Other titles could be: I fought the plot bunny and the plot bunny won or moose has too many fics and needs to stop or this is the last wip i'll post for a while i promise.

anyway, i recently found out that my flame type is Sky-Mist, and, of course, that begged to be written because let's be real Sky-Mists would be the worst bosses ever. I would be the worst boss ever. So basically the plot of this story, which will start next chapter for real, is a Sky-Mist doing his best to avoid the Mafia at all costs.

It doesn't really work out.

Angelo is not a good father, Dante thinks, blinking back tears and rocking on his feet as his father screams at him.

If Dante had it his way, he wouldn't even be standing there listening to his father. But his body was that of an eight year olds and there was little Dante could do at that age.

Angelo had wanted a normal child, and Dante, well, even if you excluded the entire being reborn thing, Dante was far from normal.

Still, that didn't mean the man had to yell at him about it.

Dante remembers more than he should. He remembers how to pick locks, how to climb walls and jump from one roof to the next. He remembers the way the wind felt rushing through his hair and the laughter of his friends as they climbed buildings together.

He also remembers falling. The pain that rattled his body as he hit the ground.

It should have been a simple run, but the building was older than it looked and near the end of the run the floor underneath Dante's feet had given away.

He fell.

He died.

He's not really sure how to feel about that.

Once upon a time there lived a boy who enjoyed loud colours and makeup. He liked skirts and dresses and kissing other boys.

His father disapproved of this. So he left before his father could send him away. He learned how to fight, how to kill, he learned how to heal the wounds others had.

Eventually, he became one of the most feared assassins in the mafia.

Eventually, he came home. Except, it wasn't home.

It simply happened to be a place where his father lived.

And he didn't come to say hello.

Dante isn't sure what to think about the fact he's technically dead. He remembers dying alright, and is pretty sure that being reborn with your memory intact goes against all laws of physics.

Vaguely, Dante wonders if his appearance is some sort of anomaly. If he shouldn't be alive then if he killed himself it wouldn't have an impact on anything would it?

His father wouldn't care, after all, Dante seems to be a disappointment to him. So if his father wouldn't care and it wouldn't change anything, then why shouldn't he die?

The answer is simple really, because he doesn't want to. He wants to learn how to run again, how to fly over rooftops and climb on top of buildings.

He wants to be free again.

He's determined to feel free again.

It's that determination that promptly sets his hand on fire.

Dante blinks; then shrieks. He stops himself, and is thankful that his father isn't home to witness his weird child set himself on fire.

What the fuck, Dante thinks when the flames don't burn, What the fuck?

The flames are an odd mix of orange and indigo.

It takes a moment, but when Dante remembers where he's seen orange and indigo flames before he shrieks again.

The flames only get brighter

There is no way, no fucking possible way, that he could have been reborn into an anime of all fucking things.

Lussuria pauses outside his father's home when he hears what sounds like a child shrieking inside the house.

His father isn't there, Lussuria knows this, has planned it out so that Lussuria will be in the house when his father gets home. Nobody should be in that house.

Lussuria's eyes narrow.

Then he feels it. Some of the strongest Sky and Mist flames that he's ever felt coming from inside the house.

Lussuria promptly kicks down the door.

Panicking, Dante vigorously shakes his hand as if to extinguish the fire.

It doesn't work, if anything, fueled by Dante's panic and his unwavering mantra of no I don't want to die, I don't want this, make it stop, make it go away somebody help, it grows stronger.

Then the front door bursts open.

Dante thinks it's his father, thinks that his father is going to hurt him because of the flames.

He doesn't want to be hurt anymore.

He reaches out toward the indigo flames and twists.

Suddenly, he isn't there anymore. He can see that he isn't there, it's as if he's viewing his body from a stranger's perspective. He can see where he should be, can see where he wants to go, he has a bird's eye view of the place and while it happens to be very cool, it's very creepy at the same time.

Dante can see where he should be, can feel himself moving his arms as he grabs things that will fit into his backpack and he doesn't have time because he can hear the footsteps approaching and he wants to run, to hide, to live.

He doesn't want to hurt anymore.

He takes hold of the indigo flames in his mind's eye once more and pushes it out toward whoever is approaching him. He imagines a maze, a place where the intruder, his father, can't get out. Indigo is illusion after all, and if he can distract his father long enough to leave well, it might not last long, but it's all he's got.

Dante grabs a book full of his writings and drawings, a pencil case filled to bursting and stuffs them into his already overflowing backpack.

He opens the window to his ground floor bedroom, pulls out the screen, and jumps onto the ground outside.

He can feel his maze illusion break.

Dante pays no attention to it and runs.

Lussuria curses as he rounds the same corner twice before realizing he's trapped in Mist flames. The illusion is shaky at best, and if Lussuria concenrates enough he can see through it.

It takes some time, but the illusion finally breaks.

Lussuria slams open the door to where the Sky-Mist should be only to find the room empty.

Lussuria curses even as he feels the Sky-Mist, his apparent sibling if the pictures on the wall were anything to go by, runs from him.

Fuck.