. “Yeah, they are.”

She’s never been shy around him before, so this feeling was completely new to her. She swallowed, her voice quieter as she added softly. “Do you... like them?”

Dante’s eyes darted from her chest back up to her face, and his gaze was like a caress across her skin. He seemed almost in awe. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I like them a lot.”

He reached out, his fingertips were about to graze the edge of one piercing but he pulled back. “When did you get them?”

Jinx felt goosebumps rise wherever his fingers almost had touched. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and his small gesture sent a shiver down her spine.

“Just a few days ago.” She replied, her voice a soft whisper. “I wanted something just for me, so…” 

She trailed off, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Do they look stupid?”

Dante’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, and his eyes were blazing with sincerity. “No.” 

He shook his head, his hands reaching out again, this time settling on her waist.

“They don’t look stupid.” He murmured, his voice low. “They look incredible… you look incredible. Like always.”

Jinx's breath hitched the moment he touched her. His hands on her waist sent electricity through her body, and his words were like sparks to her heart. She leaned into his touch, her own hands resting on his chest.

"Yeah?" She murmured, her voice tinged with both hope and a mix of nervousness and desire. “I know my boobs aren’t the biggest…”

Dante’s hands moved up from her waist, skimming over her stomach. His touch was light, almost reverent, as if she were fragile, precious. He took in every inch of her, every curve, every tattoo. His fingers traced over each piercing, sending shivers through her. 

“Perfect.” He muttered, his voice heavy. “You’re perfect. I get it… with you finding out Fortune was my first ever… girlfriend… you’ve been feeling bad about your own body, haven’t you?”

Jinx's chest tightened as Dante's touch set every nerve in her body on fire. His fingers on her bare skin were like sparks, igniting a storm within her. It was almost too much to bear. She swallowed, trying to push down her vulnerability, but her voice still cracked.

“Yeah…” she nodded. “And I get how you both finally no longer have feelings for each other. And that she basically gives us our jobs in the mercenary gig. But still…”

Dante could practically feel her vulnerability, and it tugged something deep inside him. He gently brushed a stray strand of blue hair out of her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek.

“Look at me.” He murmured, his voice softer than she’s ever heard. When she didn’t respond, he gave her a softer command. ”Look at me.”

This time, Jinx lifted her eyes to meet his, her cheeks flushed, her defenses cracking. Jinx's eyes met his, her defenses crumbling under Dante's intense gaze. She couldn't look away, couldn't resist the pull he had over her.

"Yeah?" She whispered, her breath hitching as his touch set her skin ablaze.

"Yeah." He murmured, his fingers tracing the contours of her neck, her jaw, her lips. He pressed a gentle, lingering kiss on her forehead, her cheeks, and her mouth.

“I love you.” He whispered, as if the words had been pulled from the very depths of his soul. “And I’m gonna prove it to you.”

"Dante..." Jinx's heart swelled with an overwhelming mix of emotions. A flutter in her chest threatened to send her heart jumping out of her ribcage. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his words as they washed over her.  His hands on her skin, his lips against her face… It was almost too much to bear. Her mind raced, trying to find the right words to say, something that could possibly convey what she was feeling.  But at the moment, all she could manage was a breathy whisper. “Prove it."

Dante’s lips curled into a small, cocky smirk. It was as if her words were all the permission he needed. His hand slid down to her neck, fingers wrapping around her throat. It was a gentle grip, just a reminder of who’s in control here. A shiver ran down Jinx’s spine as he pulled her closer, their bodies now pressed together. His gaze, dark and smoldering, held hers captive.

“You want a demonstration?” He murmured huskily in her ear.

Jinx's breath caught in her throat as the familiar roughness of Dante's hands wrapped around her neck. His strong grip sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn't help but melt into him. Her eyes wide as she swallowed, the movement of her throat visible against his hand. Her heart raced in her chest, her body responding to his touch the way it always had.

"Y-yes" She croaked out, her voice raspy as her hands clenching the fabric of his shirt.

His hand tightened around her neck just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Lay down on the bed for me.” He gently ordered her, his lips making contact with her neck and collarbone. Down to the small swell of her small breasts.

Jinx's knees went weak at his command, his touch igniting fires she thought long extinct. She stumbled backward until the bed hit her thighs, then slowly lowered herself down onto the mattress. Her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she lay there, vulnerable and exposed under his intense gaze. Dante's fingers lingered at her waist, feeling the heat in her skin. It was as if his very presence was setting her ablaze. As his eyes traced over her half-naked body, his gaze felt like a caress, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. And right now, at this moment… 

She was entirely his.

Without warning, he reached out, fingers wrapping around her hips, then roughly pulled her towards him, pulling her towards him as he kneeled on the edge of the bed. He then began to unbuckle her belt. With a swift, practiced motion, Dante removed Jinx's belt and tossed it aside. The gesture was so swift and sudden, like a predator pouncing on its prey. She couldn't help but shiver, anticipation mixing with a tinge of nervousness as her heart raced in her chest. She swallowed, feeling completely at his mercy.

"Mm, you're good at that." She managed to rasp out as his hands moved to the button of her pants.

Dante’s fingers moved with practiced ease as he unbuttoned her pants, and a small, cocky smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah.”

Once undid her pants, he slid them down her legs, helping her to step out of them. She was now fully nude, except for a black thong she was wearing, her vulnerability on full display. His gaze raked over her form, like a predator sizing up its prey, and when his eyes met hers again there was a possessive glint in his eyes.

“Still gotta get used to you having underwear…” he murmured softly.

Despite the vulnerability she was feeling, she still managed to roll her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah..." She murmured huskily, trying to sound unaffected by his intense gaze. "Can't live in commando forever."

She was trying to keep her cool, but the way her body was trembling under his stare gave her away. Her breathing was shallow, and her heart raced faster the longer she was under his gaze.

Dante's hands moved up her legs, his touch feather-light on her skin as he gripped her thighs, spreading them apart. She gasped at the feeling, her body responding immediately to his touch. She couldn't help but feel a rush of anticipation as he settled between her spread legs. Every nerve in her body was on alert, hyper-aware of every movement he made. He was completely in control, and she loved every second.

“But you did. Until we arrived here.” He commanded. “Who knew Bilgewater would make you wear underwear.”

Jinx couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh as Dante's hands ran up the inside of her thighs. It sent goosebumps rippling across her skin. His touch was soft yet possessive, and it made her stomach churn with anticipation. She could feel her heart beat faster as he settled between her spread legs, leaving her vulnerable and open to whatever he planned.

“Can't always run around without panties.” She said huskily, her fingers curling into the bedding. “I got a reputation to maintain.”

Dante's hands moved higher, his thumbs grazing the edge of her black thong. She quivered under his touch, her body already betraying her. He was mere inches from her core, and she could feel the heat radiating from him. He ran his thumb a little lower, his smirk growing wider as he felt the wetness through her thong.

"Is that so? A reputation?" He murmured, his voice thick with huskiness. “The only reputation I know is you walking around back home in Zaun with nothing but one of my shirts.”

Jinx swallowed thickly, his closeness making her dizzy with need. Her hands clenched the bedding, trying to ground herself, but it was an impossible task. His taunting words ignited a fire within her, the memory of wandering around Zaun in nothing but one of his shirts flooding her mind. She took a shuddering breath before nodding. “Well… thongs are surprisingly comfortable…”

Dante's smirk grew wider, and it sent a shiver down her spine. His fingers danced along the edge of her thong, and she couldn’t help but gasp. 

“Guess I can appreciate the underwear sometimes.” He said, his voice lowering an octave. 

His fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear, and he pulled it down her legs in one swift motion. Jinx moaned lightly, the feeling of his hands on her skin sending shivers through her body. He then began to kiss her legs, moving back up to her core. Jinx arched her back as Dante's lips made contact with her inner thigh, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her hands found their way into his hair, gently gripping as he continued his descent. When he reached her core, she could feel herself already dripping with need.

"Dante..." She managed to gasp out, her voice needy. “Please eat my pussy…”

Dante moaned in response, his hands moving to grip her hips. His mouth was still centimeters away from her core, but he hesitated, as if wanting to tease and prolong her suffering a bit more. He ran his tongue along her inner thigh, causing her to shiver.

“As you wish.” He murmured against her skin, his hot breath sending shivers across her body. “You taste so good.”

"Oh fuck..." Jinx gasped as Dante's mouth finally made contact with her core. Her back arched off the bed, pushing her hips closer to his face. She could feel her arousal coating his tongue as he explored her folds, eating her out like a starving man.  Her fingers tightened in his white hair, holding onto him as he worked her clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and she couldn't help but moan, her body writhing beneath him.

"Oh by Janna..." She gasped out, her voice breathless. "You're... you're so good, Dante."

Dante moaned against her, the vibrations adding to the pleasure he was already giving her. His hands held her hips in place, preventing her from bucking against his face. He pulled away just long enough to speak, his voice low and rough.

"You're delicious.” He murmured, before diving back in. He gripped her legs and lifted them up, resting them on his shoulders.

Jinx gasped, her breath coming out in short pants. The new angle allowed Dante to reach even deeper, his tongue swirling around her clit in a way that made her see stars. Her hands clutched the bedding, white-knuckled.

"F-fuck...!" She moaned, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Slide that tongue inside me…”

With a swift, rough movement, Dante obeyed her command, his tongue thrusting deep inside her. Her grip on the bedding tightened, her back arched off the bed as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.

“Fuck, right there… keep going…” She moaned, her eyes half-closed in pleasure.

Dante groaned against her, the sound sending another shiver of pleasure through her body. He continued to eat her out, his tongue exploring every inch of her pussy. His grip on her legs kept her in place, preventing her from attempting to control the pace.

"You taste so good, babygirl." He murmured against her clit, his hot breath making her shiver. "Daddy missed this."

"Oh... oh, Daddy..." Jinx gasped, her body shaking with pleasure. The combination of his words and the relentless onslaught of his tongue was too much. She could feel the tension inside her building, threatening to break any second. Her legs trembled on his shoulders, her fingers raking through his hair as she mewled out her pleasure.

"I'm close..." She managed to choke out, her voice thick with need. "So close... don't stop…"

Dante moaned against her, the sound vibrating against her clit. His hands gripped her hips even harder, anchoring her in place as he lapped up her juices. He could tell she was getting close, her moans growing louder, more desperate. He continued his assault, determined to push her over the edge.

"Cum for me, babygirl..." He murmured against her clit, his words barely audible over the sound of her moans. "Cum all over Daddy's face."

Jinx's body tensed like a coiled spring, his words the final push she needed over the edge. Her back arched off the bed once again, fingers clutching at the bedding as her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave. She moaned his name, her voice a needy whine as she came undone. 

"Oh, Daddy...Daddyyyy..." She moaned, her body trembling as the pleasure rippled through her. Her fingers released her grip on his hair, reaching down to rest on his shoulders, trying to bring him up, her body still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. She needed him closer, needed to feel his skin against hers. Her hands fumbled with his clothes, trying to unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers.

"Off..." She managed to gasp out. "Take it all off.”

Dante pulled away long enough to divest himself of his clothes, tossing them away. He was gloriously naked, his muscles taut and his chest rising and falling in heavy pants. It was a sight that made Jinx's mouth go dry. She reached up and ran her hands over his chest and arms, relishing in the feel of his heated skin.

"You're so hot." She murmured, her voice still hoarse.

Dante chuckled, his hands coming to rest on her hips as she explored his body. 

"You're not so bad yourself, babygirl." He murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her neck. His hands moved up her body, cupping her small breasts, while his thumbs brushed over her pierced nipples. He could feel her shiver under his touch, a shiver that traveled all the way through him.

"Someone is still feeling needy.” He murmured, his lips trailing down her neck.

Jinx let out a soft gasp as his hands found her breasts, her nails scraping across his biceps. The feel of his hands on her skin was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through her body. She arched into his touch, her body craving more of him.

"Y-yes..." She shuddered out, already feeling the familiar heat pooling between her legs again. "Need you, Dante. Now."

Dante’s fingers teased her piercings, circling them with a practiced ease that had her arching into his touch. One hand slid down between her legs, and he moaned at the feel of her still wet from his mouth.

"You're so wet for me, babygirl." He murmured, his fingers moving to spread her open. “But I gotta tell you something… you wanna have two of me?”

The words sent a shiver down Jinx's spine, and her eyes widened in surprise. 

"Two of you?" She repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion. But her body still arched into his touch, her mind clouded by desire.

Dante's fingers worked her clit rougher, his thumb circling it in a way that made her toes curl. While his other hand gripped her hip, his nails dug into her skin. There was a roughness to his touch that was both thrilling and a little intimidating.

"Yeah. Two of me." He replied huskily, his teeth grazing her neck. “Don’t think I’ve told you, but I’m able to make a doppelgänger. Learned that trick a few months back before we left Piltover.”

You can make a what? She thought, but managed to keep the words from slipping out. Instead, she moaned, her hands running up his arms to wrap around his neck.

"You can... make a clone?" She managed to ask, a mix of disbelief and excitement in her voice.

He chuckled against her neck, his fingers never ceasing their movements. “Yeah, I guess... I haven’t done it in a while, but yeah.”

He nipped at her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “You okay with that?”

Jinx moaned again at the sensation, her eyes fluttering shut. She tried to focus, but it was difficult with him sucking at her neck like that. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Yeah..." She managed to gasp out, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Yeah, I'm... fine with that."

In the blink of an eye, they suddenly weren't alone in the room anymore. Suddenly, a second pair of hands was running up the insides of her thighs, and she could feel the weight of a second body behind her.

“Don’t worry… we’re the same.” Dante said as he and the doppelgänger began to kiss both sides of Jinx’s neck.

Jinx's eyes widened as she felt the second pair of hands on her thighs, and the breath caught in her throat. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and her mind struggled to catch up. Two of them. The thought both excited her and made her a little nervous. 

"Fuck... this is weird." She panted out, her body still responding to the touch from both sides.

Dante chuckled huskily against her skin. "Weird in a good way, right?"

One of the hands at her thigh reached up to her breast, while another gripped her hip. “Or do you want one of me? Your choice.”

Jinx moaned again, her mind reeling from the sensation. It was overwhelming, having two sets of hands on her, two mouths. It was all happening so fast, but the feeling was... incredible. She panted out. "N-no... don't stop. I want... both of you."

The Doppelgänger pressed rougher kisses against Jinx's neck, his mouth trailing up from her collarbone to her ear. He bit down on her earlobe, his grip on her hip tightening.

"Good girl." Dante murmured into her ear, his voice low and rough.

Jinx arched her neck, offering herself up to them both. She moaned and shivered at their touch, her body responding to both of them with fervor. The doppelgänger's rough grip on her hip sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn't help but clench her thighs around his hand. She gripped Dante's shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. 

"Daddyyyy..." She whined pleadingly.

Dante smirked, loving how helpless she was, caught between both of them. His hands continued to explore her body, while the doppelgänger’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once. They left trails of fire wherever they touched her skin.

"You're mine." He murmured into her ear, the possessiveness in his voice making her shiver.

Jinx moaned again, her body quivering at the possessiveness in his voice. It was both thrilling and a little scary, and she loved it. She wanted to be his, in every goddamn way.

"Yours." She echoed breathlessly, her body arching into their touch. "All yours."

The doppelgänger's hands moved lower, and soon they were between her legs, spreading her open. He was more rough than Dante, his fingers pressing against her clit in a way that made her legs shake. Dante’s fingers went to one nipple, while the doppelgänger's went to the other. They were rough but not brutal, pinching and twisting in just the right way.

"Oh fuck..." She gasped out, her fingers digging into their shoulders, trying to anchor herself. "Oh, by Janna… that's it..."

Dante chuckled huskily, loving the way she moaned and writhed in their grip. “You’re so needy. You want me that bad?”

The doppelgänger moved lower, his mouth leaving a trail of messy kisses down her back. Dante’s hand stayed at her breast, but his teeth marked up her lower back, leaving marks in their wake.

Jinx whined, arching her back to push her chest out, silently asking for more attention. She tried to roll her hips, wanting more of the doppelgänger's fingers. Her body felt on fire, the combined touch of the two men was driving her insane with need.

"Yes..." She moaned out. "I want you so bad. I need you both."

The doppelgänger moaned against her skin, lapping at her lower back, before moving lower. Soon, his face was between her legs. Dante leaned down, his mouth finding a pierced nipple and sucking it in. He used his other hand to grip her hair, pulling her head back to give him better access. His teeth nibbled and bit down on her neck, no doubt leaving hickeys.

“I’m all yours.” He grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his waist. His cock throbbing between her thighs.

Jinx moaned loudly, the sound being cut off by Dante's grip in her hair. She could feel him nibbling and sucking at her neck, and her body moved at his will. She was lost in the sensations, trying to hold onto Dante's shoulders for dear life. When she couldn't move her hips enough, she tried to grind against the doppelgänger's mouth, trying to get more friction.

“I’m such a lucky girl… getting my man who can make a clone.” She moaned out.

The doppelgänger moaned as he ate her out, his mouth working over her clit in expert strokes.  At the same time, Dante continued to suck and bite at her neck, his cock sliding against her clit in rhythmic motions. His grip on her hair tightening, keeping her head pulled back. It was all so intense, and she couldn’t help but writhe against them both.

“Oh, by Janna... oh fuck...” She moaned out.

The doppelgänger's tongue darted out, adding more pressure to her clit. He focused on that bundle of nerves, knowing exactly what made her tick. Meanwhile, the real Dante positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pushing just inside her. He moaned against her neck, his hands tightening on her hair and her hip.

“Feels so amazing...” He murmured, his voice rough.

Jinx moaned once more, louder and with more urgency. She could feel Dante’s cock pressing against her entrance, teasing her clit with each small thrust. Her legs shook with anticipation, her nails digging into his shoulders to try and hold on. She was already so close but wanted more.

“Fuck...” She moaned out, her legs trying to pull him in. “Get inside me…”

In response, Dante grunted, his hands gripping her hip and hair. It was taking everything he had not to slam himself into her. 

“You're such a greedy girl…” He murmured hoarsely, his voice strained.

The doppelgänger stood up, both Dantes sandwiching Jinx as the doppelgänger’s cock was between her ass cheeks. 

“You want me in your ass?” The real Dante asked softly with a gentle thrust in her pussy.

“Fuck yes.” She moaned out, her body shaking between the two men. She could feel the doppelganger's cock between her ass cheeks, and the feeling was driving her insane. She couldn't help but clench around Dante, her body trying to push him deep inside her. She wanted both of them, needed them both.

"I'm so greedy for you, Daddy." She whimpered out and moaned as the Doppelganger pulled her closer, pressing his chest against her back.

The Doppelganger moaned at her response, his hands on her hips pulling her back against him. When she moaned, it sent a thrill up his spine, and he couldn’t resist pressing his lips to her neck, nipping and teething at her sensitive skin. He could feel her quiver, her body trying to take them both in. The real Dante moaned as she clenched around him, the feeling of her pussy squeezing him was too good.

“Such a hungry girl….” he growled out, his hand reaching around her to grip her hair again. “…needing both of me.”

“W-want it so bad...” She moaned, her voice shaky and needy. She tried to lean back, wanting more of the doppelganger’s mouth on her neck. Her fingers gripped his thighs tightly, her nails digging in. Her legs were shaking; she was so close to the edge. Feeling both of them against her was pushing her insane with need. She whimpered and moaned, lost in the pleasure. “Need you both so bad...”

The doppelganger moaned against her neck, his hands wandering over her body, exploring her skin. His tongue darted out, tasting her salty skin. He loved the way she was trapped between them, and the sight of her squirming with pleasure. At the same time, the real Dante moaned at her words, the sound muffled by her neck. His hands tightened in her hair, holding her head back.

“You've got us, baby girl.. You're ours.”

With the double stimulation of the doppelganger behind her and the real Dante in front, her legs gave out, leaving her completely at their mercy. She whimpered and moaned, her whole body trembling between the two.

“Cumming again.” She moaned out, her body quivering with pleasure.

The real Dante moaned in agreement, his own grip on her hair tightening.

"That's right.” He murmured. “You're all mine…" 

They continued to hold her between them, giving her everything they had. “I’m gonna cum as well…”

“Do it, Daddy.” She moaned out, her voice breathy and needy. “Fill me up with your cum.” 

Jinx's eyes rolled back as both of them moved in sync, hitting every pleasure point inside and out. She screamed out, her body convulsing between them as she came hard. Her pussy clenched around Dante's cock while the doppelganger's cock slid against her ass cheeks, leaving wet trails.

Dante couldn’t hold on any longer in feeling her clenching around him. 

“Oh, babygirl...” He moaned out, his hips snapping forward, and he started to come. Her moans were stifled, buried in Jinx's neck as he pumped his load inside her.

The doppelganger was right behind him, groaning out as his hand wrapped around his dick, stroking himself through his own release. His cum landed on her ass and both of them pushed her down to the bed. But as the doppelgänger reached the mattress, it disappeared as Dante was exhausted. Jinx slumped forward onto the mattress, her body trembling from the intensity. She lay there, boneless and out of breath, as the waves of pleasure continued to roll through her.

“Fuck, that was amazing...” She managed to gasp out, her voice breathless. She turned her head, looking up at Dante. “You’re amazing. You with your amazing demonic powers.”

She reached out and ran her hand through his hair, her fingers threading through the white locks. Dante chuckled faintly, his breathing still heavy. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I can't take all the credit. You're pretty amazing yourself." He said with an exhaustive look.

“I’d say it’s a fairly equal amount of amazing.” She murmured back, her fingers still running through his hair. Her other hand traced patterns on his neck, her touch soft, almost reverent. Her head was still fuzzy from the mind-blowing orgasm, and she leaned closer, seeking out his warmth. “You okay? You look more worn out than me or than usual after we have sex.”

“I’m fine.” Dante replied, his voice thick with exhaustion. He leaned into her touch, his forehead falling heavily against her shoulder. “Just… more drained than usual.”

He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. “Just that, you know, I haven't used that ability in a long time. And I’ve only used it once before.”

"Makes sense." She hummed softly, her fingers still gentle as they moved through his hair. She noticed the slight tension in his body, even after the mind-blowing sex. "You okay though? Like really? You're not lying to get me to shut up, right?"

Dante let out a low chuckle, his face still hidden in her shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"I'm truly fine, Jinx.” He assured her, his voice muffled against her skin. “Same thing with that quicksilver ability. Those two abilities that I never really used.”

“Alright. I believe you...” Jinx murmured, her voice a soft whisper. She snuggled closer, her fingers still running through his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. “You can stop the time, make a clone. That’s some overpowered stuff. And you’re already overpowered. Being the son of Sparda and all.”

He chuckled softly, his arms tightening around her waist. “Yeah, it’s pretty damn badass.” He agreed, his face still buried her neck. “But you gotta admit, having two of me was pretty awesome.”

"Pretty awesome?" She laughed softly, her breath tickling his ear. "It was fucking incredible. Having both of you touching me, pleasuring me... My brain is still trying to process it." 

Her hand drifted down to his chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. “I think you got your first ever rim job? Ass job? whatever it’s called from me. While being deep in my pussy.”

Dante grinned against her skin, his breath warm on her neck. His hands moved down to the curve of her waist, his grip firm but gentle as he continued to hold her close to him.

“Hell yeah.” He murmured huskily. “Definitely something I wasn’t complaining about.” 

He paused for a moment, his fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns on her hip. “How do you feel?”

"Like I've been thoroughly fucked by two extremely skilled demon hunters." She giggled softly, shifting slightly so she could look at him. Her eyes were bright and satisfied, her cheeks flushed from more than just the orgasm. “My sweet Daddy.”

Dante chuckled at her response, the sound warm and genuine. He lifted his head, his eyes locking with hers. He loved the way her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

“My good girl.” He murmured huskily, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. His thumb ran over her lower lip.

Her lips parted slightly as his thumb brushed over them, her tongue darting out instinctively to touch the pad of his thumb. She let out a small, content sigh, her eyelids fluttering. “Mmm... You’re being all sweet and cuddly post-sex. It’s my favorite part.”

"Yeah?" He murmured, his fingers still tracing patterns on her skin. Her body felt so soft and warm against him, like she was boneless and completely at ease. He enjoyed the feeling of having her completely relaxed in his arms.

“What else do you love?” He asked huskily, his hand moving to toy with a strand of her blue hair.

"When you call me 'good girl' or'my sweet girl'." She whispered, her voice soft and vulnerable. Her hand covered his on her hip, squeezing gently. 

“And when you’re all dominant and rough during sex... But also when you’re like this afterwards.” She kissed his thumb softly.

"You're pretty good at being like two different people sometimes." She murmured, her fingers tightening on his wrist. Her fingers traced up his arm almost absentmindedly. It was as if she couldn’t stop herself from touching him.

“There’s the Dante that other people get. The cocky, confident, smug, flirty prick." The corners of her lips tugged up in a small smirk. "But then there's the Dante that only I get.”  

She leaned forward, her thumb tracing over his lips. “This version of Dante that is just for me.”

She paused, taking a moment to really look at him. The way his hair fell over his forehead, the way his eyes shone with an intimacy reserved just for her, the roughness of his hands. His fingers tracing patterns on her hip sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but lean into his touch. Finally, she spoke again. “I love this Dante.”

Dante's chest swelled with affection at her words. He leaned his forehead against hers. 

"And I love this Jinx." He murmured, his warm breath ghosting over her lips. His fingers found her waist, his hands spreading over the curve of her hips. "The feisty, brash, stubborn Jinx.” 

He shifted slightly, shifting her slightly on his lap until she sat fully astride him, straddling his lap. He reached for the blanket, pulling it over them. “But, she’s also a freak while being clingy and lovey-dovey.”

Jinx moaned softly as he effortlessly lifted her, his strong hands guiding her into his lap. Once she was straddling him, her bare skin against his bare chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his white hair.

"I can’t help it." She murmured, her arms wrapping around his neck. “You’re the only person I can really be myself with. The only person who gets to see me like this. Soft and clingy. All the cute shit I try to hide from everyone else.”

He felt his heart swell with love and possessiveness at her words and actions, holding her close to him. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her in place almost effortlessly. He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling deeply the scent that was solely hers. He pulled back slightly, taking in her appearance. Her blue hair was mussed up from his hands, her eyes still sparkling with satisfaction and a little something more. He then saw how she yawned like a cat and smirked. 

“Not the only one getting tired, huh?” He teased her softly. 

She shifted slightly in his lap, her legs pressing against his sides and her arms still wrapped around his neck. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"It's not my fault you're all warm and comfy." She murmured, her words slightly slurred from the exhaustion. She gave a small, quiet yawn. "It makes a girl sleepy."

She leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder, her nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck. She inhaled deeply, taking in his scent.

Dante chuckled softly, his hands running up and down her spine soothingly. He loved to see this vulnerable, clingy side of her. 

"Goodnight, babe." He murmured, his fingers tracing random patterns along her back. “Sweet dreams.”

Jinx hummed contentedly at the feeling of his hands on her spine, her eyes fluttering shut. She nuzzled closer into his neck.

"G’night, Hellblood." She murmured sleepily, her words soft and slightly mumbled against his neck.

DANTE:
The morning light crept through the slanted windows of the workshop, soft and gray, spilling across the tangle of tools and half-built weapons below. The air smelled faintly of oil, steel, and salt from the harbor. Dante stirred awake, his hand reaching across the sheets, only to find the space beside him cold and empty. He opened one eye, then sighed through his nose, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Up before me again, huh?” He muttered to the quiet room.

He sat up, running a hand through his white hair, the faint ache of yesterday’s training and last night’s sex section still lingering in his shoulders. After a long stretch, he stood and began pulling on his clothes. A pair of dark pants, black undershirt, and the familiar red coat. His movements were unhurried, practiced. More of a ritual than a routine. By the time he made his way downstairs, the floorboards groaned under his boots. He half-expected to hear Nell humming to herself by the forge, but instead, the workshop was still.

Still except for her.

Jinx sat on one of the high stools near the workbench, legs crossed, head tilted slightly down as she read from a small, battered book. Her hair fell to one side of her face, a messy blue curtain catching the morning light. The workshop lamps hadn’t been lit yet, so the glow of the sun caught her features softly. It was a rare calmness that Dante could only see.

He stopped for a second, just watching her. The silence of the room, the sound of distant waves outside, and the way she absently chewed the corner of her lip while turning a page, it was all oddly… peaceful. Then he cleared his throat. “Watcha reading?”

Jinx glanced up from the book, her lips quirking. “A story about guns, sex, and death. Real gothic stuff.” 

She tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You gonna keep spying on me from the stairs, or you planning to make it weirder?”

Dante smirked, stepping down into the workshop. “Technically, you’re on the clock. Didn’t peg you for the quiet reading type, Bluebell.”

Jinx’s smirk widened. “If I’m on the clock, you shouldn’t be pegging me with anything, Dante. That’s extremely inappropriate.” 

Her voice dropped to a sultry purr. “Especially since I’d totally let you have your way with me right here in the workshop.”

“Noted. Tell me how the book ends.” Dante said dryly, though the corner of his mouth tugged up in a half-grin. He looked around the room, eyeing the tools scattered across the bench. “Where’s Nell?”

“She went out to grab supplies for a project we’re working on,” Jinx said, flipping a page lazily. “And before you ask what it is, it’s a surprise.”

Dante adjusted his coat, glancing toward the door. “Alright. I’ll be at Bobby’s, see if Sarah’s got another gig lined up.”

“Mm.” Jinx hummed, leaning on her hand. “You can never stay in one place. And that’s coming from me.”

He paused, hand on the doorframe, then looked back at her with a faint, tired smirk. “Yeah, well… you know me. If I sit still too long, the bad memories start creeping in.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, tone lightening. “Or I break your back, depending on the day, apparently.”

Jinx snorted, hiding her grin behind the book. “Yeah, yeah. Get outta here before I start riding you, Daddy.”

Dante chuckled under his breath as he stepped outside, the sound of his boots fading into the morning streets. Jinx watched him go for a moment, then lowered her book, a faint, fond smile tugging at her lips.

⸻

Dante pushed open the creaking door to Bobby’s Cellar, the familiar scent of smoke, ale, and damp wood greeting him like an old vice. The usual crowd was there, dockhands, mercs, and the odd smuggler, but the hum of conversation dipped when his boots hit the floorboards. He nodded to a few familiar faces before spotting Sarah at the bar, flipping through a small ledger while her drink sat untouched beside her.

“Looking busy,” Dante said as he came up, leaning a forearm against the counter.

Sarah looked up with a half-smile. “Dante. You just missed Grue.”

“Yeah? Where’s the old man at?”

“Handling something personal,” she said vaguely, shutting the ledger. “Didn’t tell me much, but you know Grue, keeps things close to the chest.”

Dante gave a slow nod. “Fair enough. Guess I’ll catch him later. Got any gigs for me in the meantime?”

Sarah hesitated, then glanced toward one of the corner tables. Her tone dropped slightly. “Actually… yeah. Someone’s been waiting to meet you.”

Dante followed her gaze. In the far corner sat a man in a sharp green suit, bandages covering his face and neck. He sat with perfect posture, a half-finished glass of water before him, untouched for who knows how long. The faint glint of a katana’s hilt rested against his chair.

Sarah gestured subtly. “Name’s Gilver. Came asking about you specifically. Didn’t say much else. Just… that he’d wait.”

Dante straightened, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the stranger. “That right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said, folding her arms. “And judging by how long he’s been sitting there, I’d say he’s serious.”

Dante’s smirk flickered back into place, though his tone carried an edge. “Guess I shouldn’t keep my fan waiting.”

Sarah sighed as Dante neared the corner table, already knowing what was coming. The tension in the air thickened as the bandaged stranger looked up, one sharp gray eye fixing on Dante like a blade sizing up its twin.

“Dante,” Sarah said, stepping in before things got too weird. “Gilver here claims he’s got… similar talents.”

Dante crossed his arms, eyebrow raising. “Similar talents, huh? Is that so?”

Gilver stood smoothly, his movements sharp and practiced, almost elegant despite the faint rasp of his bandages. “I’ve heard the stories. They say no man alive can match your speed or skill.”

Dante smirked. “Flattery’ll get you nowhere, pal.”

“I don’t flatter,” Gilver said flatly, hand resting on his katana’s hilt. “I test. I wish to see if the legend matches the truth.”

Sarah groaned, rubbing her temples. “Oh, for the love of… don’t do this here, you two. Take it outside before you redecorate the place.”

Dante gave her a wink. “Relax, Red, I’ll keep it clean.”

Outside, the alley behind Bobby’s Cellar opened to the ocean’s breeze, the air thick with salt and gunpowder. A few drunks and off-duty mercs leaned on the railing, ready for the show. The two men faced each other. Dante, coat flaring lightly in the wind, hands loose at his sides. Gilver, composed and rigid, katana gleaming faintly under the lantern light.

“Ready when you are,” Dante said, tone lazy but eyes sharp.

Gilver moved first, blindingly fast. Steel rang out as Dante caught the katana’s edge with the Force Edge, sparks flying. Their blades clashed in flurries of sound. Gilver precise and surgical, Dante fluid and effortless, almost playful. For every lunge Gilver made, Dante answered with a parry that looked too casual to be fair.

“You’re good,” Dante said mid-swing, grinning. “Bit stiff, though. You train with a military or just born with that stick up your ass?”

Gilver’s eyes narrowed. “Mockery won’t save you.”

“Didn’t plan on being saved.” Dante sidestepped, letting Gilver’s swing slice through air. “I’m just having fun.”

After a few more exchanges, the fight reached a strange stalemate. Both men breathing steady, neither showing real damage. Then Dante sheathed the Force Edge and looked toward the Cellar door. 

“Tell you what,” he said with that lazy grin. “Let’s call it even and settle this like civilized drunks.”

Not even ten minutes later, the two sat at the bar, a small crowd cheering them on. A line of vodka bottles clinked in front of them. Sarah leaned on the counter, muttering. “I swear this guild’s gonna get banned from half the taverns in Bilgewater.”

“Three… two… one… GO!” Someone shouted.

Dante slammed his first glass, then another, drinking with ease born of years of bad habits. Gilver, determined not to lose face, followed suit, but his controlled, soldier-like composure started cracking by the third round. By the fourth, his face was pale under the bandages. By the fifth, his eyes glassed over. By the sixth, he fell sideways off the stool. 

The room erupted with laughter and cheers as Dante smirked and set his glass down. “Guess I win again.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You didn’t even want to win, did you?”

“Nah,” Dante said, glancing down at Gilver who was being stripped of his wallet by a couple of drunk mercs. “Just wanted to see if he could keep up.”

One of the guild members cackled, “Guild rule, boys! First to pass out, pay the tab!”

⸻

When Gilver woke up in a half-flooded alley, missing his cash and dignity, he groaned through the pounding in his skull.

“I despise… alcohol,” he muttered bitterly, as a hungover sailor staggered past him laughing.

⸻

Meanwhile, back at Bobby’s, Sarah and Dante had another glass. “You sure know how to make friends.”

“Yeah,” Dante said, sipping his drink with a grin. “He’ll come around. They always do.”

Chapter Text

VIOLET:
Back in Piltover, the skyline glittered as it always did. The golden towers were gleaming beneath the morning haze, the hum of hextech engines echoing faintly through the upper city. But far from the glamour of Progress, beyond the pristine courtyards, a new structure loomed in was cold, gray, and pulsing with an energy that didn’t belong.

The Uroboros Detention Facility, newly constructed beside Stillwater Hold, was now fully operational. Its walls were lined with steel veined in faintly glowing runes, every etching humming with restrained power. From deep within the halls, muffled sounds slipped through the air, not words, not language, but the trembling whispers of things that were once human.

The elevator doors opened with a mechanical hiss. Arius stepped out first, his polished boots clicking against the obsidian floor. Behind him followed his secretary while holding a clipboard thick with containment reports. Her birdlike mask concealed her face, but her eyes were cold and calculating as they glimmered beneath the polished glass lenses. Behind them, Vi and Caitlyn walked side by side, their gazes sweeping the eerie corridors. Lines of reinforced glass cells stretched out before them, each glowing with a faint, unnatural light.

For a moment, Vi froze. The sharp scent of cold metal, the echo of footsteps, the hum of containment fields, it all dragged her back to her teenage years. Back to Stillwater. To the cell that was too small, too dark, too quiet. She clenched her fists, until a familiar touch on her arm grounded her. Caitlyn’s hand. Her steady warmth. Vi glanced at her wife. Caitlyn’s one eye bright and sharp, the other covered by the elegant eyepatch. Caitlyn nodded softly. She was here. Vi breathed out.

Arius smiled faintly, unaffected by the ghosts behind him. Not like he cared. 

“Four months ago,” he began, voice smooth as glass, “the first of these demons appeared within your great city of progress. Thanks to our alliance, Uroboros adapted swiftly. Efficiency, after all, is our specialty.”

Caitlyn’s tone was calm, but her posture was razor-straight. “So these are the demons you’ve been helping us take out of the streets?”

Arius turned to face them. “You’ve seen firsthand what the Darkcom Enforcers’ new armor can withstand. Without our intervention, Piltover would already have fallen to chaos.”

Vi’s attention was fixed on one of the cells. Inside sat something small, frail, trembling. Its form was more shadow than flesh, its movements slow and fearful. It looked… wrong. But not dangerous. Not really. It reminded her of someone… of herself, sixteen and broken in Stillwater, trying to seem bigger than she was. 

She spoke quietly. “They started showing up after the Hexgates War. After Dante and… Jinx died.”

Caitlyn’s eye flicked toward her, hearing the crack in Vi’s voice when she said her sister’s name. “Ekko told us that they were hunting these… things. Protecting Zaun.”

Vi nodded. “Demon hunters. And they kept it quiet. Guess they didn’t want to start a panic.”

Arius’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before softening, almost sympathetically. “And now that they’re gone, the balance has shifted. The demons grow bolder. That is why I wanted you both here.”

He gestured forward, his voice lowering slightly. “Armor alone will not be enough for what’s coming. There are deeper tools, far older than hextech. If you’ll follow me…”

He turned, cane tapping rhythmically as the group moved deeper into the facility. The further they walked, the colder it became. 

⸻

Arius led the two Kirammans down a long corridor, the hum of arcane machinery echoing around them. At the end, the corridor opened into a vast chamber filled with the scent of oil and ozone. The room was lined with workbenches, cables, and humming generators. In one corner, half-shrouded under tarps and dim light, stood an array of unfinished weapons that were  gleaming like forbidden treasures. Near the center stood a man who had broad-shouldered, blond streaks in his dark hair, and was wearing a grease-stained vest. His hands were steady despite the faint tremor of exhaustion.

“Ladies,” Arius announced, his voice echoing proudly through the chamber, “allow me to introduce the head of our weapons and engineering division. Rock Goldstein.”

Vi and Caitlyn exchanged a look before walking forward, arms crossed, their eyes scanning both Rock and the hidden machinery around him.

Caitlyn’s tone was clipped. “Mind telling us why we’re here, Mr. Goldstein?”

Rock smirked faintly, the kind of grin that came from too much caffeine and too little sleep. “I get it, roughly five months ago, you didn’t believe in demons. And now they’re crawling out of every shadow, chewing through steel and magic alike. Problem is…” he reached toward a nearby bench, lifting a small metal box, “you can’t kill what bleeds magic, unless you fight back with something nastier.”

He popped open the box and pulled out a rifle clip. From it, he extracted a bullet, its tip white and gold, the casing transparent and filled with a faintly glowing green liquid. “Meet our latest creation. Anti-demon rounds.”

Both women leaned closer, Caitlyn’s analytical gaze flicking from the bullet to the faint chemical light inside it.

“That’s… synthetic Petricite,” she said quietly.

Rock grinned. “Right again. The same synthetic compound recovered from those robotic shells your city locked away after the war. From what I’ve read, one of the Hextech founders built them, didn’t he?”

“Viktor,” Caitlyn confirmed, studying the bullet with a small frown. “They were autonomous constructs used during the Hexgates War. When Zaun and Piltover united against Noxus, they turned the tide against us. But after Jayce and Viktor’s deaths, the machines were no longer active.”

Rock nodded approvingly. “And now, their legacy’s useful again. See, demons are pure arcane corruption, their essence burns through regular metal. But synthetic Petricite cancels out magic at the molecular level. That little glass chamber?” 

He tapped the bullet lightly. “When this hits a demon, that green compound reacts instantly. One touch and—” He mimed an explosion with his hands. “Boom. No more demons.”

Vi let out a low whistle. “Gotta admit, that’s impressive.” 

Her eyes drifted toward the tarped workbenches in the corner. “And I’m guessing those aren’t for decoration.”

Rock’s grin widened. “Sharp eyes, sweetheart.”

He grabbed the tarp and yanked it aside with a flourish. Underneath lay newly finished weapons gleaming under the workshop lights. Vi’s Atlas Gauntlets, now reforged with a new alloy of synthetic Petricite, and Caitlyn’s Hextech rifle, its barrel engraved with faint runic circuitry that pulsed green.

“It wasn’t easy,” Rock admitted, running a hand over the gauntlet’s polished frame. “Hextech and Petricite don’t like to mix. One channels magic, the other cancels it. But with enough sleepless nights, a few of the late Jayce Talis’ old blueprints, and some creative rune work, I found a way to make them coexist.”

He looked up at the two women, his grin turning proud. “Your weapons were already top-tier. Now? They can punch straight through demons. Or anything else that thinks it’s immortal.”

Caitlyn ran her gloved fingers along the rifle’s edge, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re arming us for a war, Mr. Goldstein.”

Rock smirked. “Lady Kiramman, that war’s already here. Your devil hunters kept it at bay, and they’re long gone now.”

“Would you like to try them out?” Arius asked, his voice calm but his eyes gleaming with cold anticipation.

Caitlyn and Vi exchanged a look. One part curiosity, one part unease. After a brief pause, Caitlyn gave a small nod. Vi exhaled through her nose and nodded back.

Moments later, the two women stood in the testing chamber, their Darkcom Enforcer armor gleaming under the sterile light. For months, they’d worn those suits hunting stray demons across Piltover’s undercity. But this time… this felt different. Vi slid her hands into the newly upgraded Atlas Gauntlets, the synthetic-Petricite shell humming with restrained power. Caitlyn loaded one of Rock’s modified clips into her rifle, the faint glow of the green liquid reflecting off her single blue eye.

Arius motioned toward the far end of the chamber. “Open the gate.”

The reinforced door groaned open, and a wave of foul, sulfurous air swept through the room. From the shadows crawled something wrong. Insectoid in shape, its limbs thin and twitching, its mandibles clicking like knives on stone. The creature’s many eyes fixed on them, unblinking and hateful. It shrieked in a high, chittering sound and lunged at the couple.

Vi reacted first. She ducked low, pivoting with surprising grace for her gauntlet’s weight, and caught the demon mid-air by its legs. The impact rattled the floor, but this time, the thing screamed. The Gauntlets hissed, venting blue steam as the runes along their surface flared. Vi roared and slammed the demon into the wall with a thunderous clang. The steel buckled.

Caitlyn was already in motion. She dropped to one knee, bracing the rifle against her shoulder. Through the scope, she tracked the dazed creature’s head, and squeezed the trigger. The Hextech core pulsed bright blue, then shifted to green as the round left the barrel. The bullet struck home. There was a sharp crack, then a violent detonation. A burst of green light tore through the demon’s skull, splattering its ichor across the wall in a smoking spray. Silence followed. Only the soft hum of their gear and the hiss of cooling metal filled the room.

Vi blinked, panting, her heart still hammering. “Holy shit…”

Caitlyn lowered her rifle, her expression hard to read. But it was part awe, part horror. “It actually worked.”

From behind the safety glass, Arius and Rock watched with quiet satisfaction. Arius clasped his hands behind his back. “Welcome to the new era of defense, ladies. Piltover’s safety… is now in your hands.”

DANTE:
Blood-stained shotgun shrapnel clinked softly against the porcelain sink as Dante pulled the last piece out of his chest with a wince, though he looked more annoyed than hurt.

“Where was the shootout this time?” Jinx asked, peering over his shoulder, bending low enough for her chin to nearly rest against it. Like a curious cat.

“Northern docks,” Dante muttered, flicking a shard into the sink. “Didn’t think Sarah would assign me a new partner while Grue’s off doing Janna-knows-what would have me bleeding this often.”

Jinx hummed, leaning back against the wall, arms folded under her chest. 

“What are you doing here?” Dante added, side-eyeing her. “Thought you were working on that secret project you won’t tell me about.”

She smirked. “What, I can’t check on my handsome half-devil of a boyfriend when he’s shirtless and bleeding all over Nell’s towels?”

“Maybe so,” Dante said dryly, dabbing blood off with a rag.

“Twenty years old and not even a patch of beard,” Jinx teased, cocking her head. “Guess demon genes keep you smooth as a baby’s butt.”

Dante snorted. “We both know where most of my hair goes.”

Jinx’s eyes darted down at his pants, then back up to his eyes with a sly grin. “Mm. Yes we do.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at his lip. “You’re impossible.”

“Admit it, that’s why you like me.” She said as she bit her lower lip. “So, who’s the new guy?”

He turned then, chest freshly patched, towel slung over one shoulder. “My new partner’s name’s Gilver,” he said. “Green suit, face wrapped in bandages, carries a katana.”

“Gilver?” Jinx echoed. “Sounds like someone sneezed mid-name.”

“Yeah,” Dante said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something about him’s off. But hey, you call yourself Jinx.”

“And you call me Bluebell,” she shot back, stepping close to press a kiss to his shoulder.

He smirked. “Touché.”

“Anyway,” Jinx said, backing up slightly but keeping her eyes on him, “when do we train again?”

“Again?” Dante lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you were actually serious about sword training.”

“Hey, I meant it,” she said firmly, crossing her arms again. “If I’m gonna keep up with you and all the bullshit we’re bound to deal with trying to find your twin, I’m gonna need more than just guns and grenades.”

Dante studied her for a long moment, then chuckled quietly. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

⸻

The cavern echoed with the soft clang of steel and the low hiss of rainfall outside. A storm raged through Bilgewater’s mountain range, but inside the cave, the air was thick with the sound of training, metal scraping against metal, boots sliding over damp stone, and the slow crackle of a small fire burning between them.

Dante circled Jinx, his sword resting loosely in one hand. “In Noxus, they prize strength above all else,” he began, voice steady and patient. “But not just the kind you measure with muscle. They divide it into three pillars. The Trifarix.”

Jinx mirrored his movements, sword in hand, watching every shift in his stance.

“The first,” Dante continued, “is Vision. It’s the base. The ability to see the fight before it happens, to use your eyes, your mind, and your instincts. You’ve already got that. You use it when you shoot, when you build your bombs… now, you’re learning to apply it to real combat.”

“Uh-huh.” Jinx’s lips twitched into a grin. “So, basically, it’s thinking fast so I don’t die slow.”

Dante smirked faintly. “Exactly.” 

He spun the Force Edge once between his fingers, its edge catching the light from the fire. “Next is Might. The physical side. The muscle behind every move.”

Jinx flexed her fingers on her sword hilt, eyes flashing from their usual blue to that sharp, glowing pink. “Yeah, thanks to your blood in me,” she said. “But even with that, I can only keep up with you when you’re holding back. You somehow balance both strength and speed.”

Dante chuckled, his tone almost teasing. “That’s right. But eventually, Bluebell, you’ll have to learn how to use your force, not just rely on it.”

They lunged at each other. Sparks burst as blades collided. Dante deflected every strike effortlessly, his movements calm, measured. Jinx, by contrast, fought with her usual chaotic rhythm. That fast, unpredictable, but still rough around the edges.

She slid back, panting lightly. “Dante, look at me, do I look like I can hit hard?”

“You used to carry a minigun, a rocket launcher, half a dozen grenades, and dual pistols without slowing down back in Zaun,” Dante said with a crooked smile. “You’re stronger than you think. You just don’t believe it because you don’t have the bulk to prove it.”

He came at her again, faster this time. She blocked two swings, ducked under a third, and rolled to the side.

“And the last one?” she called out, breath ragged.

“Guile.” Dante’s sword swept through the air with a sharp whistle. “That’s where the supernatural comes in. Beings such as tricksters, mages, phantoms, demons. The kind who bend the rules of combat to their will. They fight with what others can’t see.”

Jinx blocked a heavy blow and twisted away, eyes narrowing. “We’ve faced demons before. We’ve killed ‘em.”

“Exactly,” Dante said, straightening, blade at rest again. “And you? You’ve already got a spark of Guile. You’re chaotic, unpredictable. You think like a trickster. That’s why your traps work, because no one, not even me, can always tell what you’ll do next.”

Jinx smirked, flicking her sword to the side, sparks scattering as it scraped the stone. “Guess chaos has its perks.”

Dante gave her that trademark half-smile. “It always does. Especially when you know how to aim it.”

Dante’s stance shifted, the relaxed, easy rhythm of teaching gave way to something sharper. He twirled the Force Edge, resting its weight on his shoulder for a second before swinging it down in a wide, powerful arc that made the air hum.

“Alright, Bluebell,” he said, smirking. “Lesson’s over. Time for the real test.”

Jinx blinked, lowering her sword a fraction. “Wait, what? I thought we were—”

He lunged before she could finish, the sheer force of his swing sending a gust through her hair as she barely ducked under it. Sparks flashed when their blades met again. Jinx gritted her teeth, every muscle burning as she tried to keep up. Dante was still holding back, she could feel it, but now he was faster, more fluid, less predictable.

“C’mon,” he called, their swords locking. “Show me what you got. You wanted Noxian training, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to die in the process!” She shot back, twisting free.

Dante grinned, sidestepping her counter. “That’s Noxus for you. You either get stronger or you get buried.”

Jinx exhaled sharply through her nose, her pink demonic eyes flickering with frustration. She slashed twice, feinted a third, then swung low, but Dante blocked each move with maddening ease, his blade almost dancing.

“You’re too stiff,” he said calmly, parrying her again. “You’re trying to fight like me. Stop it.”

“Then how the hell am I supposed to fight?!” She shouted, anger flaring.

“Like you, Jinx.”

Dante knocked her sword out of her grip with one fluid motion, only for Jinx to suddenly drop, slide on her knees, and grab a fistful of dirt, flinging it straight at his face. Dante blinked, caught off guard for the first time as the grit clouded his vision. In that heartbeat, she lunged forward, snatching her sword off the ground and spinning, the blade’s flat edge slamming into his ribs hard enough to make him grunt and stumble back.

When the ringing in the cave finally faded, Dante blinked, half-laughing. “Well, damn… wasn’t expecting that.”

Jinx, panting, pointed her sword at him with a smirk. “You said fight like me. And I fight dirty.”

Dante chuckled, rubbing his ribs. “Guess I walked right into that one.”

He stepped forward and tapped her sword with his own, knocking it gently away before resting the Force Edge on his shoulder again. “Remember this, fighting’s not about copying someone else’s style. It’s about owning yours. I fight stylishly because that’s me. You fight unpredictable because that’s you. That’s your edge.”

Jinx tilted her head, still catching her breath. “So, no more trying to be all graceful and poetic with my swings?”

“Nah.” Dante smirked, giving her a light shove on the shoulder. “Leave the poetry to the corpses you leave behind.”

Jinx laughed, the sound bright even against the roaring storm outside. She sheathed her sword, walking past him with that familiar swagger. “Guess I’m already a masterpiece in progress then.”

Dante grinned as he followed, voice warm. “You always were, Bluebell.”

The storm outside hadn’t let up. The wind howled through the cracks of the cavern, and rain hissed softly against the rocks. Inside, the fire crackled low, its orange light tracing over stone and steel, the two of them sitting side by side.

Jinx flexed her fingers, wincing slightly as she peeled off one arm warmer to look at the red marks along her palm. “Ow… okay, not gonna lie, sword training sucks.”

Dante leaned back against the wall, arms folded loosely across his chest, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, that’s how it starts. Next thing you know, your hands look like sandpaper and your sword starts feeling like an extension of your arm.”

She shot him a glare. “Easy for you to say. You’ve been swinging that thing since you were out of your mom’s belly.”

“Hey, pain builds character.” Dante reached over and took her hand without asking, inspecting her palm. “You’ll get used to it.”

Jinx huffed but didn’t pull away. “It’s not that bad. Just… kinda sore. Even with my gloves. Thought it’d have a nicer grip.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s a real blade,” Dante said, gesturing toward her sword. “Ain’t meant to feel nice. You learn to hold it like it’s an old friend, even if that friend bites.”

Jinx eyed the Force Edge resting beside him, gleaming in the firelight. “Yours doesn’t even have a grip. That’s just— metal. Doesn’t that tear your hand up?”

Dante’s grin turned wicked. “Not unless you’re holding it wrong.”

Jinx blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “…That better not be a dirty joke.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely a dirty joke,” Dante replied smoothly, his grin widening.

“Ugh, gross!” She threw a small pebble at him, but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out with it.

He chuckled low, leaning closer to poke her shoulder. “You’ll get used to that too, sweetheart. And don’t act like you’re innocent.”

She gave him a side-eye, smirk tugging at her lips. “Yeah, because it’s not wrong when I do it, it’s how I am.”

For a long moment, they just sat there, the fire snapping, rain still hammering the mountains outside. The silence wasn’t awkward anymore, it was warm, easy. Jinx leaned her head against his shoulder, and he didn’t move, just let her rest there.

After a bit, she murmured, “You really think I’ll get good at this?”

Dante tilted his head slightly, watching the flames dance. “You already are. You just haven't seen it yet.”

She hummed softly, smiling to herself. “You’re sweet when you’re not being a pain in my ass.”

He smirked. “Well, you’re a freak.”

Jinx chuckled under her breath, curling a little closer against him as the firelight flickered over their faces.

After a quiet moment, he spoke. “Y’know… it’s nice. Training you like this.”

Jinx glanced over, half-smirking. “You mean trying to break my wrists with a sword?”

Dante chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. I mean it’s nice knowing you’ll be able to stand on your own. That you’ll be safe, even if I’m not around to bail you out.”

Her smirk softened, and she nudged a small rock into the fire with her boot. “You sound like a dad saying that.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a faint grin. “But it’s the truth. Teaching you… it reminds me of when I was a kid. Me and Vergil used to spar all the time, little wooden swords our mom made for us. We’d go at it until we couldn’t move our arms. Guess swords have always been a part of me, one way or another.”

Jinx smiled faintly, her voice quieter now. “And bombs are always a part of me.”

Dante met her eyes across the fire. “Exactly. It’s what we’re made for. You blow things up, I cut things down. The difference is, now you’re learning how to do it your way.”

Jinx laughed softly, a tired, content sound. “My way, huh? Bet my way’s a hell of a lot louder.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Dante said, a hint of warmth in his smirk as the firelight flickered between them.

Jinx stretched out beside the fire, the last sparks of heat flickering across the stone walls. Then, with a soft hum, she shifted and rested her head on Dante’s lap again, her braid brushing his leg.

He glanced down, amused. “You really are a cat, you know that?”

Without missing a beat, Jinx looked up at him and gave a playful, drawn-out “mew.”

Dante huffed a laugh, brushing his hand through her hair. “You’re impossible.”

She grinned lazily. “You love it.”

For a few heartbeats, the only sound was the storm outside and the quiet crackle of the fire. Then Jinx’s tone softened. “Hey… you remember that time in the greenhouse? Back in Viktor’s commune?”

Dante’s brow furrowed slightly, his hand pausing in her hair.

“Singed was down, Caitlyn was choking on air, and that big Noxian dude had me pinned. I thought that was it, y’know?” She looked at the flames, eyes distant. “He grabbed my braid and I couldn’t move. Then Vander came in, said that line…” 

She smiled faintly, almost to herself. “‘Don’t touch my daughters.’ Boom. Punched the guy clean through the window like he was made of paper.”

Dante gave a low whistle. “That does sound like Vander.”

“Yeah…” Jinx murmured, her voice somewhere between pride and ache. “Vi and I just… ran to him. Didn’t even think. All the fighting, all the chaos, it just stopped for a second.”

She went quiet for a moment, then tugged gently at one of her shorter braids. “Guess I should be grateful I cut it all down. That Noxian wouldn’t have had anything to grab now.”

Dante smirked faintly. “And it suits you. Makes you faster. Harder to catch.”

“That’s the plan.” She looked up at him with that mischievous spark in her pink-tinted eyes. “Next time we run into some big Noxian brute, I’ll be the one sending him through the window.”

Dante chuckled, brushing a stray lock from her forehead. “That’s my girl. Just make it look stylish while you’re at it.”

Jinx’s smile widened, half tired, half fond. “Always do, babe.”

⸻

It had been a couple of weeks since the training in the mountains, and life in Bilgewater had fallen into a rough, uneasy rhythm. Dante and Gilver had been paired on job after job. Mercenary cleanups, smuggler hunts, the occasional bodyguard gigs.

Still, one thing gnawed at him more than the bruises and bullet holes: Grue’s absence.

Every time he asked Sarah, she brushed it off with that same slippery grin. “Grue’s just tied up with business. You know how it is, big man, big deals.”

But Grue wasn’t the type to vanish without a word.

So one afternoon, Dante made the trip to Grue’s place himself. The house looked the same, but the air around it felt wrong. Too quiet. He knocked, and after a few seconds, the door cracked open to reveal Tiki. Her usual spark was dimmed, and Nesty peeked nervously from behind her.

“Hey, girls,” Dante greeted, voice softer than usual. “Didn’t mean to drop by unannounced. Just wanted to check in. How’s your dad?”

Tiki forced a smile. “He’s fine. Just… real busy. You know how he gets when he’s on a streak.”

Dante’s eyes flicked between them. “Right. And Jessica? Haven’t seen her in a while.”

Nesty’s expression faltered for just a second before she quickly looked away. 

“She’s sick,” Tiki said quickly, her tone a little too sharp. “Caught something bad, so Dad doesn’t want anyone seeing her. Says it’s contagious.”

“Contagious, huh?” Dante repeated, unconvinced. “Mind if I at least—”

“No.” Tiki cut him off, her voice firmer now. “Dad said no visitors. Not even you, Dante.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, just studied them, his eyes narrowing faintly. Then he exhaled and nodded. “Alright. I get it. If she’s contagious, I’ll keep my distance.”

Tiki relaxed a little, her shoulders dropping. “Thanks. We’ll tell Dad you stopped by.”

Dante turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back. “Tell him I said we’ve got a drink waiting when he gets back. And that I’ll keep an eye on you three till then.”

Nesty managed a small smile. “Thanks, Dante.”

He gave them a faint smirk before walking off, his boots crunching against the gravel road. But even as the wind howled around him, his gut wouldn’t let it go.

Grue’s daughters were terrible liars. And whatever was going on inside that house, it wasn’t just a sickness.

GILVER:
Meanwhile, back at Bobby’s Cellar, the air had grown thick with gunpowder and rum, but not the usual kind of chaos Bilgewater thrived on. The regular laughter and drunken brawls had dulled into murmurs. The smell of salt and fear lingered under the dim lights. With Sarah off dealing with her own affairs, Gilver had made himself quite comfortable in her absence. The bandaged man in the sharp green suit had returned from yet another “successful” job, dragging with him the reputation of a man who never failed and never left witnesses. He stood at the bar now, polishing his katana with calm, deliberate strokes, while the rest of the guild watched him from afar. Whispers followed wherever he went.

“Didn’t he take down a whole pirate crew last week?”
“They say he doesn’t even use guns, just that damn sword.”
“Yeah, and nobody saw him bleed, not once.”

A smirk twitched beneath Gilver’s wrappings. He could hear every word. And that was the point.

For weeks now, he had been generous, taking the most dangerous contracts, claiming the highest bounties, even splitting the profits with other mercenaries. It had built him goodwill, respect, and access. All of them trusted him now. And that trust was the blade he would twist. As the cellar’s door creaked open, a cold breeze swept through. A faint green mist slithered across the floor, almost invisible beneath the haze of pipe smoke. The candles flickered.

Gilver rose to his feet, slipping his katana back into its sheath. His voice came out smooth, muffled beneath his wrappings, almost elegant.

“You’ve all worked hard,” he said to the room, raising a hand. “Bilgewater’s finest. Loyal to Miss Fortune. Loyal to coin. Loyal to survival.”

A few laughed uneasily. Someone clinked their mug.

“But loyalty,” Gilver continued, his tone darkening, “is a fleeting thing… when the world you cling to has already been claimed by the dead.”

Before anyone could respond, the mist thickened, and the temperature dropped. From the cellar’s shadows, shapes began to move. Clanking armor. Hollow eyes glowing faintly with spectral light. Screams erupted as demons tore through the room, their rusted blades swinging with brutal precision. Tables shattered, bottles burst, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air.

Gilver stood perfectly still amidst the chaos, eyes gleaming from behind his bandages. Even if it was only a fraction, Mordekaiser’s army was enough to turn the cellar into a slaughterhouse. He turned his head slightly, watching one of the fallen mercenaries crawl toward him, pleading for help.

“Worry not,” Gilver said softly, almost tender. “You’re serving a higher cause now.”

Then he stepped aside as a demon impaled the man, dragging him into the mist. When the screams finally died, only the faint hum of spectral chains filled the air. Gilver looked around the ruined tavern at the dead, the dying, the shadows writhing where the living once stood and smiled beneath his wrappings.

“Bilgewater will burn soon enough,” he murmured, resting a hand on his sword. “And when the young Sparda returns...”

DANTE:
Dante found Grue near the edge of the lower docks, under the orange haze of the dying sun. The smell of salt, oil, and gunpowder lingered heavily in the air. Grue was sitting on a stack of crates, rewrapping a bloodstained bandage around his arm while Sarah, her coat tossed over her shoulder, pistols holstered at her hips, stood nearby, overseeing the job’s aftermath.

“Been a while since I’ve seen you bleeding,” Dante called out as he approached, hands in his pockets, coat flapping with the wind.

Grue glanced up, his scarred face pulling into a tired grin. “Heh. Comes with the business, kid. You disappear for a few weeks and think you’re the only one still taking hits?”

“Guess I forgot how good you were at catching bullets,” Dante replied dryly, giving Sarah a nod. “Didn’t expect to see you two together, though.”

Sarah shrugged. “Grue took an assassination job off one of my leads. Went sideways, as most of them do. Nothing too bad.”

“Bad enough to get patched up in a place that smells like fish guts,” Dante said, eyeing the half-dried blood on Grue’s sleeve.

Grue grunted but said nothing. His shoulders were tense, too tense. Dante tilted his head, studying him. “I stopped by to see your girls earlier,” he said casually. “They seemed fine. But they told me Jessica’s sick.”

At that, Grue’s hand froze mid-wrap. His jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t have gone there.”

Dante raised a brow. “Relax, old man. I just wanted to check in. Thought maybe I could help—”

“No.” The word came out sharp. Grue finally looked up at him, his eyes flaring with something that wasn’t anger alone, more like fear. “You stay away from Jessica. It’s… contagious. Doctor’s orders.”

“Contagious,” Dante repeated, frowning slightly. “Right. Must be one hell of a cold.”

Sarah stepped between them before things could get heated. “Alright, enough pissing contests,” she said, holding up her hands. “He’s just being protective, Dante. You know how Grue gets about his family.”

Dante exhaled through his nose and nodded. “Fair enough.” 

He looked between them, his tone softening. “Then how about we call it even and get a few drinks? It’s been too long since we sat down like old times.”

Grue hesitated. Sarah crossed her arms, smirking. “You offering to pay?”

“Considering you two look like hell, yeah. First round’s on me.”

Grue gave a tired laugh, shaking his head. “You know what, fine. Maybe I could use something stronger than this dock air.”

“Bobby’s Cellar?” Sarah suggested, swinging her coat back over her shoulders.

“Of course,” Dante said. “Where else?”

None of them noticed the faint smoke on the horizon, rising from the direction of the Cellar. None of them knew the laughter, the music, and the voices that once filled it were already gone, swallowed by spectral fire and steel. As the three made their way down the slick, rain-damp streets toward Bobby’s, Dante’s boots echoed against the cobblestone, each step carrying them closer to the massacre they didn’t yet know awaited.

JINX:
Jinx and Nell were hard at work on Luce & Ombra. After two solid weeks of sleepless nights, oil-stained fingers, and a mountain of sketches, the twin pistols were finally taking shape. They were modeled after Dante’s Ebony & Ivory, but with Jinx’s trademark touch, chaotic precision.

At the moment, Jinx was etching faint runes along the inner chambers, carefully spacing them so they wouldn’t interfere with the firing mechanism. The sigils shimmered faintly, designed to draw on the trace amounts of demonic energy running through her veins. Beside her, Nell was busy polishing Luce’s outer casing, the silver gleaming like moonlight under the workshop lamps.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had a day this quiet,” Jinx muttered, leaning back in her chair and stretching.

The sound of metal on cloth stopped immediately. Nell froze mid-polish, her back going rigid. 

“Did you just say the ‘Q’ word?” The older woman asked in a deadly calm tone.

Jinx blinked, confused. “The what word? Qui—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Nell spun around, eyes wide and finger raised. “Don’t finish that sentence!”

Jinx tilted her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Absolutely not!” Nell marched toward her, waving the polishing rag like it was an exorcist’s charm. “You never say that word in a workshop. Ever. You might as well be begging the Void to eat us alive! Or worse… jinx us!”

Jinx grinned. “Heh. That’s kinda my thing.”

Nell groaned. “And that’s exactly why I should’ve made you wear a muzzle.” 

She stomped over to a drawer and started rummaging.

“What’re you doing?” Jinx asked, standing up.

“Looking for my trauma plate,” Nell replied flatly. “Because thanks to you and your cursed mouth, I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna need it when this place explodes.”

Jinx snorted. “Relax, Nell. What’s the worst that could—”

A small explosion went off somewhere in the back of the shop. Both women froze, covered in a fine layer of smoke and dust. Nell’s expression was flat as she slowly turned toward Jinx. “You owe me new insulation.”

Jinx coughed, waving away the smoke. “Okay… maybe you’re onto something with that superstition thing.”

DANTE:
Dante, Sarah, and Grue made their way down the muddy streets toward Bobby’s Cellar, the storm still lingering in the distance. The flicker of torchlight reflected off puddles as Dante shoved his hands into his coat pockets, trying to lighten the mood.

“Man, it's been too long since we just sat down and had a drink,” he said, glancing at Grue. “You’re starting to look like you're wrestling boars for breakfast.”

Grue smirked faintly, his arm still bandaged from the last job. “If it pays, I might.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You two sound like old war dogs. Let’s just get inside before it starts raining again.”

But as they turned the corner and approached the familiar cellar door, something felt wrong. The faint hum of conversation, laughter, music, it was all gone. The door hung slightly ajar, one hinge bent inward.

Dante stopped first. His instincts prickled. “…Stay close.”

The three stepped inside. The stench hit immediately. Blood and sulfur. The warm, cozy tavern they knew was unrecognizable. Tables shattered, walls scorched, bodies of hunters and mercenaries sprawled across the floor. Weapons lay beside them, useless.

Sarah’s hands went to her pistols, her voice trembling. “Oh gods…”

Dante crouched beside one of the corpses, his fingers brushing the claw marks carved deep into the man’s chest. He recognized the pattern. Demonic. But not just any kind.

“Whatever did this,” he muttered, standing slowly, “wasn’t human. Or clean work.”

At the far end of the room, the faint growl of a demon echoed. Shapes slithered from the shadows. They were twisted, armored fiends with burning eyes. Grue’s revolver was already drawn. “I thought this place was safe!”

Dante drew the Force Edge in one smooth motion, his expression hardening. “Guess someone forgot to tell the demons that.”

Sarah took cover near the counter, aiming her pistols. “Where the hell did they come from?”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, scanning the carnage, his mind piecing things together, the fresh bodies, the smell of sulfur.

“Someone let them in,” he said darkly.

But there was no sign of Gilver. Not even a trace. And that, somehow, made it worse.

JINX:
Outside Nell’s workshop, the night was unnaturally still. A thin mist rolled along the cobblestone, broken only by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps. Gilver stood beneath the flickering streetlamp, the faint green of his suit catching the dim light. But his composure, that calm, almost gentlemanly air he usually carried was gone. His breath came out ragged, his posture tight, and when he spoke, his voice carried a low, guttural distortion. An unnatural growl tore from his throat, one that didn’t belong to a man at all.

From the shadows, a cluster of demons slithered into view, fanged, clawed things, eyes glowing like coals. They waited for his command, restless and eager. Gilver didn’t even look at them when he spoke. His tone was cold, deliberate, but there was venom coiled beneath every word.

“Rip the flesh from their bones,” he ordered, his eyes narrowing toward the workshop’s door. “And bring me her half of the amulet.”

The demons hissed in unison, and with a blur of movement, vanished into the fog, leaving Gilver standing alone, the faint echo of his inhuman growl still reverberating in the night.

Inside Nell’s workshop, the air buzzed faintly with the hum of tools and the metallic scent of oil. Jinx leaned back in her chair, watching as Nell adjusted the thick trauma plate strapped over her chest.

“Nell, do we—” She didn’t finish.

The windows exploded inward in a shower of glass as demons came crashing through, snarling and snapping. In a heartbeat, Jinx’s blue eyes flared pink. Her body blurred in a streak of wild energy as she dove for her weapons. Her hands closed around the pistol and the sword in one motion. The first demon lunged.

Jinx swung low, slicing through its legs, then brought the blade up in a swift arc, head clean off. A sharp cry tore through the chaos. Jinx turned just in time to see Nell impaled through the abdomen by a demon’s claw.

“NELL!” Jinx fired on instinct, the bullet punching through the demon’s skull and splattering it against the wall. She rushed to Nell’s side, her breath ragged.

“I’m fine,” Nell hissed through clenched teeth, pressing her hand to the wound. “Trust me, girl, I’ve survived worse than a little stab.”

Jinx’s eyes darted to the shattered doorway, more demons pouring in, claws scraping over the floor.

“Nell, get outta here and hide,” Jinx snapped. “I can’t fight and babysit your old ass at the same time.”

Nell actually managed a weak laugh. “Seems I rubbed off on you in all the right ways.”

She staggered upright and limped toward the back door, disappearing into the storm outside. Jinx exhaled sharply, dropped to one knee, and yanked open a crate under the counter, a belt of Chompers gleaming inside.

The next second, the room erupted into chaos. Demons surged through the windows, but Jinx was missing from the first floor. When the first reached the stairs, a box of Chompers tumbled from above.

BOOM!

The explosion threw Jinx from the upper floor. She crashed down hard, ears ringing, vision swimming. She rolled to her knees just as another demon crawled from the smoke, lunging for her neck, the blue half of the amulet swinging wildly. Jinx gritted her teeth, grappling with it, slamming the creature into a wall. “Get off me!”

She jammed a Chomper between its teeth and kicked it away—

BOOM!

She stumbled back, coughing through the smoke. “I’m gonna be deaf before I hit my thirties,” she muttered.

Another demon leapt from the haze, Jinx snapped the belt of Chompers around its chest and vaulted over a table just as the next explosion tore through the room. Silence followed. Only the crackle of fire and her own heavy breathing.

She straightened, bruised and dust-covered, scanning the wreckage. “That… all of ’em?”

The answer came in a flash of white-hot energy. A searing beam blasted through the front of the workshop, obliterating the walls and everything in its path. Jinx barely had time to gasp before the shockwave hit, throwing her backward and into darkness.

DANTE:
Meanwhile, back in Bobby’s Cellar, chaos reigned. Demons tore through the smoke, their roars mingling with the staccato bursts of gunfire. Dante stood at the center of it all, Force Edge flashing in arcs of silver and purple as he carved through the horde. Each swing was brutal precision, decapitations, impalements, limbs flying through the air. His coat trailed in his wake like a crimson flag.

To his left, Sarah fired her pistols in perfect rhythm, headshot after headshot lighting up the room. To his right, Grue was shooting with his revolver. A demon lunged for him from behind, but Dante didn’t even look. He simply spun, letting Force Edge glide through its torso in one clean motion. The creature fell in two smoking halves.

“Gotta say,” Dante grunted, kicking a corpse off his boot, “this is one hell of a buzzkill.”

“Could say the same,” Sarah shot back, reloading in a blur. “Was hoping for rum, not a damn exorcism.”

Grue groaned, swinging his cleaver down on another demon. “These bastards aren’t from Bilgewater…”

“No,” Dante muttered, eyes narrowing. “They’re from somewhere else entirely.”

The last demon lunged. Dante’s sword met it midair, driving through its skull and pinning it to the floor. With a twist, the creature burst into black ash. The silence that followed was thick, only the crackle of fire and the metallic scent of blood filling the cellar.

Then Dante froze. His expression shifted, the usual smirk fading into something tight, sharper. Sarah noticed immediately. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer at first. His hand clenched over his chest, right where his amulet hung under the shirt. For a brief second, it flared blue, pulsing like a heartbeat out of sync with his own.

“Jinx,” he breathed.

Sarah blinked. “What?”

“She’s in danger.” Without another word, Dante bolted for the exit, Rebellion slung across his back.

“Dante!” Sarah shouted, already sprinting after him.

Grue, clutching his side, cursed under his breath but followed. “Damn it, kid…”

They burst into the storm outside, the rain hammering down. Dante’s stride didn’t falter, his eyes locked toward the mountains where Nell’s workshop stood, where Jinx was. Every step, every beat of his heart, told him the same thing, he was already too far away.

⸻

Nightmare loomed over the shattered remains of Nell’s workshop, its body a grotesque fusion of liquid shadow and living metal. The creature was on all fours, its limbs twisting like roots breaking through the earth. Where a head should have been, there was only a pulsing mass of demonic fluid that shimmered faintly in the darkness. Steam hissed from the ground beneath it, the aftermath of the light beam it had fired that had leveled the building.

Around it, three other horrors emerged from the storm’s mist.

Griffon circled above, wings spread wide and feathers glinting like jagged obsidian. The avian demon’s eyes each bore three golden pupils, scanning the wreckage with cruel precision. Its beak split and reshaped as it screeched, a sound like metal tearing through flesh.

On the ground, Shadow prowled, its form that of an enormous jaguar, muscles rippling beneath a sleek, black surface traced with crimson veins of light. Each step it took left faint, flickering claw marks that glowed before fading away.

Beside it, the earth trembled as Phantom crawled into view, a monstrous arachnid draped in molten armor. Its scorpion-like tail twitched, dripping liquid fire, and the glowing magma lines along its carapace pulsed like a heartbeat, lighting up the ruins around it.

And standing before them, calm amid the chaos, was Gilver. He gazed at the rubble, sensing the faint flicker of demonic energy that belonged to Jinx.

“Fetch me the amulet,” he said simply, his voice cold and distorted through the rain.

The demons obeyed without hesitation, the four nightmares moved as one toward the broken workshop, toward the faint heartbeat buried beneath the ruins.

Before any of the demons could reach the ruins, a crimson bullet tore through the night and struck Phantom, the impact staggering the massive creature and sending molten sparks flying. Gilver and his demons turned toward the source. Dante came storming down the street, his coat whipping behind him, eyes burning red with fury.

“Get away from her!” Dante roared, sprinting full speed toward the horde.

Nightmare let out a deep, guttural growl, rising to its full height. Its arm, thick and gnarled like twisted metal roots, reached out and ripped an entire wall off a nearby building, hurling it toward Dante with a deafening roar. Dante’s blade sang as he drew it in a single motion, the Force Edge cutting clean through the wall in midair. The debris exploded into chunks behind him as he charged forward, eyes locked on Gilver, he didn’t need to be told who was behind this. He could feel it.

“The time has come and so have I
I'll laugh last 'cause you came to die
The damage done, the pain subsides
And I can see the fear clear when I look in your eye”

Steel clashed the moment they met. Dante swung first, fierce and relentless, forcing Gilver back. But Gilver moved like smoke, leaning, ducking, and weaving with almost inhuman precision. When Dante’s strike overextended, Gilver caught his arm and drove a punch straight into his jaw, sending him stumbling back.

Meanwhile, Grue and Sarah struggled to contain the onslaught. The demons were far beyond their level. Shadow’s claws slashed through the cobblestones, Griffon’s lightning seared the air, and Phantom shook the ground with every move.

From beneath the rubble, Jinx stirred. Her head pounded as she crawled free, eyes flicking pink as she took in the chaos. She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to her feet and grabbing her gun.

“…Guess the ‘Q word’ really was cursed,” she muttered before Shadow lunged at her, its maw twisting into a spiked flytrap.

“Whoa. Easy, kitty!” She shouted, dodging a swipe and rolling over debris, firing a few wild shots that grazed its flank.

Sarah aimed up at Griffon, trying to line up a shot, but the demon twisted through the air like lightning itself. Every missed round was answered with a bolt of electric fury that scorched the ground near her.

“Dante! What the hell are these things?!” She shouted over the chaos.

Dante didn’t answer, his focus was locked entirely on Gilver. Their blades sparked as Dante’s strength met Gilver’s uncanny speed. Gilver trapped the Force Edge beneath his katana and pinned it to the ground, twisting Dante’s wrist until the metal groaned. With a roar, Dante broke free, forcing Gilver back, but the bandage man’s stance never faltered. He was toying with him. Holding back. Dante swung again, only for Gilver to finally draw his own blade in earnest. Their weapons collided, a shockwave rippling outward. Gilver began to push Dante back, inch by inch, strength hidden behind calm precision.

Dante gritted his teeth. “What the hell are you?”

Gilver’s eyes gleamed beneath the bandages. “I enjoy that look of confusion. When an inferior being meets a higher power.”

He kicked Dante back with brutal force. Jinx saw it, her teeth gritted, fury flaring. She yanked a Chomper from her belt and hurled it, the grenade spinning through the air before landing squarely behind Shadow.

“Fetch this, you overgrown rug.” The explosion roared, sending flames and black mist through the street as the fight truly began.

Jinx rolled beneath Phantom’s burning tail, the heat licking at her hair as she came up in a crouch. Nearby, Shadow curled into a sphere, its body flickering erratically after the explosion. She noticed the stutter and smirked. They’ve got limits. Good to know.

“I'll never kneel and I'll never rest
You can tear the heart from my chest
I'll make you see what I do best
I'll succeed as you breathe your very last breath”

Overhead, Griffon’s distorted voice cut through the chaos. “Gilver, I have eyes on the amulet.”

“Kid, we need you now—!” Grue’s shout was cut short as Nightmare’s massive arm came crashing down, the blow sending him flying through a wall with a sickening crack.

Dante swung at Gilver, but the bandaged man stepped aside effortlessly, using his katana’s sheath as a bludgeon. The strike hit Dante’s ribs with enough force to throw him off balance, steel ringing against stone as the Force Edge scraped the ground.

“Get her amulet!” Gilver barked at the remaining demons.

“Jinx, you gotta run!” Sarah called out, diving behind an overturned table as Griffon’s lightning tore through the street, scorching the walls around her.

Jinx gritted her teeth, yanking all her remaining Chompers free and tossing them in a wild arc toward Phantom. Her shots followed, the grenades exploded in a chain of fiery bursts, forcing the massive arachnid to curl back into its armored sphere with an enraged screech.

“What? No! We can win this!” She yelled, but her defiance was met by a slab of debris hurled from Nightmare’s arm. It struck her squarely, knocking her through a half-collapsed wall.

“My army comes from deep within
Beneath my soul, beneath my skin
As you are ending, I'm about to begin
My strength is pain and I will never give in
I tell you now, I'm the one to survive”

Dante lunged for Gilver again, his rage peaking, only for the bandaged man to meet him calmly, slamming his sheath into Dante’s chest and sending him sprawling down on his back.

“Enough of these games,” Gilver said coolly, sheathing his katana. “I’ll get it myself.”

He strode toward Jinx as she stirred beneath the rubble, blood trickling down her forehead. Her eyes flashed pink as she lifted her gun and fired. “The necklace doesn’t belong to you!”

The shots hit their mark, sparks flying as bullets met steel.

Dante pushed himself up, rushing forward with a snarl, but Gilver turned sharply, parrying the attack without effort. The follow-up came instantly, a brutal headbutt that cracked against Dante’s skull, followed by a backhand strike that sent him stumbling.

Sarah tried to intervene, only to be blasted aside by a bolt of Griffon’s lightning.

Dante swung again, desperate, but Gilver caught his wrist, twisted, and cut deep across it, sending the Force Edge spinning out of his grip. In a blur of motion, Gilver drove his blade into Dante’s abdomen, then hammered an elbow into his side before slamming his boot against a support beam, collapsing it over Dante’s body.

“Dante!” Jinx screamed, only to have Nightmare’s colossal foot crash down on him. The demon’s spiked, tar-like arm slammed down, pinning him to the ground as she struggled to breathe, her fingers clawing toward the shattered amulet chain around her neck.

The street fell silent except for the sound of thunder. And the quiet, deliberate steps of Gilver, drawing closer.

Sarah struggled to push herself upright, her pistols clattering beside her as Griffon swooped down and perched atop a broken beam. The avian demon tilted its head, three golden pupils focusing on her trembling form.

“Aw, don’t be frightened, human,” it crooned mockingly. “This’ll all be over soon.”

Across the wreckage, Gilver stood over Dante’s battered form, his expression cold behind the mask of bandages. “And you call yourself a devil hunter,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. “Sparda would be ashamed.”

As he turned to retrieve Jinx’s half of the amulet from beneath the rubble, a sharp click broke through the air. Grue, battered but still alive, stumbled forward with his revolver raised. “Step away from her, freak.”

Gilver barely spared him a glance. In a flash of movement, his katana pierced Grue’s shoulder, the blade driving clean through flesh and armor.

“GRUE!” Dante’s cry tore through the air as he tried to rise.

Gilver twisted the blade free and turned back toward Dante, unfazed. “I’m tired of insignificant things getting in my way.”

Grue coughed, blood trailing from his lips, but his hand moved to the grenade at his belt. “Yeah?” He rasped, forcing a grin despite the pain. “Then here’s one last insignificant thing.”

He yanked the pin free. The world erupted. A blinding blast swallowed both men, the explosion shaking the ruined street and hurling debris in every direction. Jinx, Sarah, and Dante screamed in unison—

“NOOO!”

When the smoke finally cleared, Gilver still stood in the crater. His bandages shredded and smoked, but his body nearly unscathed. Only thin wisps of blood marked his skin, and through the torn wrappings, a glimpse of pale, immaculate flesh caught the dying light. He lifted his head slowly. 

“You’ll have to try harder than that. Now,” Gilver said coldly, stepping over the rubble toward Jinx, “to gather the components to free our master.”

Jinx clutched her side, her fingers brushing the half of the amulet still hanging from her neck.

Across the street, Dante strained under Nightmare’s crushing weight, the demon’s massive arm pinning him into the cracked earth. Blood dripped from his lips as he growled through his teeth. Then his eyes flared red, glowing with an infernal light. The faint, glowing patterns of his demonic lineage rippled beneath his skin. With a roar that shook the air, Dante shoved upward, his strength surging as he snapped Nightmare’s hold and drove a glowing fist straight into the demon’s core. The impact sent a shockwave tearing through the ground. Nightmare screamed, its massive form folding into its sphere. Before Gilver could touch Jinx’s necklace, Dante lunged, slamming a blazing punch across his jaw. The impact hurled Gilver through a half-collapsed wall, shattering brick and stone.

Jinx stared wide-eyed, gasping softly, “Dante…”

From the dust, Gilver rose slowly, brushing off his coat, his glowing eyes narrowing.
“Sparda,” he hissed, venom in his tone.

Griffon swooped down beside him, wings crackling with electricity. “Good. Maybe now we’ll get a real fight.”

Gilver’s gaze never left Dante. “No. Not today. He’s drawing on his demonic power. With just us two, we won’t win.”

At that command, the demons began to retreat, Griffon, and the sphere forms of Nightmare, Shadow, and Phantom all vanished into the dark mist as Gilver faded with them. The street fell silent.

Dante’s body relaxed, his glow dimming as he reverted to normal, chest heaving with exhaustion. He looked over the carnage—then his gaze fell to what was left of Grue, the faint smoke still rising from his sacrifice.

“No…” Dante muttered, shaking his head. He dropped to his knees beside the scorched spot, his hand curling into a fist. He shut his eyes, jaw tight, holding back the tremor in his voice. “Damn it, Grue… you didn’t have to go out like this.”

The smoke from the ruined workshop still hung in the air, stinging their lungs. The sound of the soft crackle of what remained of Nell’s shop and the low whistle of the Bilgewater wind.

Sarah stood a few paces away from Grue’s body, her shoulders trembling. She stared down at the scorched ground, her expression unreadable, until she exhaled shakily and muttered, “This can’t be…”

Jinx swallowed thickly, her usual energy drained from her voice. “He was one of the good ones,” she murmured. “He let me sneak into the cellar to get free ammo sometimes.” 

She tried to smile, but it faltered. “His girls… they’re gonna be crushed.”

Dante didn’t say anything. He just stared down at Grue’s body until the silence broke him. “He deserved better,” he said, his tone low and rough. “A man like him… shouldn’t have gone out this way.”

He looked up suddenly, glancing around. “Where’s Nell?”

Jinx’s head snapped up, panic flickering in her eyes. “She was hit earlier, I told her to run—”

Before Dante could move, a familiar voice rasped from the smoke. “Still here, you idiots.”

Nell stumbled out from the wreckage, one hand pressed tightly to her abdomen where blood seeped through the torn fabric. Despite her pallor, her tone was as sharp as ever. “You think a few demons and a workshop explosion are gonna kill me? Please.”

“Nell!” Dante rushed over, catching her as her knees buckled slightly. His eyes darted to the wound  and distress colored his voice. “You shouldn’t even be standing.”

“Yeah, well,” Nell grimaced, forcing a crooked grin, “if I waited for you to patch things up, I’d still be under that rubble. You’ve already made a mess of my damn shop, no need to mess up my pride too.”

Despite everything, Dante let out a small, pained laugh. “I’m sorry, Nell. For your place… for all of it.”

She waved a trembling hand. “Bah. I can rebuild. Or… maybe not.” 

Her gaze flicked to the smoldering remains of her workshop, then softened with reluctant acceptance. “Guess my boy Rock finally got what he wanted. Been nagging me to move to Piltover, work with him in that fancy lab of his.”

Sarah approached, gently steadying Nell’s shoulder. “Then that’s what you’ll do. I’ll make sure you get a ship to go there.”

Nell managed a faint chuckle. “Look at that. Giving me a handout. Maybe the world really is ending.”

Sarah smiled weakly. “Don’t make me change my mind, old woman.”

Dante looked at Nell one more time, his voice quiet but sincere. “You did good, Nell. Real good.”

Nell smirked tiredly as she lowered herself to sit against a cracked wall. “Damn right I did.” 

She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. “Now, go do what you always do, boy. Clean up your mess.”

Jinx knelt beside her, worry flickering behind her pink-tinted eyes. “You better not die on us, granny.”

Nell opened one eye and smirked. “Not before you pay me back for all the scrap you blew up, sugarplum.”

⸻

The walk to Grue’s house was silent. Bilgewater’s usual noise faded under the weight of what they were about to do. Jinx trailed a half-step behind Dante, her fingers twitching nervously as she fidgeted with a loose bullet.

When they reached the door, Dante didn’t bother knocking. He just pushed it open. Tiki and Nesty were in the main room, both mid-laugh over something small from a shared joke, maybe a memory. Their smiles froze the moment they saw Dante’s face.

“Dante?” Nesty’s voice was careful, almost trembling. “Where’s Dad?”

The words barely left her mouth before Jinx’s eyes began to well. Dante exhaled slowly, lowering his head. “Girls…” his voice broke despite him trying to keep it steady. “Your father’s gone.”

Tiki blinked rapidly, confusion fighting with denial. “What… what do you mean gone?”

Jinx shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “He—he didn’t make it. There was a fight. He… saved us.”

The room went still. The sound that followed wasn’t just sobbing, it was grief torn raw, the kind that came from somewhere deeper than words could reach. Tiki fell to her knees, hands covering her face. Nesty stood frozen, mouth open but no sound coming out.

Dante stayed silent, jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to say something, anything, but every word felt hollow. From down the hall came a faint cough. Jessica’s room. Dante looked toward it, brow furrowing. “She’s still sick?”

Nesty wiped her eyes. “Dad didn’t want anyone near her. Said it was contagious.”

Dante’s expression hardened. He stepped forward. “Stay here.”

Jinx looked at him questioningly, but something in his voice. That deep, calm tone that meant something was wrong.

He opened the door to the room alone. Jessica lay on her bed, pale, eyes half-open, but Dante saw it immediately. The dark tendrils of shadow seeping from the corners of the room, the way her breath rattled unnaturally. At her bedside, crouched low and feeding on her despair, was a demon. Thin, skeletal, its skin black and glassy, with long fingers sunk deep into Jessica’s chest where her soul flickered faintly. It turned its head toward him, smiling with too many teeth.

Dante didn’t draw his sword. He just closed the door behind him. From the hall, Jinx called softly. “Dante?”

His voice came through, low and steady. “Jinx. Take the girls outside. Now.”

Jinx froze, she knew that tone. The one that came when he was done talking. She nodded quickly, wiping her tears and grabbing both girls by the shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s go, sweethearts. Just for a bit, okay?”

Tiki resisted, sobbing. “What about Jessie—?”

“Hey,” Jinx whispered, voice cracking. “Trust me. Let him handle it.”

She pulled them close, ushering them through the front door, holding both tightly against her chest. Then…

BANG!

The sound echoed through the quiet street. A gunshot. One single bullet.

Chapter Text