Chapter 7
Iris and the Flash stood there in silence, neither of them speaking a word. The weight of the moment pressed down on them like gravity. Tony Woodward—once a bully, then a villain—now lay lifeless at their feet, his metallic skin cracked open, a gaping wound in his chest where his heart had once been. It had been removed with surgical precision and terrifying speed.
Iris's lips trembled, but no sound escaped. Her wide eyes shifted from the corpse to the place where Dante Hart had been standing mere seconds ago. Gone now. Vanished like mist in morning light. Red lightning still hissed in the air like a memory.
The Flash didn't say a word. Without a glance, he scooped up Tony's body in his arms and ran. He moved so fast the world blurred, Central City bending and warping around him as he carried the body to S.T.A.R. Labs. Thunder roared in his wake.
Inside the lab, Harrison Wells looked up sharply as the doors burst open, a violent gust of wind announcing Barry's arrival. Caitlin and Cisco turned from their monitors just in time to see Barry place the corpse down with care, his jaw tight, expression unreadable.
Then, without waiting for a single word, Barry was gone again—just a scarlet bolt screaming across the city.
"He's going after Dante," Wells muttered, adjusting his glasses.
"And this time... it's not to talk," Cisco said quietly.
Caitlin grabbed her headset and opened a channel. "Barry, stop. Don't do this. Just—think."
"Please," Cisco added, "you don't know what he really is. You can't just rush in!"
But Barry didn't respond. The earpiece crackled with silence. He was too far gone in his anger to hear them now.
He ran through the streets of Central City like a storm, searching for a red-haired phantom. His mind was a blur of confusion and rage. The truth that stung the worst was the one he refused to say aloud: Dante was what Barry could have been... if everything had gone wrong.
It didn't take long to find him.
Dante Hart stood atop a tall building near the edge of the city. The late sun painted the sky in shades of bruised orange and dying red. The wind tugged at his long coat. A cigarette burned slowly between his lips, the ember pulsing like a heartbeat.
He wasn't surrounded by red lightning. There was no power swirling around him. He just stood there. Calm. Silent. Smoking.
Barry shot up the side of the building and landed hard on the rooftop. His mask retracted instantly. He didn't hesitate. He reached out and grabbed Dante by the collar of his coat, his fist trembling.
"You killed him!" Barry shouted, voice hoarse and sharp.
Dante met his eyes without fear, exhaling smoke. His crimson eyes were calm. Tired. Cold.
"He was evil," Dante said simply. "I killed him. End of story."
Barry's anger flared. He shoved Dante back, but the red-haired man didn't stumble. He didn't even move. He simply raised one eyebrow.
"He could've changed," Barry said. "We give people a chance to be better. That's what I do. That's what heroes do."
Dante flicked the ash from his cigarette and looked out over the city.
"You think kindness saves the world?" he asked quietly. "How many more will suffer while you give monsters chances?"
Barry clenched his fists. "You don't decide who lives and who dies."
"No," Dante said. "I decide who doesn't get another chance to hurt someone else."
There it was—laid bare.
Dante was the mirror. The reversal. A man who didn't save. A man who didn't believe in redemption. A man who saw justice in finality.
Barry felt it then—the pull of rage, the desire to lash out, to prove he was right. But he held it back. Barely.
"I don't know what you are," Barry whispered, stepping back. "But I won't let you keep doing this."
Dante took the cigarette from his mouth and crushed it beneath his boot.
"You can try to stop me, Flash," he said. "But be ready to kill me. Because I don't stop."
And with that, Dante stepped off the rooftop—and vanished into the wind.
Barry stood alone, heart pounding, unsure whether he had just confronted a man, a monster, or something far worse.
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