Fight

Fight
Dante had just closed the door to his room when his phone vibrated again. He hesitated, glancing toward the bedroom where Aria slept soundly, her soft breathing echoing faintly through the hall. The screen glowed in his hand — “Damien.”

His jaw clenched. For a moment, he considered ignoring it. But something about the timing made his chest tighten. With a sharp breath, he swiped to answer.

“What do you want?” Dante’s voice was low, cautious.

A short, dry chuckle came from the other end. “Relax, brother. It’s been a while since we had a chat without blood involved.”

“Get to the point, Damien.”

“Oh, straight to business,” Damien replied, amusement laced with malice. Meet me. We need to talk — tonight.”

“About what?” Dante’s tone sharpened, suspicion slicing through the calm.

A pause. Then Damien’s voice dropped lower, deliberate. “About her.”

Dante froze. “Aria?”

“Who else?” Damien’s laughter was soft, mocking. “You think you can take her from me? From the truth? You’re playing with fire, Dante — and you know how that ends.”

“Don’t test me,” Dante warned, his voice trembling slightly with restrained rage.

“Then prove it,” Damien said coolly. “Meet me at the old pier by midnight. Alone. Or I start talking—to her.”

The line went dead.

Dante stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding so loud it drowned the silence. He stared at the phone, jaw tight, eyes dark with storm.

From the bedroom, Aria stirred faintly, murmuring his name in her sleep.

He swallowed hard, slipped the phone into his pocket, and whispered to himself—

“Looks like the past isn’t done with me yet.”

Damien sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the night pressing against the windows like a silent accomplice. His face was half-shadowed, the faint glow of a single desk lamp glinting off the metal laid out before him — a small pistol, two silver blades, and a vial of something dark and thick that pulsed faintly under the light.

He rolled his shoulders, the tension in his muscles sharp as he wiped a blade clean with slow, precise movements. His reflection flickered in the steel — calm, dangerous, and cold.

“So,” he muttered to himself, voice low and deliberate, “the great Dante thinks he can keep secrets from me.”

He loaded the pistol, the click echoing in the silence. Then he reached into the drawer, pulling out a black velvet pouch. Inside, nestled like a deadly treasure, was a small charm etched with lunar markings — one he had stolen long ago from the temple ruins.

“Tonight,” he whispered, turning it in his hand, “the moon will choose her side.”

He slid the weapons into his jacket, every movement calculated. A smirk tugged at his lips — not of amusement, but of certainty.

“Let’s see if the golden boy still bleeds like the rest of us.”

Pocketing the charm, he turned off the lamp and stepped into the night. The door clicked softly behind him, leaving only darkness and the faint echo of his final words to linger in the air—

“This time, Dante won’t walk away alive.”

The wind off the pier was sharp and cold, carrying the brine of the sea and the whisper of something darker. Waves slapped against the rotting wood, steady and hollow, like a heartbeat buried beneath the surface.

Dante’s car engine cut out, leaving the night to swallow him whole. He stepped out slowly, his coat shifting in the breeze, boots echoing against the old boards. His silver eyes swept the shadows, sharp and calculating.

He could feel him — Damien was close.

The moon hung heavy above, its pale light glinting off the surface of the water. Dante’s fingers flexed at his side, the faint hum of restrained power rippling beneath his skin. Every instinct screamed that this wasn’t just a meeting — it was a trap.

“Come out,” Dante said, voice low but steady, slicing through the silence. “You called me here. Stop hiding.”

A soft chuckle drifted from the darkness. Then Damien emerged, slow and deliberate, his eyes gleaming like storm clouds.

“Still impatient,” he drawled, stepping forward until the moonlight caught his face. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I don’t run,” Dante replied, his tone calm but edged with danger. “You wanted to talk. So talk.”

Damien smiled faintly, his hand resting casually in his coat pocket. “Oh, we’ll talk,” he said, eyes flicking toward the sea. “About the past. About Aria. About how easily everything can be taken away.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “Leave her out of this.”

Damien’s smirk deepened. “You really think you deserve her?” He took another step closer, his voice lowering to a venomous whisper. “After what you did five years ago?”

The air between them seemed to shift, heavy with something electric — rage, guilt, and the faint promise of blood.

Dante’s voice dropped to a warning growl. “Don’t push me, Damien.”

But Damien only laughed softly, tilting his head. “Oh, I plan to.”

Lightning cracked in the distance, a low rumble following like the growl of fate itself.

Both men stood still — one trembling with fury, the other smiling like a man who’d already written the ending.

The night held its breath.

Dante took a slow step closer, his aura shifting, the air around him humming with restrained magic. “I warned you to stop.”

But Damien didn’t. He pulled a small dagger from his coat, the blade catching the moonlight. “I could end this now. Save her from you.”

Dante’s eyes flickered silver — a dangerous light. “You lay a hand on her, and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Damien snapped, his voice cracking with anger. “Kill me? Like you almost did that night? You think she’d still love you after that?”

The accusation hung in the air like smoke.

For the first time, Dante hesitated. His breathing grew shallow, eyes darting away for a second too long — and Damien saw it. The weakness. The wound.

He stepped closer, his smirk sharpening. “She doesn’t know, does she? About the blood on your hands. About the night she was chosen.”

Dante’s control snapped. In one swift motion, he lifted his hand — the force of his magic slamming Damien back against a wooden post with a dull thud. The pier trembled under the impact, water spraying up between the planks.

“Don’t—” Dante hissed, his voice trembling with fury. “Don’t speak her name again.”

Damien laughed through the pain, blood trickling from his lip. “You can threaten me all you want, brother… but the truth always finds its way to the surface.”

He leaned forward, whispering through clenched teeth, “And when it does… she’ll hate you more than she ever hated me.”

Lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating their faces — two men with the same fire in their eyes, but one burned by guilt, the other by vengeance.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. The world held still, the ocean roaring beneath them.