Chapter 8 — "Red Echoes"
The wind howled between the buildings of Central City. It was midnight, but the sky glowed a dim red—a strange afterimage of something cosmic, unnatural. It hadn't rained in days, but the clouds moved like waves, pulled by something beneath them.
Barry sat on the steps of the old clocktower, still in his suit but maskless. His fingers trembled. Not from exhaustion. From doubt. For the first time since waking up from the coma, he questioned if he was still the fastest man alive—or if he even deserved to be.
"He's not a hero," Barry whispered to himself. "He just... kills."
Dante Hart.
That name had become a ghost inside his head. A name that echoed in the walls of STAR Labs even when no one spoke it. He had killed Tony Woodward—ripped his heart out like it was nothing. No remorse. No hesitation.
Caitlin had run the autopsy. The body was still radiating something unnatural. Traces of heat far beyond any known energy signature. Cisco called it "residual wrath." Harrison Wells said nothing, but the way he stared at the monitors afterward told Barry everything—Wells was afraid.
But Barry couldn't stop thinking about Dante's eyes. They weren't filled with rage. They weren't even angry. They were empty. Silent. Hollow like a man who had nothing left to lose.
---
The next morning, Barry walked into CCPD, his civilian clothes slightly wrinkled, his hair still damp from the night run. As he entered, a familiar smell hit him—smoke.
A cigarette. Burned to the filter. Left in an ashtray near the janitor's closet.
He turned his head slowly and saw him. Dante Hart. Mopping the floor like nothing happened. No trace of the red lightning. No trace of the killer. Just a man with red hair, eyes that glowed softly beneath the fluorescent lights, and a mop in his hand.
Barry stood there, watching him. Dante didn't even glance up.
"You're back," Barry said, his voice low.
"I'm always here," Dante replied without looking.
Barry stepped forward. "You killed a man."
Dante exhaled softly. "And you saved hundreds because of it."
"That's not how it works."
"That's exactly how it works."
The silence between them was sharp. Barry clenched his fists. There were a dozen things he wanted to say. That justice wasn't murder. That he didn't get to decide who lives or dies. That Central City already had a hero.
But Dante finally looked up.
"Do you know what it's like to hold your brother's body in your arms after searching every alley, every street, every hospital?" Dante asked, voice cold but calm. "To hear the cops say, 'We're sorry,' and see them move on like his name meant nothing?"
Barry blinked. The rage he expected wasn't there. Just pain. Buried under so much silence it had turned to stone.
"You see red lightning. I see fire I never asked for," Dante continued. "I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm not trying to wear a suit or save the world. I just… don't want another kid to grow up thinking nobody gives a damn."
Barry's anger cracked just a little.
He saw it now. Dante was broken. Not evil. Not cruel. Just... lost.
---
Later that day, back at STAR Labs, Barry relayed the conversation to Caitlin and Cisco.
"He's not what I thought," Barry admitted. "He's angry, yeah. But it's like... he's trying to make sense of it all, in his own way."
Caitlin leaned forward. "What if he's the kind of meta we haven't seen before? Someone whose powers are tied to emotion... or trauma?"
Cisco turned from his monitors. "You mean like, powered by grief?"
"Or wrath," Barry added.
Harrison Wells entered the room, arms behind his back, his face unreadable.
"We're entering new territory," Wells said. "If Dante Hart is what I think he is, then he's not just fast. He's something else entirely. His speed is only a symptom."
Barry turned. "Then what is he?"
Wells met his eyes. "A cosmic anomaly."
No one spoke for a few seconds.
Wells continued. "There are forces in this world we still don't understand. The Speed Force… the Negative Force… and now something else. Something darker. Dante isn't just touching that power—he may be embodying it."
Barry felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"He's faster than me," Barry whispered. "I saw it. He wasn't even trying."
Cisco clicked his pen nervously. "Then we better hope he stays on our side."
---
That night, Barry stood alone on a rooftop again, scanning the city. He had run a hundred patrols. Stopped three crimes. Helped a man find his dog. But none of it cleared the noise in his head.
He turned, and Dante was there.
Not a sound. Not a flicker of lightning. Just there.
"You gonna try and stop me?" Dante asked, cigarette burning between his fingers.
Barry looked at him. "No."
Dante raised a brow.
"I don't trust you," Barry admitted. "But I understand you."
Dante smirked faintly. "That's more than I get from most people."
Barry stepped closer. "But if you cross a line… if you become something I have to stop…"
"I know," Dante nodded, flicking ash into the wind. "That's why I like you, Flash."
Without another word, he disappeared. Not in a blaze of light, but in silence—like a storm that hadn't yet begun.
---
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