Dante, having been distracted by Varin pulling out his gun heard, those last words leave the mouth of that most beautiful, Opal Sanchez. And he looked into those mahogany portals, having no idea how that sweet little girl with pigtails grew up to be so fucking crazy. Fortunately, Dante’s dick also got a say, and though it couldn’t convince its wiser mentor to dispel all suspicions, it got enough words in edgewise to at least want to entertain this ordeal a while longer. And so, Dante would’ve said okay, if it weren’t for Varin rushing into the middle of the room, his gun in hand.

  “We need to move.” A pair of knocks came to the door. And I say “knocks” to be polite. Better said, it’d be something akin to cannons. Varin pulled back his hammer, and Opal silently positioned herself across from Varin and closer to the corner, hoping for a decent ambush, and Dante stood motionless.

  Shallow, quite irritated that his party was being interrupted, summoned a nice selection of his meatier tendrils, and answered the door before anyone could stop him.

  On the other side was a pair of beefed up, roided out, Blade cosplayers that were actually kind of pulling it off. Varin holstered his pistol, and nodded to Opal, who shook her head with vase still in hand, ready to swing.

  “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” Shallow bellowed.

  Dante took pleasure in seeing the two trying to hide the initial shock of Shallow’s appearance. Varin turned to Shallow, “ Shallow, my deepest apologies. These are…acquaintances of ours. They mean us no harm. I think.”

  Shallow stood there a moment longer, letting them enjoy the sheer immenseness of him, before slopping his way over to the kitchen to grab more bottles. It looked like they’d need them, and then Shallow, happy that the party was once again swimming, hummed a merry tune as he thought up a story to break the tension. He settled on this little upset he had with the captain of a crew taking rest in the port town, Elysia, off the Gulf of Aliston. It was a pretty port, with more steam stacks than most, and a perfect view of the sunset. And just as he always asked Dante when retelling, he asked the wondrous strangers in his humble abode if they’d ever been there, and he’d laugh at whatever answers they offered. This particular captain, who was resting at this particular port town, had stiffed Shallow on a good deal of rum, and Shallow being Shallow, really didn’t like that, and thought to go share words with him. And during the exchange, one snide laugh was avenged with a backhanded compliment, as both sides then mounted assaults with never ending grand re-openings of past scars, before our dear, poor loser landed the killing blow with a crude yo’ mama joke. One that Shallow…didn’t take very well.

  Now, I’m not here to defend ANY of Shallow’s actions, and I can’t even get into all their ramifications without a guaranteed book deal, so the short of it is the captain lost his everything, the Gulf of Aliston lost its central port town, Elysia, and that stretch of humanity lost any notions of peace for the next 8 generations. Good pick.

  As Shallow was preparing the tale, Varin approached the two strangers. He raised a hand in offering, but made sure Opal was standing squarely behind him.

  “This must end.” Varin made a note of not touching his pistol again, but he kept his hand next to it, always ready.

  “It won’t. Not until you’re all dead.”

  Varin, shook the answer from his head. It was one he had made a career out of not accepting. His mind pivoted, and then pivoted again, trying to attack from all angles.

  “And so, you came here to do what? Offer a warm hello before the culling begins?”

  The man with the spiderweb tattoo stretching across most of his neck lowered his head, as though the words he said next hurt as much to say as they did to hear, “A bittersweet goodbye might be more fitting. They’re pulling out all the stops on this one, Varin. They’re going to kill you. They’ll kill you in broad daylight if they can. My boss is still my boss, and my paycheck is still my paycheck, but I just want you to know that the game you’re playing isn’t a fair one.”

  “Never has been,” Varin returned to his half-shot he left by the chess table, and let it sit and burn in his throat a minute before taking that last swallow. “Thanks for the chat. It’d probably be wise for you two to be lea—“

  Opal spoke up, something she thought she’d have to start getting used to. “You fucks are slaughtering my family, and now you follow us here just to…say hello? Like all this shit is just peachy? A bad hand at the table?” Even Opal knew that this was a bit deeper than that. Varin and Rogers had both been working for their respective families in the Syndicate since before she was born. Before her father was even born. They were frenemies in a conflict that outspanned several lifetimes, and this was genuinely a favor that Rogers was bestowing upon them. But she was also pissed. She was also heartbroken. She was a lot of things, and ain’t a single one good.

  Varin, already seeing where things were headed, jerked his head over to Opal and warned her not to make any brash decisions. Unfortunately, brash decisions were the only thing on the menu, and Opal was more than happy to be of service. So she let her mouth fill with poison, and swirled her tongue like a witch with her cauldron, before unleashing it into the room.

  “You’ve killed us without permission of The Syndicate. You’ve killed us out in public. You shot my father at the damn grocery store. You’ve made a good go of it too, but I’m gonna need you to take five. Party’s on break. I’m engaged.”

  Dante was watching intently now. Absorbing every syllable. Varin held his head in his hands.

  Rogers looked on in disbelief, he almost laughed. “This is news. Jakob certainly didn’t receive word.”

  Opal almost lunged at him right there. “That’s because Jakob’s sorry ass is staying single.”

  Rogers listened and paused for a moment. The shadows cast across the deep scars on his face shortened and lengthened again as his face waded over to look at Dante. “Opal. Opal you did not.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Varin, who was enjoying a refilled glass at Shallow’s bequest, couldn’t hide his laughter, “Yes. Yes, Opal did.”

  And Varin and his ex-ex-ex-bestfriend shared a laugh. To the confusion of every other person in the room. Shallow was too drunk and merry to consider much of anything. What was a brilliant move, was actually not the first time they’d seen this. The other one, slow to realize, almost lunged in anger at Dante, “Opal is marrying this? This? Is he just a muggle?”

  Dante, stuck between forming mental arguments in defense of his coolness that he wouldn’t see the results of for another few hours and hoping everyone in the room knew to not mention his lycanthropy, stood there, absolutely dumbfounded.

  Varin and Rogers were absolutely bellowing at this point, and Shallow saw fit to join in, still clueless to any actual information that’s been disseminated, and Opal looked on at Wilbur with the slyest smirk she could muster.

  Rogers found a break between the bouts, and said to Opal, “An excellent move. Truly. But you do realize—“

  Opal rolled her eyes away from the lecture and cut him off, “Yes. I realize.”

  Varin, trying his damndest to hone in on the mortifying horror of their situation, took a break as well and tried to reason with Opal. “As soon as the ceremony ends it’ll be back to the bloodshed. And it’ll happen quite quickly and with more ferocity than we’ve been getting.”

  Opal nodded, exhausted to be speaking of variables she had already considered. She cut Varin off, “We needed time. We have time. We were doomed either way, this way we can at least be doomed later. Besides,” she walked over to Dante, and again placed her hand in his and used the other to rub a smudge from his face . “I think I can fix this one up in a jiffy. Right as rain.”

  Wilbur looked on in sheer horror, the genius of his leader’s plan falling apart faster than a desperate man’s pull out game. Rogers shook each of their hands, thought better than continuing and nodded to Shallow, and was fixing to bid the party farewell, as his apprentice stood fuming in the corner.

  “You fuck. You lousy fuck.”

  “Wilbur—“ Rogers tried to interject, and was swiftly cut off.

  “This marriage is a fucking sham. It’s bullshit. I challenge him.”

  I don’t care how much chess you play. At some point there’s just too many possibilities and variables, not only analyze, but keep herded into a cohesive and comprehensive whole, and you’re bound to fuck up somewhere, and that right there was a possibility that Opal was not expecting. And there wasn’t anything she could do. Dante looked around a room that was all looking at him with varying degrees of intensity. He never thought he’d have to wrap his head around so much new shit at once, but he saw that he’d have to start getting better real fucking quick.

  Opal, knowing it was hopeless, tried anyway, “Needless and stupid, is all this is.”

  Wilbur let her words bounce off him like shit off steel plate, “If you want to play by the rules then we can too. I fucking challenge him.” His anger with his mentor only beginning to grow, he shoved his pointer finger in his direction, “And I don’t wanna hear shit,” he wagged his finger between Varin and Rogers, “Whatever games you two are up to aren’t being played today. We have a job to do.”

  And in a huff he threw off his leather jacket, taking good measure of where the sun was shining in through the room as he did it. He kept the long sleeved black t-shirt on underneath, and he waited for one of the older fucks to get the ball rolling.

  Rogers shrugged his shoulders at Varin, and Varin shrugged his shoulders at Opal. Opal went to go speak with Dante. “Okay, look. This is a duel. One on one. Fisticuffs and nothing your body can’t produce is something you can use. Look at me.”

  Dante, looked into Opal’s eyes, and seeing how lost he was getting in them, tapped the palm of her hand against his forehead to snap him out of it, “Nevermind. Look at that useless fuck over there. He’s strong, but you’re strong too. Right?”

  Shallow, with his bottle upturned and being shaken down for its last drops, “OH HE’S A TOUGH ONE. MADE SURE OF THAT MESELF.”

  Dante, not wanting Shallow to open his mouth and release one singular other word, took his jacket off, and sized up his opponent.

  Varin nodded, and moved to the center of the room right between the two opponents.

  “This is an Agni Kai. This is a duel. Both of you will fight until one remains standing. These are to the death. Typically. Everyone understanding.”

  “GO NOW YOUNG WOLF. TEAR HIM ASUNDER.”

  Now, we’ve seen a fair bit of Dante up until this point. We haven’t gotten a full scope picture of him, and I don’t think we ever truly will, but the image you’ve conjured in your head must be one of mediocrity. Between his stammering and inability to acknowledge the number 5, you’ve probably had him pegged for a bit of a coward, and he is. But it’s because of his cowardice that Shallow made sure to start whooping on the runt from a young age, and when the house is empty save for a kid, a cursed kraken, and a single television that had better not venture too far from whichever channel was dishing out Mike Tyson highlights, there were very few things to get better at aside from boxing.

  In short, Dante’s got hands. Dante’s got hands for fucking days. Now, it might be some time before you can convince him to put them up, and you can always rest assured that the next combo he throws won’t be in a series of 5, but he’ll fuck you up with 4. And he’ll put you ‘neath the ground with 6. Sometimes 7. His current favorite was 8.

  So when Varin called the thing, and Dante, only to himself, heard that ceremonial ding of bells of a wench to come, Dante made sure to put the hurt on him. It was embarrassing really, and it wasn’t all that pleasurable for Dante either. He could feel his passenger in the back, having been rustled from its slumber, and now teething, hoping for an opportunity to let loose and garble something that wouldn’t leave her patron host catatonic for the next few days.

  It wouldn’t be until many days later, once Opal and Dante had gotten to know one another a little better, that he’d reveal what he always liked about boxing, but for now, Opal could only see a visual display hinting at what was to come. What she saw, was a graceful dance. The footwork was immaculate, and his feet hopped and slid across the floor like butter knives across butter. She thought he had looked athletic, sure, but not like an actual athlete. She thought he was just better about hitting the gym than most, which he wasn’t. No, Dante just had a very fortunate ticket on the genetic lottery, paired with a mystical, divine blood lust that was all too keen on fucking shit up, and in their conversations all she saw was his timidness and his fear, but it was in scenes like this he could weaponize it. He could let it all loose, in controlled amounts of course. He’d pull it back, always just enough to keep from killing the guy, before finding another opening and letting loose again. It was like the entirety of his life, ever painful and cautious, condensed into minutes, and given a pristine veneer of justifiable violence. Yeah. Dante liked boxing a lot. And Opal came to discover she liked watching boxing a lot.

  And so when I say Wilbur really fucked up on this one, I mean it. Wilbur cut his teeth on shadowboxing youtube tutorials, and treated his gains to blood-tipped mountain dews. And when he stepped out with that right foot, perfectly choreographing a right jab, Dante, not even needing to sidestep, posted on his foot and ducked his head under, still closing the distance, and using his legs to launch him upwards, driving all that momentum into one bottled up fist before letting it explode against the lower left of his jaw. Just the force took Wilbur off his feet, and a small town of ant-sized carpet dwelling critters waved Wilbur’s two Airmaxes off, and wished them well on their journey, as the back of Wilbur’s head collided with the ceiling.