Dante

Stats

• Wingspan: 30ft from wingtip to wingtip, flight capable.
• Status: Single, with zero intention of changing it.
• Languages: All Terran based languages. Interdimensional and extraterrestrial are not included.
• Likes: Money, cigars, women, obedient slaves.
• Dislikes: A lot...
• Disorders: Narcissistic, opportunistic megalomaniac, violent psychopathic tendencies.
• Slaves owned: Aarchi, Subdue
• Strengths: Immune to disease, poison, fire, most known drugs and alcohol. Resistant to ice, Accelerated healing. Increased physical strength.
• Weaknesses: Headstrong, short fuse, ecclesiophobia, powerless on holy ground, increased physical damage with blessed weapons.
• Diet: Omnivorous, capable of consuming most foods raw.
• Quirks: Dante feeds off lust and desire, often times drawing out sexual interactions just to bathe in the energy put out by arousal. He will also feed off Greedy tendencies, often ushering people to act out of emotional possessiveness for similar purposes.

Attire

The stuff you will find Dante wearing... he prides himself on professionalism.

The Deal...

(This is OOC information only - Dante does not talk about this with anyone.)

Dante’s descent into darkness began with the death of Sonya, his beloved partner. She was more than just his lover; she was his sanctuary, a beacon of light in his bleak world. Sonya was a short, stocky woman with golden hair that matched her vibrant, warm personality. She stood by Dante’s side during his hardest days as a dock worker, loving him with an unwavering devotion that soothed his soul. But their time together was cruelly cut short when Sonya was diagnosed with leukemia. The disease took her quickly, leaving Dante shattered, unable to process the loss of the one person who made life bearable.

For years, Dante wandered aimlessly through life, consumed by grief. Sonya had been his anchor, and without her, he was lost. He spent his days working in a daze, his nights drowning in alcohol, hoping to numb the pain. His sorrow was a constant weight on his chest, suffocating him. No amount of drink could dull the aching loneliness that had taken root in his heart. One fateful night, in a dimly lit tavern, Dante sat hunched over a drink, consumed by thoughts of Sonya. A stranger slid into the seat next to him, his presence unsettling in the smoky bar. The man asked Dante question after question, probing about his loss and despair. The stranger listened with an almost predatory interest, his eyes gleaming in the shadows. It wasn’t until later that Dante would discover this man was Mammon, one of the princes of hell.

Mammon saw an opportunity in Dante’s sorrow. "I can bring her back," Mammon whispered, his voice dripping with temptation. "All you have to do is sign... here." He produced a contract, a soul-binding agreement, promising to return Sonya to Dante’s side. "A soul for a soul," Mammon said with a twisted smile. Broken and desperate, Dante didn’t care about the cost. His soul felt worthless without Sonya. Without hesitation, he signed the contract, the scratch of the quill sealing his fate.

That night, Dante stumbled home, barely able to comprehend what had happened. Half-believing it had been a drunken hallucination, he opened the door—and there she was. Sonya stood before him, alive and whole, her golden hair catching the dim light. Overcome with joy and disbelief, he fell into her arms, feeling her warmth. She was real. She was back. The grief that had weighed him down for years lifted, replaced by an intoxicating euphoria.

For a brief time, Dante lived in bliss. Sonya was his again, and the world felt right. But soon, he noticed something was wrong. Sonya wasn’t the same. Her soul, torn from the afterlife and forced back into the world of the living, began to fray. She became distant, her once vibrant spirit dulled. She would stare into nothing for hours, sinking into deep bouts of depression. Dante watched helplessly as Sonya slipped away from him again, this time not from illness but from the weight of her unnatural existence. One day, Dante came home to find her lifeless body on the floor, both wrists slit open. Blood pooled around her as she lay cold and still. The love of his life had taken her own life, unable to bear the torment of her resurrection. Dante collapsed beside her, his heart breaking all over again.

Crushed by grief once more, Dante returned to the bar, hoping the alcohol would finally drown him. But Mammon appeared again, this time with no pretense of compassion. "So, are you ready for hell?" he taunted, his grin wicked. Dante didn’t respond, staring coldly into his glass. Sensing his dejection, Mammon offered him another deal. "I can give you power, eternal life, wealth beyond imagination. You’ll never suffer again." Dante scoffed, drained of all hope. But Mammon wasn’t finished. "All you have to do," he said, producing another contract, "is become a hellspawn. One hundred souls for your own—slay them, and you’ll escape damnation." The offer was tempting in its simplicity. Dante, with nothing left to lose, accepted the deal.

The contract was clear: Dante had until the end of his natural life to claim one hundred souls, sending them to hell in exchange for his freedom. But Dante, even in his broken state, wasn’t willing to become a mindless killer. Instead, he chose his victims carefully—those he deemed unworthy of redemption. Criminals, abusers, and the dregs of society became his targets. One by one, they fell to him in ritualistic sacrifice, their souls fed to Mammon. Over the course of five years, Dante carried out his gruesome task. The killings were precise, cold, and ritualistic, each soul a calculated step toward fulfilling his end of the bargain. As the final soul was taken, Dante underwent the agonizing transformation into a hellspawn, his body twisted by dark power, his soul forever bound to the infernal realms.

Though he had escaped damnation, Dante’s mind was scarred beyond repair. The memory of Sonya’s second death, his murders, and his own descent into darkness haunted him. He vowed never to allow himself to fail again, no matter the cost. He had learned the cruel truth—love and peace were fleeting illusions, and only power could prevent the pain that had consumed him. And so, he embraced his new existence as a hellspawn, determined to never be weak or helpless again.