Pain can make a drunk man sober

Career soldiers often wonder how they will die. They hope it will be peaceably, in bed, after a long and prosperous life, but for many it will be ingloriously, messily, on some god-forsaken battlefield, cut down by some opposing army, filled with men much like them.

Jose however always had a sneaking suspicion that his death would come about during a night of debauchery at Giamento's. He would drink too much, gamble too much, swear and argue too much, and after cheap and strong liquor, he would wind up in some tart's bedchamber, where death would steal upon him after he had satisfied his desires with a poor wretch selling her modesty for a few pennies.

In a lifetime of poor choices and bad luck, Jose had been remarkably prescient. Death was just about to steal upon him. Jose had hoped to be drunk at the moment of his passing, but pain has a way of making a man sober. And Jose had not expected Death to be enjoying it's triumph so much.

"If you had just held a civil tongue, none of this would be happening. Oh do stop snivelling - far better than you have coped with this with more grace." Dante twisted the small blade a fraction further, until something gave with a sickening pop. Jose screamed loudly, heaping curses and blasphemies upon Dante.

"Even your son shows more dignity in the face of adversity." Jose spat, a mix of blood and bile, and swore. "Little bastard ain't my son. I raised him, but he's not my blood. Belicia, she had him before we was married, said the father was killed."

Dante smirked. "No, that doesn't surprise me. The boy has poise, strength and cunning - his father must have been a great man. Clearly not you." He pulled the blade out, and wiped it on Jose's bloodied tunic.

Jose began to laugh, the mirthless laugh of the damned. "Great man..." He spat again. "A great man who ruined my life - that bastard's birth destroyed my Belicia. Won't let me touch her, says she can't. So here I am, with these filthy whores, just so I can have what's my right!"

Dante paused, and began to smile. More than the pain, more than the blade, the smile terrified Jose. And then what blood remained in his veins chilled as Dante took his turn to laugh.

"She... no, this is too good... she told you that... that she couldn't..." Dante sat down, his shoulders shaking as he laughed noiselessly. He shook his head, and for a moment considered that maybe there was a spark of decency in Jose, that he had been willing to respect that much of Belicia. But in a second it was gone, and Dante rose, walking over to where Jose was bound. He leaned in close, and whispered in Jose's ear. "She was lying to you. I can assure you that Belicia is quite whole, and very, very skilled..."

With one swift thrust, he plunged the blade into Jose's chest, stilling his heart.

Dante stepped back, and sighed deeply. That had been precisely what he needed. So, the boy had another father - no doubt the father's identity would be the reason that the Brotherhood had instructed him to take this mission. He pulled the blade out of the corpse, cleaned it, and prepared to leave. Belicia would be wondering where her husband was, and he now had some tragic news to impart. Given her cunning in keeping this oaf away from her, Dante doubted she would be in mourning for long.