TITLE
FROM VILLAIN TO HERO

He was four the first time he really understood his father had been arrested.

"The Leviathan" is what he had heard others call him, his father. He had never understood why they called him that. Though not all referred to him as that. Some who came through their house has called him other names. Some would call him "Lev", a nickname, from what Dante had understood. Others had just called him "Boss", what he knew to be a name for someone who was in charge of you at your work. Though what was he in charge of?

Not all had called him that. His mother had never called him that. She had many other names for him, ones that had romantic implications, as the boy had realised once he had grown. Though the name Dante had most recognised was "Arlin". Arlin Le Croix, the name she had told Dante was his father's real name .

Though Dante had never understood that importance, or what any of his names meant or why they mattered. At the time, all Dante had called him was "Dad" at the time. Though the term of affection was never something he would dream of using now.

He had been sitting in his lobby when he had first heard. There was no call from the authorities, no one there to come arrest him, either. As far as authorities knew, The Leviathan didn't have a family, a son, or a place he called home, though Dante didn't think his father ever considered it home, now. He remembered his mother's expression. The cold, worried expression that crossed her face as she whispered something hastily under her breath.

"Arlin. . . Arlin. . ." She breathed. "Arrested. . . Gone. . ."

Dante had heard the word before, arrested. Though it was another word he had never understood. Though he had heard his parents throw the word around many times before. In the middle of the night, when they thought he was asleep. Though he had been listening to them and their desperate, hushed words.

"Arrested?" Dante had said out loud.

His mother's head snapped up, looking at the boy, her eyes cold and uncompromising. Dante tilted his head, not understanding his mother's fury.

"Dante," she said. "Get out. This doesn't concern you."

Dante had ran to his bedroom, his mother's harsh words still beating against his heart and his chest. He hand't cried that night, though tears had stung against his eyes that night. Eventually, he had slid himself under the heavy sheets, growing sleepy.

Though it wasn't soon after, he felt light creeping up on him. He opened his eyes, facing the face of his mother. Her face looked desperate, although he would never describe the look as apologetic.

"Dante," she had said, shaking him awake. "Get up. We're leaving this place tonight."

He had only had time to pack a small suitcase of some of his favourite items, before he had been ushered out of the house by his mother. That night, he had made himself a promise not to cry. It was a childish promise he had made, something no one would expect him to carry through with. Though to everyone's surprise, he did.

He was ten when he committed his first crime.

A bank heist. He remembered it so clearly. The bags of cash his crew had fled with, the sound of the alarm that had followed them wherever they went, and the sick feeling in his stomach every time he hurt someone or took something new. Though he had shoved the feeling down into the depths of him, and focused on the task ahead of him. Getting in, stealing the money, and getting out, without being caught.

He had completed the task. He had never been caught for the crime, as no one would expect a ten year old boy to be able to pull off a bank heist. Nor they did they expect a ten year old boy to need to preform a bank heist.

Why would he need to? To prove himself to his father, and prove himself he had done. He remembered the look of twisted pride upon his father's face as Dante had come back from the heist. He had patted his son on the back, congratulating him.

No one had ever called him Dante again. Nor did anyone use anymore of the demeaning nicknames they had once used against him. Rather, they called him "The Snake", a slick, cunning creature, and the image of deception and lies. There was no more Dante on their ranks, only the promising young son of The Leviathan. By the older ones, The Snake had been a pride. By the younger ones, The Snake had been feared. The Snake had everyone's respect, though Dante was not sure if it was respect out of admiration earned or respect out of fear.

Dante had worn the nickname, though no pride had come with it as it was expected to. The only feeling he had ever worn with the nickname was shame, with every new person he killed and every new innocent victim. he tried to think that it was not him, rather, The Snake, though the guilt never shook from every drop of blood he had seen. There was never anything but a burden he felt anytime he had committed a crime against someone who did not deserve it.

But Dante could not feeling such pity for those innocent victims, now. He was The Snake, now, not Dante. He was no longer the shrivelling, helpless boy who required help from others to lift his spirit. What he was now was a young assassin, striving in the ways that his father had once, and nothing would stop him from one day reaching the top, especially his petty emotions.

That night, when he was alone, Dante had made another promise to himself. Another promise one would assume would have little or no meaning in the future, a promise forgotten the past as a childish outburst.

Dante had made the promise to himself to stop being so emotional, and again, surprising many, it was another promise Dante kept, living it out and reminding himself day by day of the promise he made.

When he was thirteen, Dante had been saved from his life as a criminal.

The authorities had finally found the hideout of the group, and news had they were coming to find them, and it would not be long before they had come and arrested them all. While feeling of panic had filled many of the criminals in the guild, Dante only remembered the relief that he had felt the night he had heard that night. It was that night, for the first time in a very long time, Dante had let himself smile a genuine smile, as he collapsed on his bed and waited for them to come.

Certainly, as they had said, the authorities had come. They had hauled out the entire building, and Dante had secretly rejoiced. He had never felt so relieved to see the once criminals on the run dragged out of the grimy apartment they had called their home, silver chains around their arms, and uniformed men following them out the door.

Though, by far the criminal that brought Dante the most satisfaction to see pulled out of the building was the Leviathan himself, Dante's own father, in some of the heaviest chains he had seen before.

Dante no longer considered the older, muscular man his father. Not once in years had he referred to him with any such term. In fact, he felt no type of love for the man at all, as Dante had seen there was not a shred of light in the man. There was no time The Leviathan had been there for his son, or ever shown any fatherly qualities had Dante had seen other fathers show to their sons.

The thought of him finally behind bars again, it was now Dante's turn to put on the twisted smirk The Leviathan had given to him before.

He hoped he never stopped seeing those bars, or the heavy chains. He wished The Leviathan was kept in the worst prisons int the city, with the same grime and dirt he had once treated others with. He hoped he got no visitors in prison, not a single soul even slowing down to look at him in his lone, miserable cell.

If The Leviathan ever got out, Dante would catch him. If he was ever spared, Dante would never be as kind. He would not let one person walking in the city ever believe the man was innocent, and he deserved it.

"May I ask your name?"

The voice had startled Dante, looking from his father to the woman standing near him, looking down at him.

For one second, he was tempted to say The Snake. It had been his name for so long, the name he had been called for years. Not even those close to him knew his real name anymore. It had been his name, his alias for long. Too long.

After a hesitation, his answer came. "Dante."

"Dante," the woman repeated, a kind smile crossing her face. "Dante, please come with me. I will explain what's happening in a minute. But trust me, you are safe now, and everything will be alright."

That minute, Dante had made another promise to himself. Perhaps it was the first promise Dante made to himself that others would take seriously if they ever heard him.

Dante promised himself that day, he'd be a better person, and he always kept it.

When Dante was sixteen, he was offered redemption.

The boy had introduced himself as Anthony, and nothing more. The girl who had stood close next to him had called herself Andromeda.

"Can I call you Drom?" Zeke, his friend had asked.

"No," Andromeda replied.

"Dromeda?" Zeke persisted.

"No."

"How about-"

"I don't like nicknames," she cut him off, the two's interactions had been over.

Dante was sure he had never seen Andromeda before. Her would have remembered her name, and hopefully her face. There was something familiar about her expression, as if he had seen it somewhere before. He looked away before she would ever think he was staring at her. Though the familiarity of her face was something Dante couldn't shake anytime he looked at her.

"Why are you two here?" Dante had asked, turning his face to Anthony.

The boy didn't seemed fazed by Dante's glare, Zeke's persistent questioning, or much, for that matter. All he did was adjust his shirt, before looking up at Dante. "We need help."

"Help?" Zeke asked, taking a bite out of the sandwich he had prepared earlier. Andromeda did not seemed too impressed with Zeke's manners.

"The old heroes of the city are dead," Anthony continued. "Without anyone to help protect the city, it will fall to ruins. I want your help to assemble a new team, a team beyond the abilities of the last."

Dante did not bother to hold back his scoff at Anthony's words. Anthony only raised his eyes at Dante, as he lent back, letting the sofa cushions embrace him and his disbelief.

"You're joking," Dante said through his scoff. "You're insane. Completely mad."

"Besides, isn't that the authorities' job?" Zeke said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"We'll just be seen as another troublesome street gang," Dante added.

"You think those buffoons can protect the city nowadays?" Anthony said, raising his voice. "They can barely deal with loiterers now. They have lost their respect for them, after the old heroes stopped backing them up. It was the heroes who kept them alive. And if my research is correct, you two are powerful. Too powerful to spend their days in an office, anyways. That is, if you accept my offer."

Dante felt Zeke's glance slide over to him, whose intense glare still focused on Anthony. There was something he couldn't quite trust about the boy, be it something he is aware of, or oblivious, his words were alluring, nonetheless.

"Eternal glory, take it or leave it," Anthony said, starting to pack up his papers.

"I'm in," Zeke said as Anthony started to get up and leave the boys small apartment. Dante caught the smirk across Anthony's face upon hearing it, before looking at Andromeda, then Dante.

Dante sighed, before his glare hardened on Anthony. "If I die, I'm dragging you with me."

"Don't worry," Anthony said. "I know."

That minute, Dante made his final promise to himself. He didn't care this time what others would think if they heard his promise, only what it meant to him and his future.

This final time, Dante promised to be the hero everyone needed, and he would uphold it to his very last breath.

Though could you even be a hero when you weren't sure what a hero was?