Chapter 4: A Costume Donned
Dante stepped back into Iblis’ world and noticed how everything had gone to Hell. Buildings were ruined, corpses littered the streets, and the sky was filled with smoke which billowed from fires all around Capital City. He swore that what small patches of the sky he could see were pink, not the blue he was so familiar with. He had assumed things had gone badly against Retribution, considering that he had actually conquered the world, but Dante hadn’t imagined that they had gone this badly. Was Retribution actually capable of doing all this on his own? Judgment hadn’t flaunted this much power ever in his life, how could Retribution really be so destructive? Behind him, the guards all coughed and covered their faces, but that did little to mask the smell. It didn’t matter much anyway, considering the portal had just closed behind them.
“What the hell is going on?” One of the soldiers grabbed onto his shoulder.
“I turned it off,” Dante said, looking around for the nearest escape route.
“What is that supposed to mean? Turn it back on!”
A wicked grin spread across his face, “No.” He quickly spun around and jammed his briefcase into one of the guard’s throats. As the others realized what was happening, he threw it into another’s throat. “Your services,” He brought his fist across a third’s face, knocking him out cold. In the blink of an eye, three spade-shaped throwing knives had lodged themselves in the fourth’s jugular. “Are no longer,” The fifth tried running, but Dante chased him down and knocked him out. “Required.” He looked around at his accomplishment, adjusted his coat, and walked back to pick up his briefcase.
“Now, since the report was completely accurate, Retribution should be showing up around here pretty soon to figure out what the power surge was. I’d better beat it before he decides to add my body to this pile.” Without another word, Dante quickly dashed off to a nearby alleyway. He looked around to make sure there was nobody watching and popped open his briefcase, relieved that its contents were undisturbed by the skirmish. Quickly, he stripped down and put on the red and black costume he hadn’t worn in centuries. It fit him a bit snug, but he figured he would lose the weight he had put on over the years quickly here.
He slipped his mask on over his eyes and covered his head with his hat, which he always wore hearts forward. It was always odd being a card-themed character, but he had found it comfortable to be someone else. The mask itched, but it was a small price to pay for the solace of no longer being Dante Derogioz, mad scientist extraordinaire, but instead the Dealer, criminal mastermind and revered hero (among some circles anyway). He slipped on his mystic-weave gloves and looked at his old clothes. They were the evidence of a man who no longer existed, and he would have none of that anymore. With a small hand motion, a spark of fire appeared on his fingertips, which he threw on the clothes. He watched them burn for a moment, satisfied and content, but then heard a noise and ran off, ready to see what kind of damage he could cause here.
Retribution landed near the bodies and looked around, trying to find the odd energy signature he had detected in the area. It had a strange familiarity to it and was unlike anything he had felt in the past ten thousand years. A pensive frown and furrowed brow decorated his face as he scanned the area, trying to find anything unusual. At first, it seemed his search would be fruitless, but then he stumbled upon four corpses. The signature was gone now, but at least his time wasn’t completely wasted. He approached the bodies and loomed over them, trying to see if there were any signs of life still struggling within them. There wasn’t, but it was clear these mortals had died recently. What wasn’t clear was where they had come from; he didn’t recognize their uniforms or any of the insignia on them. The magic which barely radiated from them was completely foreign from this world, but he couldn’t place where he had seen it before.
This is most confusing. He thought, rubbing his chin. He tried locating their souls among the mass of others trapped within the city but found no luck. With only a last name stitched onto their uniform, he had very little hope that he could sort out which souls were foreign to his world. What exactly killed them? He looked the first one over, noticing their crushed windpipe. I don’t think I have any soldiers around here, and even if I did, none of them are capable of this. Another had a crushed windpipe. A third was clearly suffering from a major concussion, as was a fourth. They wouldn’t resort to such simplistic means of killing either. They usually—what is this? He pulled out the throwing knives from the fifth’s throat. They were shaped like spades.
I know who uses these. He rubbed one of the knives between his index finger and thumb. There isn’t any way that these could be his though. He shouldn’t even be able to come here in the first place. He continued his musing when he suddenly felt a burst of magic. Fire magic? There shouldn’t be any other natural magic users alive anymore. Retribution spread his wings and jumped up, ready to pounce whoever it was that caused this. He looked around but found no one. The only thing here was the burning pile near him, but it wasn’t a natural fire. No, this fire was mystic in nature. Whoever had cast the spell apparently had something to hide. Or they were trying to throw Retribution off to try and survive—that was always a possibility.
He noticed something in the fire though and called it out. It was a card, albeit almost totally melted. It was all he needed to see who created this fire though, and he used the card to look into its past, finding its former owner. So, you’ve returned after all, Dante. Retribution looked to where Dante had run and grinned. Bide your time while you can, Dante. I’ll be sure to find you and figure out just how you came back where you don’t belong.
He ran through the alleyways and streets quickly and quietly, always trying to avoid discovery. It seemed Retribution’s soldiers always traveled in packs and were hard to separate—something the Dealer hadn’t seen in any of the cronies who worked for the organizations he had toppled. Retribution had apparently thought of these sorts of things already. Not only that, but there was this constant feeling that he just couldn’t shake that he was being watched or followed. He shouldn’t have felt this way considering no one should have noticed him by now and he hadn’t left any trail to follow, but he couldn’t put anything past Retribution. Perhaps his forces were more well-organized than the Dealer had realized.
That’s absurd. The Dealer shook his head as he watched another patrol group walk by from above. Even if he is the most powerful being on the Earth, Retribution has never been any sort of General or leader. He’s not that charismatic or influential. Although he is terrifying if he’s capable of this. The group passing by was smaller than the rest, but he couldn’t take any chances yet. How has there not been an uprising yet? Granted, I’m not completely aware of how long he’s been running the show, but someone should have felt they were well-equipped enough to stand up against him.
He heard something behind him and quickly created a fireball in the palm of his hand. The unnatural warmth did nothing to soothe or calm him and only made him paranoid. Had someone discovered him? Was his cover blown? If it was, how had he been discovered? He hadn’t left behind any sort of trail to follow. Maybe his age and mental instability were just getting to him. Yeah, that was probably it. He was just being overly superstitious was all.
And that would have been the case had a group of strange, translucent creatures not popped out of the floor. He threw the fireball at the head of the group and then tried throwing knives at the others. When that failed, he tried his next option and pulled out his regular knife and tried cutting them with that. Once that failed, he ran through his options.
This is bad. Okay, we can get through this. We’ve been through worse. This is still bad. Maybe an explosive might work, but I’m in too close quarters to make it out unharmed. Damn it. Okay. We can still figure this out. Magic seems to be the best option, but I haven’t used it in so long that I don’t think I can beat all of them with it. Plus, one wrong move and I cast a spell that brings all the attention to me—and I certainly don’t need that right now. He backed up against a wall and saw more of the creatures appearing from the ground. Okay, how many of these things are there? This is just unfair. He looked around, trying to find a way out. The creatures were blocking the doorway and the windows, which, in retrospect, it wasn’t the best idea to move away from those. Then he looked up and saw a hole in the ceiling. If he could reach it, he could easily escape from the oncoming crowd.
Quickly, he cast another fireball spell and knocked back the creatures to give himself some running space. He ran to the wall, jumped onto it and used it to rebound and get the extra height he needed to catch onto the floor above. He quickly ran off from there out of the building, unwilling to be caught in the same situation again. Even if those creatures were going to catch him again, he would be ready to fight them with everything he had.
Alright. I need someone to talk to so I can find out what in all of Hell happened here. He looked southward, failing to find the bright radiance which came from the Iblan Well. So, Iblis is gone then? That’s terrifying. He looked to the north, and couldn’t see the foreboding red glow from the portal to Hell. Grandtacular, Anti-Iblis is out too? Who the Hell else is there then? He looked to the sky and saw the ARC still floating high above the planet. I doubt Dusk would be so far removed from the world that he wouldn’t know what problems I’ve been sent to fix are. He set down his suitcase and pulled a leather-bound book out of it. He flipped through the yellowing pages, trying to find the teleportation spell which would certainly have come in handy earlier.
The spell would have been useless anyway. He thought, now finding it. I’d need a spell circle inscribed into something to even begin using it. He took out a piece of chalk and sketched the circle into the ground. If my calculations are right, and there’s no reason to think they won’t be, then I should be taken directly to the ARC. If not, then I am going into the vast vacuum of space never to be seen again. He activated the circle and saw the bright white light shoot up from it—a good indicator that the spell was, in fact, working as intended. He wanted to be sure, and so he threw a nearby rock (at least he hoped it was a rock) into the circle and watched it quickly disappear, deconstructed by the spell to be reconstructed elsewhere in the universe (hopefully the ARC).
“Who’s there?” He heard someone shouting. He turned to see two oddly dressed people (he couldn’t discern whether they were male or female) looking into the alley. Before they could get any closer, a pair of throwing knives found themselves lodged in one’s throat, giving the other only a moment to react. They threw a purplish fireball at him, but the Dealer reacted quickly and threw a mystic ball of ice at the fireball. The two spells met and burst into a cloaking smokescreen, which the Dealer used to jump into the teleportation circle and leave to his next destination.