Dante struck the training dummy with all his might. With each blow, a dull crack echoed through the room. Whether the dummy itself was splintering—or his own knuckles were breaking—he couldn't say for certain.
But it didn't matter.
He had to unleash this pent-up fury somehow, and he saw no other outlet than to take it out on this poor, unfortunate dummy.
He knew that the cure would demand sacrifices. Even in Soley itself, so many had died over the past ten years for that damned remedy. He was more than aware of how difficult it was to produce—and how lucky he'd been. That he was a singular anomaly, probably the only immortal in the entire world.
If it had been easy to create this cure, he'd have found a way to become normal again years ago—perhaps here in Soley, or with the help of any scientist who wasn't named Helios Vale, who was half as smart or capable and who actually valued life a little more than that psychopath of a pharmacist!
He hated it. This entire wretched situation—and himself for his own stubborn morality standing in his way this time.
He didn't want to sacrifice anyone. No one should have to give up their life for his dream. It was a terrible feeling, knowing his fortune was built on the deaths of others. Probably the main reason he was so furious with Helios, who treated the whole affair as if it were child's play.
Dante thought back to his time on the front lines, to those war years when killing had been a bitter necessity. A soldier had no choice: destroy the enemy or be destroyed himself. He had taught himself to be ruthless in order to survive.
Those who showed mercy on the battlefield laid themselves bare on a silver platter.
He had learned the hard way that you rarely truly "saved" anyone in war. How often had he spared an enemy out of pity only to be nearly killed by that same person? He had been young and naïve then.
But this—this was different: pure, abhorrent cruelty born of scientific curiosity. Helios's sadistic pleasure in torture was incomprehensible to him, and yet his feelings for him still burned like an open flame.
And still, that image remained vivid in his mind, as if he were back in that examination room, watching Helios slowly turn away from the table, covered in blood, and look at him—so satisfied, so fulfilled—because he had just tortured a man…
Again, Dante brought his fists down on the dummy, feeling the soggy impact and hearing the indignant crunch. Each strike was a silent scream, a manifestation of his inner torment. No matter how hard he tried to shut it out, the pull Helios had on him was stronger than any resistance—like a moth drawn irresistibly toward the light.
It was a dark fascination. Helios's cold, calculating mind, his unfathomable cruelty in certain situations, and yet his undeniable genius drew Dante in like two magnetic poles that might fit perfectly—if only Dante would let them. But Dante's moral convictions—shaped by compassion, decency, and respect for every life—formed the opposing pole. Their beliefs were locked in such an irreconcilable tug-of-war that any hope of building a future together was doomed from the start.
And his feelings for the young man remained just as strong.
So strong that he had to leave Helios to ever forget him.
Whether he wanted to or not. It was for the best for everyone.
Again and again he swung, delivering blow after blow to the dummy. He didn't even notice how much time passed.
At last, gasping for breath, Dante straightened up. The dummy was smeared with blood and utterly mangled. It definitely hadn't looked like this when he began his training.
Dante focused on his breathing and tried to calm himself. His entire mind felt in chaos. He still had that one line from Helios running through his head, spoken in his characteristically sober voice:
"I would kill anyone if it might help create the antidote."
And knowing that Helios would sacrifice anyone made the situation no better. Those words did nothing to soothe him, even though he took some grim comfort in Helios's seriousness and determination to develop the cure—his methods were beyond questionable…
Why was Helios like this?!
Sure, Spider would kill those people eventually. Of course they would die anyway. But that didn't justify experimenting on them first! It was such a stark contrast to what Helios normally did.
Dante recalled the young scientist's past achievements: how he had once healed the sick, saved the desperate, and brought the dying back to life. It was as if Helios himself held the scales of life in his hands—sole arbiter of who lived and who died. That duality of healer and executioner in one person drove Dante mad.
It would be easier for Dante if his own moral ideals didn't fall on deaf ears with Helios.
It wasn't as if he could talk it out with him without immediately sparking an argument. Helios couldn't understand his point of view, and Dante felt like he was about to explode whenever Helios failed to see his side.
It was as if they lived in completely different worlds.
Even though Helios himself had leaned against him and sought his closeness outside of his restless sleep—damn it, if Helios could even sleep soundly! Since Dante had resumed sleeping on the camp cot, he'd heard at night the muffled sounds Helios made—the soft, tortured words escaping his lips, the countless times he tossed and turned in bed. Helios hadn't slept well since they stopped sharing the same bed. Dante was fully aware of that. And yet he felt a crushing guilt he could barely bear.
He was so torn that he no longer knew what was right or wrong. On one hand, he hated Helios for what he was willing to do to achieve his goal—Dante's goal—and on the other, he wanted to be there for him, to shield him from every ill at night.
He felt like the biggest fool.
A quiet sigh escaped him as he gave his bloodied fists a moment's rest. The familiar tingling spread through his knuckles: seconds later, the pain vanished and the wounds sealed. With every heartbeat, a hint of clarity returned to his mind. The stormy thoughts subsided, and his pent-up rage lost its edge.
And with the calm came an undeniable truth: there was no way Dante and Helios could have a normal, healthy relationship. So why was he clinging so desperately to the illusion of a shared future? It had to be more than hope for the coveted cure or the magnetic pull Helios exerted on him.
Dante shook his head, banishing the rising thoughts. It led nowhere. Perhaps he should follow that undeniable certainty and simply disappear once Helios had forged the remedy. It would be best for everyone present.
Unless…
…perhaps he could help Helios find his way back to the right path. There had to be a reason, invisible to the eye, something or someone that drove Helios to do what he did. No one tortures others for mere amusement.
Even if it would be wiser to put distance between them and leave him as soon as possible, Dante couldn't help himself. He had to try. He couldn't abandon Helios entirely. After all, he was the only one still there for him. Besides, he had promised Davis he'd take care of him if Dante wasn't around anymore.
His gaze fell on the large wall clock of the training hall: it would soon strike eight o'clock. He'd come here early this morning, since sleep had eluded him again last night. There was still plenty of time to shower and freshen up before heading to the firm.
Dante wrapped the towel around his shoulders and took a long swig of water from his bottle. In just under a week they would catch Belladonna and finally take their revenge on him for what he had done to Davis.
With Dante's help, Helios would create the antidote after having made him immortal.
Belladonna was the only sacrifice Dante was willing to use for his own ends.
He exhaled slowly. Perhaps Helios wouldn't need to sacrifice anyone else for the formula. After all, he now knew how the substances worked. So why continue testing? There would be only one attempt at the immortality serum anyway.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. Only a single try.
Anxiously, he brushed the damp hair from his face. He understood why Helios was working so relentlessly and why he didn't care who had to be sacrificed. After all, he wanted to keep his promise to Dante.
He had to trust Helios on this.
Otherwise, he would likely never achieve his goal.
___
The days passed without Dante having been able to hold a proper conversation with Helios. The young scientist, pale and marked by sleep deprivation, muttered only monosyllabic replies without lifting his gaze from the papers. Night after night he worked relentlessly on the formula, and by day he was inundated with tasks.
Without Theo, everything seemed to overwhelm Helios. His long-time assistant had collapsed—the doctors spoke of a mental breakdown—and no one knew when he would return. Dante felt pity for the frail man who had once thrown himself enthusiastically into Helios's shadow. He'd worked himself nearly to death. It seemed his entire purpose in life had been to labor under his idol. The master's praise was Theo's lifeblood; now, exhausted from overexertion, he lay in a clinic.
It was truly a shame that he now had to face the full consequences of his devotion. Dante sincerely hoped the assistant would recover quickly.
At present, Dante spent his time leafing through Helios's notes—often without really reading them. The waiting was wearing him down; the lack of communication with Helios even more so.
Helios was so buried in his work that he answered only in grunts. He didn't even look up when Dante spoke to him. If he did respond at all, he drifted off to sleep the instant he wasn't working.
Dante had come to accept it. He didn't want to disturb Helios, especially since he seemed to be making progress. From time to time a weary smile would flicker across his face, even as the long hours of the night continued to sap his strength.
It simply didn't make sense to Dante why Vale was drowning his son in all this work.
Helios wouldn't normally be overwhelmed by his workload. Dante had known him long enough to understand exactly how much he could handle. But since he was currently filling in for his father's duties, managing his usual tasks, and on top of that working on the immortality formula, each day left him visibly more exhausted.
Dante cleared the small lab table where they usually shared their midday coffee. Thomas had just come in, bearing not only fresh coffee and a light meal but also a thick stack of documents for Helios.
He set the steaming cup gently on Helios's desk and placed the paperwork beside it. Helios gave the pile only a tired glance, wordlessly took the coffee, and returned to his documents. With swift, precise strokes he signed sheet after sheet, moved them to the "Completed" stack, and immediately reached for the next form.
Thomas gathered the finished stack, neatly organized it, and then carried it away.
"Are you getting enough sleep?" Thomas asked, concern in his voice.
Helios nodded. "This is nothing. Stop worrying," he replied. "It's not overwhelming."
Thomas studied him for a moment.
"I really hope you're not thinking of taking that unfortunate substance again."
A mocking smile flickered across Helios's face as he waved a dismissive hand. "Maybe if I have to plow through even more forms. Seriously, Thomas: why does Father keep giving me these assignments? Almost none of them have anything to do with medicine. I want to develop new things, not waste time on this nonsense."
Dante was fairly certain that Thomas was the backbone of the firm—without him, nothing would run smoothly. It was remarkable how the old man managed to serve as the Vale family's butler while ensuring every document reached exactly where it needed to go.
He watched silently as Helios continued his work. In a way, Dante was glad he had never chosen an office job—it would have bored him stiff. He wasn't the type for that sort of thing. Of course, at the moment he didn't have much to do but sit quietly beside Helios. Nothing much was happening: they'd had no attacks, no escort missions, and Helios had been so busy that he hadn't even made his weekly Wednesday visit to the city clinic.
When Helios finally laid down his work, it was already one o'clock in the morning. He stretched and yawned wearily before rising from his desk. He had spent the entire day buried in paperwork. Not once had he stood up to mix anything.
Had his hands not moved at all, he might as well have been a statue. He'd worked like a ghost—silent, motionless, barely noticeable.
The young scientist glanced at his watch and sighed softly. He slid his chair back to the table, neatened the papers one last time, and finally went to don his coat. He swayed and pressed a hand to his head as he nearly collapsed against the wall. No wonder—he hadn't eaten much in days, and drank even less.
Dante had kept pressing food and drink into his hands, but Helios had only managed small bites and sips. He was far too focused on his work.
In an instant, Dante sprang up to catch him. He held him steady and helped him upright.
"Hey, are you okay?!" he asked, concern in his voice.
Helios shoved him away decisively. "I'm perfectly fine," he said, tired and slightly irritated.
"Maybe you should eat something proper and just lie down tonight. You've barely slept in days—you won't last much longer."
"Not everyone has such amazing self-healing powers as you, compensating for lack of sleep," Helios snapped. "And there's hardly any time left."
"Still, you need rest. How are we supposed to catch Belladonna if you're wandering around like a damned zombie?"
"Dante. It's fine. Just leave me alone," Helios said irritably. He glanced again at the clock, opened the door, and prepared to leave the lab. "We've wasted enough time. Come on."
"Helios…"
He spun on Dante, annoyed. "I said it's fine!" he hissed angrily.
Dante looked at him, more or less shocked, and then his own temper flared. He was only worried about him—there was no reason for Helios to fly off the handle!
He took a step back, his heart pounding. Anger surged. "Damn it, I'm just worried about you! Have you even looked in a mirror? You're driving yourself to the brink of collapse!"
Helios took a step toward him, his face furious. "And who do you think this is for? Who do you think I'm doing all this for?!" he barked. "I'm developing this damned formula just for you!"
"For me?! You want to test it on Belladonna so you can torture him over and over, don't you?!" Dante shot back—and immediately regretted the words.
Helios glared at him in anger, then ran an irritated hand through his tousled hair. He exhaled slowly, his gaze ice-cold.
"Belladonna deserves more than what I have planned for him. Besides, we need a test subject. How the hell else am I supposed to know when I've finally found an effective antidote? Should I test it on you until you die? Fine! We can do it that way, too! I'll kill you over and over until you finally shut up."
"You could just run tests on me until my wounds stop healing so fast. You wouldn't have to kill or torture anyone. Not even Belladonna."
Helios took a few steps toward Dante and jabbed a finger into his chest, annoyed.
"And what do you think I'll do if I deactivate only your self-healing and you're still immortal? What if you rot alive?! If I don't develop a reliable antidote, this whole circus is pointless, damn it!"
Dante had never seen Helios so agitated. Normally he hid his emotions behind a facade of cool precision. But in this moment he seemed almost liberated, as if the rage of all those months were flowing out of him in silent tension. Maybe this was the only way to reach him.
"It would depend on the trial, wouldn't it?" Dante said in a serious tone.
Helios stared at him in disbelief.
"You're completely insane!" he hissed. "How can you care so little about what happens to you?!"
"Well, you sure seem to care a lot about what happens to me."
Helios's eyes slightly narrowed. "Because we made a deal! You help me catch Belladonna—and I help you become mortal again."
"Yes, that was our deal," Dante said coolly. "Also, I don't think you should call others 'insane' when it comes to your own hobbies."
Helios opened his mouth in astonishment, then snapped it shut.
"I did that for you, too! Otherwise we would have been searching down there forever, or we'd have died miserably in that damned fire! They would have torched the complex anyway. It was pure luck that we found everything we needed beforehand! Why won't that get through your thick skull?!" Helios snapped.
"Don't pin this damn torture on me! There were other ways!" Dante shot back, his earlier calm slipping away.
"There weren't! That guy wouldn't have confessed if I hadn't threatened him!" Helios shouted.
He stood before Dante, breathing heavily. He looked hurt, wounded. Then he looked away, fished a slip of paper from his coat pocket, and slapped it flat against Dante's chest before letting go. Dante caught the falling note. Helios continued to glare at him. Dante held the paper up and returned Helios's furious stare.
"What's this?" Dante asked.
Helios snorted and rolled his eyes. "Have you been looking at only the pictures in my files and can't even read? Should I read it out to you?" he sneered.
Dante felt his carotid artery throbbing. This arrogant little bastard really knew how to get under his skin.
He counted to ten in his head, unfolded the slip, and read its single line in disbelief—then looked up at Helios.
"I thought he wanted a two- or three-day notice."
"Well, apparently our esteemed Belladonna is only available tonight. So, if you'll excuse me—I've got work to do, and as long as you don't know what you want, you'd better leave me alone before I take you up on your offer," Helios replied coldly. "And whether you like it or not, Belladonna will feel the full weight of my vengeance."
He grabbed his briefcase and left the lab.
"Arrogant bastard!" Dante muttered under his breath, then fell into step behind him without a word.
That night, Helios remained alone in his secret laboratory, working until the sun stood high in the sky.