Dante pushed open Helena's apartment door without a word.
She stumbled inside, silent, her face soaked with tears she no longer bothered to wipe away.
Milo was dead. Lexie too—at least that's what she still believed.
And her ? She hadn't been able to do anything, nothing, but cry.
Dante lingered in the doorway. His scarlet eyes locked onto Helena with an emptiness, so cold it felt cruel.
He had long lost the ability to feel anything but rage—and he knew it.
Not a word, not a breath, just that expressionless stare.
Helena collapsed onto the couch. She let out a voiceless scream, fist pressed against her mouth.
Then she saw the knife—on the kitchen table. A dark thought crossed her mind. She sprang to her feet and grabbed the blade.
— "Milo is dead... Lexie is dead... Nash is dead... and I'm still alive ? WHY ME ?!" she screamed.
Dante didn't move. He just watched her, silent—like he was waiting for her to figure it out on her own.
She raised the knife… and in an instant, he was there.
The cut never came. With one swift blow, Dante knocked her out cold with the back of his hand.
Helena collapsed without a sound. The knife hit the floor with a metallic clink.
He lifted her gently, carried her to the bed, and covered her with an odd tenderness for someone so cold.
Then he just stood there, staring down at her for a long time.
He was tired—tired of watching the living bleed more than the dead.
He glanced out the window.
In the distance, the city was burning—but he wasn't surprised. Not with the chaos SPIRAL had unleashed.
And Ginny… Ginny was still asleep.
Normally, Dante would've ignored her. He'd fought so many cauchemar alone dozens of times before.
But now it was different. He could still feel the stigmata—those searing red marks burned into his skull.
"Six... seven times."
He'd counted them, trying to decipher their meaning, how to get rid of them. No luck.
His power was ripping him apart from the inside. Only Ginny could contain it.
He sat down. Just for a second.
And at that exact moment… the phone rang.
Helena's phone.
Unknown number.
He stared at it, skeptical. Then picked it up.
— "…Hello?"
— "Ah! Finally. Wasn't expecting you to answer, but hey. Hello, Dante. Still allergic to phones, huh ?"
The voice was mocking, casual.
— "…Belloq," Dante growled.
"Heh. Knew you'd recognize me. Guess you're not completely out of it. Okay, let's keep this simple : the Caledrons took your family to the East District. They might already be dead—or not. Hard to tell in this mess. But hey, an intervention team's on it."
Dante clenched his jaw. His heart was pounding.
— "You sure there's an intervention team?"
— "Better question is: what don't I know, Dante?" Silence. "Look… I've got my reasons for calling. But you better move. This isn't just some brawl. It's a regional-level catastrophe."
Dante was about to respond, already planning to head for the East District, when suddenly—
His breath caught.
---
Miles away, on the roof of the Caledron Manor, something monstrous stood in the rain.
This wasn't Rowen anymore. This wasn't even human—it was an abomination.
His eyes ? No… hishorns.
They had driven themselves into his eye sockets, and through them, he could see everything.
He raised his head, his chest swelling, a guttural sound rising from his throat.
Then he screamed.
The sound was too powerful to be heard. It was felt.
A psychic shockwave tore across the region at the speed of sound.
It hit every fractured mind—the addicts, the violent, the tormented.
Those who hated, who grieved, who cursed the world.
And it whispered :
"Kill. Devour each other. But above all… find Dante. Bring me his head."
---
Dante staggered.
The psychic wave crushed his nerves. His mind reeled like a boat in a storm.
He gripped the table, trying to steady himself.
But in the center of the room—something was changing.
The ground trembled. Violet light bled from the walls.
And suddenly, he felt it—a warmth, familiar. Not hostile, but… comforting.
He turned.
And there she was. Ginny. But not like before.
No more beast form. No more wild aura of a bodiless spirit. For the first time, Ginny had taken a human shape.
She looked like a kid. Oversized white t-shirt. Curved horns sprouting from her skull.
Red hair falling in tangled locks.
Her eyes glowed yellow, with strange patterns in the pupils.
Despite her claws, her black angel wings, and half-hidden fangs—she grinned with mischievous innocence.
— "Hi, Jin," she said, voice playful and childlike.
Dante took a step back, wide-eyed, frozen.
— "…What ?"
Ginny raised her arms in a dramatic flourish, gave a little bow.
— "It's me. You know, the one that's been napping in your left shoulder for, hmm… a very long time."
He opened his mouth—but nothing came out.
She drifted toward him, barefoot, hovering just above the floor.
— "You have no idea how hard it is to stay silent through all your meltdowns, your fights, your little 'dark monologues about the meaning of life', huh ?" she teased, mimicking his voice mockingly.
— "You… you can talk ? Now ?"
She tilted her head, winked.
— "I learned. I read everything you read. Words, syllables, your ridiculous grammar… Eventually, it clicked."
— "Why now ?"
Ginny put a clawed finger to her lips.
— "Because until now, I didn't have the strength—or the control. My voice would've shredded your ears. Demon language aren't meant for humans. And honestly ? I never saw the point in learning the language of lesser beings. But since my master is a human…"
She paused. Her tone softened.
— "But now… you can hear me. You understand both languages—your time in Hell helped burn away the filter. Currently I am speaking to you in demonic language and your words are automatically translated to me, it's the same for you, but if I started speaking human language I would sound like a 7 year old child. So I can properly speak to you and my kind in demonic language."
She stepped closer. Her gaze turned serious, despite her playful aura.
— " I talk a lot, huh ? I didn't want to scare you."
— "You didn't," he muttered. "You just… shattered everything I thought I knew. And now I feel stupid."
She laughed—gleeful.
—"Hehehe… Then wait till you see me fight like this. It's comfy, but I'm not used to it yet."
Outside—howls, police sirens, gunfire. The city was plunging into a nightmare.
Ginny turned to the window, squinted.
— "Rowen's wave already infected the fractured minds. The weak fall first. Next come the angry. Then the strong—the ones who think they control their hatred."
— "And me?" Dante asked.
She smiled—that odd, unnerving smile.
— "You ? You've always tamed yours. You're cold as the frost-breath of the Monarch Dragon.
But tonight… you'll have to release your hatred. Otherwise, you won't stand a chance against him.
Of course, you never accept my help," she added, flexing her scrawny biceps.
He looked toward the door.
— "Here we go."
— "Perfect! I wanna see blood."
— "Ginny…"
She shrugged, mock-innocent.
— "What ? I've been good for years."
And she followed.
The duo stepped out. The door slammed shut behind them.
---
At first, it was just a chill. That eerie feeling of being watched from the dark.
Then came the screams.
An old woman praying on her balcony suddenly hurled herself into the wall, skull cracking.
A group of workers began slaughtering each other—wrenches, shovels, screwdrivers.
All without reason.
No fear, no hate. Just a command burned into their minds. Eyes blank, mouths shut.
---
Police Station – 10:07 PM
Captain Harold turned to his men. Three were already down. Two others were laughing, smashing their heads into lockers.
He shouted orders. No one understood. The wave was already there.
Kill them. They're lying. Their eyes judge you.
"NO!" he screamed, clutching his head.
But his deputy had already drawn his weapon and emptied it into the offices.
The radio crackled :
"—This is Station 12, we—shit, they've gone crazy! The sergeant shot me! Someone answer, I—"
---
Southern Military Garrison – 10:15 PM
General Adolph read the first reports in disbelief.
— "Hostile civilians ? Mutations ? What the hell is this ?"
Then he saw from the watchtower.
A river of bodies. Gang members, workers, elders, teens.
All screaming. Some fresh out of the shower, others wielding tools, some bare-handed.
And at the front… the mutants.
The ones the wave hadn't just warped mentally—but twisted physically.
He triggered the quarantine protocol, but it was already too late.
---
— Inquisitor of Heresy — East District, 10:22 PM —
Inquisitor Maël whispered a hurried prayer as he reloaded his arquebus.
In all his years of service, he had never seen anything like this.
He ran through alleys where his fellow inquisitors now hung from streetlamps—executed by crazed civilians.
The wave was no longer just the work of an criminal awakened. It had become a demonic virus— Not meant to kill... but to corrupt.
---
— From the perspective of a civilian : Joren, 27 —
Joren walked with a blank stare, suddenly unable to remember anything.
Except for one command : Bring me Dante's head.
He didn't know who Dante was—but he knew that if he found him, he might become himself again.
Behind him, hundreds of figures marched too.
Families, students, soldiers. All possessed.
Chaos had spread across the entire region.
In less than an hour, social order had collapsed.
Authorities, law enforcement—even the inquisitors—were struggling not to fall to it.
Some shot their comrades.
Sme took their own lives.
Others… joined the horde.