Chapter Text
There couldn’t be a worse time for this.
Too early; the reason Alighieri went along with the company so easily is because of the convenience of being equipped with a Golden Branch. Vergilius isn’t sure they’re in a position to collect boughs without the advantage of direct interfacing.
Too late; “Dante” has grown like a lichen on the bus, somehow clinging to the most hostile of exteriors and making a home there. The Sinners care about Dante: Dante who watches over them, Dante who feels personally responsible for every fuck-up, yet impudently proud of their terrible decisions…And Dante who brings with them a softly coloured current towards a brighter future, a current that has only gotten more vivid the past few months, threatening to outshine even the shadow Vergilius casts upon them.
The LCB is in no position for a failure of this magnitude, and Vergilius isn’t ready to let go.
Alighieri is quick to react and not easy to fluster. They pull themself from the destroyed vehicle previously housing their stolen head and scan the gore in front of them with amber eyes, bright on top of the flat slate black of their skin. Their hair has been shorn for ease of access, making them look years younger.
When their gazes meet, Vergilius almost expects Alighieri to attack him. Maybe for old time’s sake, maybe for the standing threat he poses. Most likely for being such an obvious hand in Faust’s plot.
But their attention focuses on the enemy. A plume of smoke flows from around the seam in their throat, and they gesture at the corpse of Outis as if beckoning. Outis rewinds. This is the first time Vergilius has seen Alighieri perform this trick, and they handle it much better than Dante does.
She’s fast on her feet, and can easily deduce the facts: Dante got their head back, and they’ve decided to use it.
Alighieri kicks the clock up into their hand and caresses it with gloved fingers. The mechanism spits out orders as if Dante were the one giving them. The puppeteering is grotesque.
Alighieri resurrects Ryoshu and Sinclair next, then Gregor. Sinclair and Gregor seem to realize that something is wrong, but if Ryoshu notices, she doesn’t care. They get their orders, they follow them.
Alighieri unflinchingly resurrects Sinner after Sinner, not moving from their position on top of the destroyed van, occasionally tap-tap-tapping on the lost “Dante”. Their eyes are practically glowing in the reflected light. They observe the world as if they’re above it, as if nothing short of their Star could hold their esteem.
Vergilius did not miss that look. Very little escapes his gaze, but Alighieri has always been frustratingly inscrutable. It’s an unpleasant shock to the system to see them again. He had gotten too accustomed to Dante, so expressive that they could communicate just from the clarity of their emotions, as if he could scoop their words directly from their head. It was an oversight to depend on that when he knew this moment would come.
The last Sinner they resurrect is Yi Sang, leaving Faust’s body cooling on the ground.
The Sinners do much better handling the combatants now that they’re not fighting to keep them away from Dante, and they clean up the battlefield quickly. One-by-one, they all turn to look at Alighieri, who is smiling in placid satisfaction.
They were only supposed to retrieve the head. Vergilius was supposed to store that thing in a box where it would not see the light of day until the very end of their journey. His body feels leaden now.
“Alighieri can’t use Mephistopheles’ engine in their current state,” he says. “You won’t be using Identities as long as their head is attached.”
Alighieri’s eyes turn on Vergilius again, their reaction completely opaque. He resists the urge to dig deeper to find something he doesn’t want to see.
“So this means…Dante has their memories back?” Rodion asks hopefully.
“Oh, Dante gets the memories,” says Alighieri. It’s like a knife aimed at the heart. He knew this would happen. There’s no reason to let it hurt.
“I mean… You are the Manager-Bud, aren’t you?” Gregor laughs nervously. He looks to Vergilius for confirmation.
“That is Alighieri’s original head. Dante is the alias Alighieri themself chose for this operation,” Vergilius replies woodenly.
Yi Sang can sense the tension between the two of them and is becoming anxious. He gestures to Faust. “Then, our dear companion should rejoin us, so that we can…”
“Bring her body to the bus,” Alighieri says.
The Sinners all look at them.
“Are you deaf? I’m using words now and everything.” They smile wide, a white slash in their dark face. “Put the body on the bus.”
The Sinners comply despite their unease. Vergilius just stands there and allows Alighieri to inspect him, soak him in, grow accustomed once again to the thought that he’s lower than dirt in their esteem, and this time, he even deserves it.
They turn and leave with the Sinners, not sparing a single word.
Dante dangles from their fist, held in a choking grasp that digs into the clockface. The clock’s hands are both pointed up, indicating an early doomsday.
The end has arrived.
***
There is palpable discomfort among the LCB on their way back to the bus. The Sinners have roughly guessed that Alighieri is angry, and Faust is the one who has angered them, but all of their attempts to prod or explore the topic are met with cold dismissal. None of them have met Alighieri before. They don’t know how to deal with them.
Not that Vergilius is any more adept. They’ve met all of twice, both times supervised, and he could tell they had fundamentally incompatible personalities. He doubts he himself is very palatable to a politically-minded control freak like them.
"What's with their skin," Rodion has the gall to ask.
"You do not have clearance to know about the functions of my head, body, or further expansions of myself," Alighieri holds up the clock to demonstrate.
"Clearance? Come on, haven't we been through so much together?"
They haven't. She doesn't understand yet that this is a stranger.
“If I didn’t have clearance, do you really think you would?” Alighieri sighs, the bus door opens, and they lock eyes with Charon.
Charon blinks down at them, looks over the missing head, the red coat. She says what’s on her mind as soon as it occurs to her, so it seems she’s genuinely struggling to commit to the explanation.
She eventually does, though. “Clockhead isn’t a clock anymore.”
“You like it?” Alighieri tilts their head to show off their face, their neck, and the exhaust coming from their throat.
“It’s a face.”
Vergilius’ fist clenches as he resists the urge to tear Charon away and shield her from Alighieri’s gaze, no less dangerous than his own.
He needn’t have worried. Alighieri loses interest at Charon’s non-response and advances deeper into the bus.
They’re all seated as usual, the Sinners and Alighieri both. They have Dante smothered against their thigh as they go through the PDA. Faust’s body is bleeding sluggishly in her usual seat, and no one looks happy about it.
Unfortunately, it’s Don Quixote who next sees fit to diffuse the tension. “M-Manager Esquire’s beauty is worth fighting for! Your complexion is like a cloudless summer night meeting the sea!”
“Thanks. Don’t think I’ve heard that one,” Alighieri says without looking up.
“So like, you can eat now, right? Why not take the team to get some food?” Rodion asks. It sounds like her usual lackadaisical attitude, but Vergilius can see the spark of unease. She’s fishing Alighieri for feedback. Her guard is up.
“That will have to come out of the bus’ funds. I’m not allowed to use my card while I’m on this job. Making us so easy to track would rather ruin the point, don’t you think?” Alighieri retorts. The sound of their voice is so creaking and waspish, far more than their otherwise youthful appearance would imply.
“But you will though,” Rodion insists.
“Put it to a vote.”
Rodion looks expectantly at the rest of the team. Most raise their hands for the same reason Rodion spoke up at all; they want to put their Manager in an environment that might make them easier to understand.
Rodion pumps her fist. “Yahoo! Let’s get chicken skewers and make up for our first meal together!”
Vergilius whispers the route to Charon, who at least looks pleased to be getting a treat before even getting to their destination.
“A-Are we really going to leave Faust that way…?” Sinclair asks in a tremulous voice.
Outis scoffs. “Faust has clearly disobeyed high command in some way. There’s no need for her to have chicken skewers.”
Vergilius isn’t sure Alighieri will ever resurrect Faust, but he doesn’t say as much.
Hong Lu is completely unperturbed by the fact that he must continue to sit with a dead body. “Then, Manager, what’s the point of taking off the head if your own works just fine?”
“Use of the Mephistopheles engine, the extrasensory properties...” Their gloved hand runs over the seam. “The head is also immune to several mind-targeting Singularities. I am not.”
“Scary thing to watch out for as a bigwig. Hinging the safety of… Uh, where you from again?” Rodion prompts.
“D-corp. I run the Wing.”
“They don’t need to know this,” Vergilius snaps.
Alighieri snorts. “Does it matter? Someone was going to say something even if I didn’t have my head back.”
“Limbus Company has designated the control of information in their policy—”
He doesn’t know why he didn’t expect it. Alighieri leaps to their feet and pitches Dante with enough force the clock bounces off the roof of the bus just above Vergilius’ head with a deafening clang.
“Because you care SO MUCH ABOUT COMPANY POLICY!”
Dante drops onto Vergilius’ seat.
The following silence is accusing, their laboured breathing the only sound on the bus. The fury on their face is broiling and hateful. They had managed to hide quite a bit of their emotions until now.
Vergilius has nothing to say.
Alighieri spins on their heel and marches towards the Backdoor. Heathcliff attempts to intercept them, only for Alighieri to swiftly yank Ryoshu's sword out with their foot and use it to decapitate him. They're the type to use short, quick movements, and this attack required a lot of easily interceptable steps. There was ample time to react, Heathcliff simply didn't do so. He trusted his beliefs about his Manager; Dante would not do such a thing, even if they could.
Alighieri looks over the faces of their Sinners, their antipathy made clear. Then they throw the sword back to Ryoshu and continue into the Corridor.
"...Hey. Mr. Vergilius. Can we trust them?" Ishmael asks shakily. The contrast in personality is more dire for someone with her history.
He sighs. "The LCB's motivations do not conflict with Alighieri's goals. They are here to fulfill their wish, same as you."
It's not an answer, but she doesn't call him on it.