Dante and Jophiel passed through the grand gates of Saint Raphael's Hospital, located in the very heart of Duraand. Here, humans afflicted by the disease of corruption were treated, or at least, that's what people were led to believe if they still clung to hope. Corruption often manifested through progressive blindness, devouring the senses and slowly pulling the victim into a world of shadows. Yet as Dante walked calmly through the corridors beside Jophiel, he could not help but notice how much the world had changed after decades of brutal struggle. Now, they attempted to "save" the bearers, even the Awakened ones, if not cure them. They locked them up, educated them... and in the end, forcibly conscripted them into the army, all under the polished lie of rehabilitation. In the past, things had been simpler and far crueler, the corrupted were executed on sight, sometimes burned alive during public raids. Fear dictated justice—an ancient, primal fear, because corruption, unlike the powers of light, knew no mercy.
At the reception desk, after long negotiations with secretaries, they were handed special suits. Dante eyed the rigid, narrow garment with a hint of amusementt, It resembled a hazmat suit used in nuclear incidents, except for the small crystal embedded at the wrist, housing a pearl of dazzling white. A recent invention, supposedly blessed by light, intended to absorb the corrupted emanations temporarily.
— "Pathetic." Dante thought as he pulled on the suit with a grimace, stifling a chuckle. He, who could absorb the energy of a black meteorite with bare hands without so much as flinching, found such a device almost insulting. Silently, he congratulated himself on his own superiority, savoring a fleeting taste of arrogant pride he rarely allowed himself to display.
The duo crossed several wings until they reached a secluded section where "irreversible" patients were kept. The rooms were numbered, without decorations, stripped of any trace of humanity. When they finally stopped before one of them, Dante immediately felt an unusual tension coil inside him. Behind that door was Annabelle. His mother. Or rather, what remained of her.
Upon entering, he saw a woman seated on a bed far too large for her frail frame. Her once golden hair was now dull and matted; her skin, pale to the point of blending with the sheets. But it was her eyes that struck him, two pitch-black voids, devoid of any spark of life. She seemed exhausted, worn down to the edges of existence. As the door clicked softly shut behind them, Annabelle turned her head, tilting her ear.
— "Who's there?" she asked in a hoarse, broken voice.
Jophiel immediately stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder—a clumsy, tender gesture.
— "It's me, Mom. It's Jophiel," she answered with a smile Annabelle would never see.
She gave a slight, almost imperceptible smile, but her face tensed as she sensed another presence, another aura. She frowned, growing wary.
— "You brought a friend with you?" she asked, her voice edged with cautious suspicion.
Before Jophiel could respond, Dante felt an old, bitter tightness seize his chest. He knew what it meant. Even blind, even hollowed out by illness, a mother could always recognize her child... and yet, she did not recognize him. Worse still, she sensed something strange. Jophiel, visibly flustered, rushed to answer.
— "It's Dante, Mom... It's... it's Dante."
A heavy silence fell, as if the name had plummeted into a bottomless pit. Annabelle slowly nodded but said nothing more. Yet Dante could read the truth in her muteness. She knew. He knew. Maybe she couldn't put it into words, but her maternal instinct had sounded an alarm, something inside Dante had changed beyond recognition.
A faint, bittersweet smile touched Dante's lips. He stepped forward slowly, taking his mother's frail hand in his own, and the moment they touched, he understood immediately that something was horribly wrong. The corruption inside her wasn't natural. It was deliberate. He knew it deep within his bones, an ancient knowledge inherited from his countless hunts.
Some black-hearted souls, for a handful of gold, willingly infected others with corruption.
Gently pulling up Annabelle's sleeve, Dante revealed a hideous bite mark, poorly healed, ringed with a pulsing, blackish halo beneath her skin.
His crimson eyes gleamed with tightly-reined fury. He could feel his aura slipping free despite his efforts, an icy, sinister mist leaking from him. A predatory, sadistic smile curled onto his lips involuntarily. He would find them. He would make them pay. Every last breath, every last scream, he would wrench from them in agony. For Annabelle. For what they had dared to do.
At that precise moment, the pearls attached to their wrists began flashing frantically, detecting the surge of corrupted energy Dante had unknowingly unleashed. Realizing his mistake, he exhaled sharply in annoyance. He had let his presence slip free too easily, saturating the crystals designed to neutralize minor leaks. A feat, perhaps—but an unnecessary risk. He promised himself he would train harder, master his monstrous nature, never again revealing his true self so carelessly.
Moments later, alerted nurses rushed down the hallway, pushing carts stacked with fresh medicine and replacement pearls. They threw wary glances at Dante as they passed, whispering nervously among themselves. He simply returned their stares with an icy look, before turning his head away, disinterested. Without another word, he and Jophiel exited the room, closing the door quietly behind them, leaving Annabelle to slip once again into the illusion of a peace she had long since lost.
Dante said nothing. He didn't have to. But in his mind, a single thought burned :
He would find the ones who had done this. And he would erase them. One by one.
As they crossed back through the corridors, Dante halted for a brief moment. Without a word, he placed his hand against the nearest wall. A faint hum resonated through the structure, almost invisible, seeped from the surroundings toward him, drawn like moths to a dying flame. Dante, fully aware of the danger, absorbed the corrupt energy that tainted the entire wing of the hospital, cleansing it at the cost of his own vitality. He did not flinch. He had long since learned how to master the black energy, how to tame the darkness within him without allowing it to consume his soul. Thanks to his intervention, the patients began to heal, one after another, their bodies slowly reclaiming life—including Annabelle, whose heart, for the first time in months, found the strength to beat with renewed vigor.