Again, this strange... dream.
Once more, Dante Winters found himself submerged in the recurring nightmare that haunted his nights.
Bright red. Flames.
The world beneath him was consumed by unnatural crimson fire, burning with an intensity that defied all logic, refusing to be extinguished.
Everything was aflame. Buildings crumbled as they burned, vehicles melted into twisted wreckage, roads cracked and charred, and even people were swallowed whole by the inferno.
It was as though the entire world had been drenched in blood-red. The color consumed his blurry vision, twisting everything into a surreal, apocalyptic landscape.
Through the haze, Dante could make out shapes. Gigantic, looming forms, moving through the destruction. No, not just shapes, but monstrous, otherworldly beings wreaking havoc. Even though their outlines were unclear, their presence was undeniable. Each one was a towering terror, far too gruesome to be considered anything remotely human.
They moved with terrifying power, shattering and decimating everything in their path. And despite the devastation they caused, Dante couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that they were like children, unknowingly playing with destruction.
Above the roaring flames and crashing debris, another sound pierced the chaos: the cries of the dying.
Screams. Desperate pleas. Agonized wails.
Dante watched in horror as people were torn apart, crushed beneath collapsing buildings, or burned alive by the unrelenting blaze. There was no escape. Some fought to survive, their cries echoing in despair, while others simply succumbed to the destruction.
Men, women, children, the elderly. None were spared.
It didn't matter who they were. Rich or poor, young or old, strong or weak, like they were facing judgement for their sins, every life was cut down indiscriminately.
What the hell… what the hell is going on? Everyone is dying? Why? How could this be?
Dante's thoughts were a chaotic swirl, unable to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the destruction unfolding before him.
As if he was thrown into a scenario where the world was ending, everything was grimly and filled with disorder. But he couldn't pinpoint what exactly was causing the destruction.
What was driving this destruction? What was the source of such merciless ruin? Was this God's Judgement?
Instinctively, he tried to move, to react, but something held him back.
His body felt strange. Unnatural. His movements were sluggish, resisted by some force that he couldn't understand. A disquieting sensation crept through him, foreign yet somehow familiar.
What's… happening?
Dante's unease deepened. Something was undeniably wrong with his body.
If he had to describe it, the only words that came to mind were unsettlingly vague: "It feels like I'm inside someone else's body… and yet, somehow, it's still my own."
The dissonance rattled him.
Who, or what, was he in this moment? And why did it feel like he was both himself and a stranger, trapped in this chaotic inferno?
With effort, he managed to turn his head, muscles jerking unnaturally as though resisting his will.
His gaze dropped to his own body what should have been his body, and the sight froze him in place.
His vision shook violently, his mind reeling as if rejecting the image before him.
Wh-What is this? Dante's thoughts spiraled in panic and desperation.
Where his body once was, a grotesque, undulating form now stretched and writhed. A massive, dark armoured, centipede-like creature. Its segmented length coiled around a skyscraper, dwarfing the structure. Far below, the city sprawled like a miniature diorama where the people seemed like mere dots on a map. As if they were utterly inconsequential.
Even then, his body didn't stop. It kept growing, expanding with an eerie, unstoppable momentum.
Bones groaned and reshaped, flesh stretched beyond comprehension in a disgusting manner, it was as though his form were determined to span the earth itself, or perhaps reach even heights!
A dreadful certainty gripped his mind: this body, his body, would stretch endlessly. It would grow infinitely, devouring space and time until everything, absolutely everything, was consumed. The limits of the world. The boundaries of reality itself!
It was monstrous. It was impossible.
And yet, somehow, he knew.
This is me.
Horrified by the realization, Dante's focus was drawn to a new, vile sensation of something, or a bunch of them emerging from his horrifying body now towering over 250 meters.
Through the crimson haze of his numerous unblinking, monstrous eyes, he saw them.
Vile, pulsating appendages and gaping holes protruded from his massive, darkened flesh.
From these abhorrent holes, countless objects coated in thick, red liquid began to fall. They plummeted to the earth below, hitting the ground with wet, tremendous thuds.
And then they began to move.
The objects writhed and twisted, reshaping themselves into monstrosities. Each one a unique horror, born to destroy. They rampaged across the ruined earth, driven by a singular, all-encompassing purpose:
Complete Annihilation.
Dante trembled, unable to stop the carnage that unfolded before him. His mind was trapped in a storm of fear, revulsion, and helplessness. The destruction was absolute, unstoppable. It was beyond his control!
Because this was him. This was his existence now.
In the next moment, Dante's vision was engulfed in blinding white. His thoughts wavered, and his consciousness began to slip away, like grains of sand through his fingers.
He couldn't tell if he was waking up, or if his very soul was being devoured by something lurking deep within.
But just before his mind faded into oblivion, something caught his attention.
Huh? Wait... what is... that? Someone is... standing there?
At the edge of his vision, barely perceptible amidst the devastation, he saw a figure.
At first, it seemed like nothing was there. Nothing was supposed to be there. No one was supposed to be there.
But as he focused, the image became clearer. There was a figure standing atop a building.
It was a human. A female.
Even though his vision was blurred and his mind disoriented, he could sense something from her.
She wasn't just another casualty of the destruction. No, she was different.
She was crying.
But Dante couldn't understand. Why would someone cry amidst all of this? The suffering? The carnage? Her voice was filled with despair, yet it wasn't for the devastation around her, or the people who were being slaughtered.
She was crying because of him. No, she was crying for him!
He didn't understand. Why would anyone, let alone a stranger, cry for him, who had become this monstrous creature, the cause of all this destruction?
No matter how he looked at it, he was definitely the villain in this story.
He was the demon who had turned the world into ruin.
But there she was, clutching her chest, tears falling freely as she cried for him. For the monster he had become.
She was shouting something, though the words were lost to the chaos.
Dante Winters hadn't forgotten those words, even now, in the silence that followed. The words, the curse, repeated endlessly in his mind:
"Why~ Why~ Why did you give up on your own life?"
†
†
"—! Hah... Hah...—!"
Dante's eyes snapped open and at the same time, he made rough gasp.
In a situation, where he looked up to the ceiling, he realized that he had woken up. Slowly, he began to calm his chatoic heartbeat, forcing himself to focus on the present.
Well, that was something. No matter how I see that peculiar dream, I can't get used to it.
As that thought crossed his mind, Dante couldn't help but wonder if there was truly anyone who wouldn't be shaken by such a nightmare.
In the end, he realized, he was no different from anyone else.
After all, no matter how insignificant, humans were always alike in some way. At least, that's what he used to tell himself.
Dante looked at his still trembling hands and frowned.
"What a mess," he muttered to himself. "For some reason, I keep having that same dream. What was that about, anyway?"
Was that really a dream, or his predetermined destiny?
No, Dante quickly dismissed the thought. Dreams were nothing more than constructs of the human subconscious, a jumble of memories, experiences, and emotions drawn from the vast ocean of one's life. There was no higher meaning to them.
He didn't believe in destiny or the nonsense people often peddled in stories, anime, or media. What people called "destiny" was simply the result of their choices, actions, and circumstances. People misinterpreted this, convinced that some higher power was in control of their fate, especially those who'd suffered misfortune. To them, destiny was a comfort, and a way to explain the unexplainable.
"If you're lazy or don't have the right grades, how are you supposed to get a job?" he thought bitterly. "If you don't have a good job, how can you provide for yourself, let alone your family?"
Dante's mind recoiled at the idea of fate pulling the strings. It was a comforting lie for people who needed it. But where was the free will in that?
He refused to accept such delusions! And he certainly shouldn't be bothered by the strange scenarios his subconscious was creating!
This wasn't the first time he'd had a bizarre dream. He recalled one instance, a dream in which he had a gorgeous girlfriend who seemed straight out of a romance novel, fiery red lipstick and all that.
And guess what? She never existed.
He had never had a hot girl approach him, never received a love letter, never been gifted chocolates or flowers on Valentine's Day. Despite repeatedly being told he was good-looking, he had never once experienced that dreamlike affection. His mind had constructed this fantasy, only to smash it to pieces with the cold, crushing reality that he was, and always had been, alone.
Dante clicked his tongue bitterly.
Just thinking about it was enough to darken his mood. Who wouldn't want to feel a girl's warm embrace and squeeze her with all your might?
Just as that thought crossed his mind—
Ring! Ring!
The shrill sound of his alarm clock sliced through the silence from the small bedside table next to his bed, where a drawer hung half-open, papers strewn carelessly across the surface.
What better way to wake up than to be greeted by the irritating sound of your own alarm clock?
"Ah, I knew I was missing something. Since the alarm clock went off, I guess it means I've finally woken up."
From past experience, Dante knew there were no clocks in dreams, so the blaring sound was the unmistakable sign that reality had reclaimed him.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and reached out to silence the clock.
The time on that clock read: [7:00 AM].
A deep sigh escaped him.
It was a Monday morning, August 1st, 2011. On this day, summer vacation officially ended, and schools across the city were reopening.
For Dante Winters, this meant his second year at Riverstone High was about to begin.
"Oh, right… I totally forgot. Damn it. I shouldn't have pulled an all-nighter and messed around with my phone. What a drag."
He grumbled, scratching the back of his head.
This was exactly why he hated Monday mornings, and today, he woke up in a particularly foul mood.
"Well, there's not much I can do about it. It's not like I can just rewind time, right? Might as well get ready and head to school early for once."
He had built quite the reputation for arriving late to school.
Considering his house was far from the Academy and he wasn't exactly a morning person, it wasn't surprising.
Yawning and scratching his stomach under his shirt, Dante shuffled forward in his slippers.
A few moments later, he opened the bathroom door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. Above the sink, a medium-sized mirror reflected his tired face.
Perhaps because he had just woken up from an unpleasant dream, he found himself paying more attention to his appearance than usual.
In the mirror, he saw his reflection staring back at him, bleary-eyed and still caught between sleep and wakefulness.