Dan's shout was the trigger that snapped them out of their stupor—a dry, urgent command: — Run!
It all happened so fast the world seemed to split into before and after. They ran.
The rubble vomited sand and stones under their feet; the city around them was a labyrinth of broken concrete and burned roots. For a second, each was just raw movement, pure instinct: get away from the epicenter, gain distance, breathe.
Tekio stumbled. The gash on his forehead throbbed with every step; the metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth. Still, there was firmness in his shoulders—the same that had made him stand when nothing else remained. Amara grabbed his arm, pulling him with equal parts fury and care.
— Hold on! — she panted, forcing support. — Don't faint, not now.
Dan, breathing heavily, cleared the path with shoulders and fire. When a stone block blocked his way, he pushed it, using everything he had: condensed flame, muscle, the momentum of fear. Each explosion of flame echoed like a hammer against the world; each punch into the air a bet for the lives behind him.
Stella ran sideways, eyes attentive. Her healing wasn't constant now; she just launched small pockets of light to steady an ankle, close a cut. Between beams, she raised tenuous platforms of light—improvised steps over roofs and beams—so the group could cross impassable sections. The surfaces trembled, but a touch from her light gave them enough traction.
— Here, jump! — she shouted, pointing. — One, two — precise leaps, controlled breathing.
Tekio, even wounded, didn't want to be a burden. His body still responded—the crimson energy bubbling under his skin gave him short bursts of strength. At one point, he used that momentum to launch himself and reach the edge of a roof, helping Amara up after him. Each time he released the spark, however, he felt the cost: deeper fatigue, an echo of something greater pulling him back. He controlled it with clenched teeth.
Behind them, Dante's shrapnel still smoldered—and a sense of danger persisted, as if the wind could bring the monster's shadow back at any moment. They couldn't waste time looking back. With every street they left behind, Dan's voice sounded more urgent and their steps grew firmer.
At one point, an entire avenue had given way—a gap of concrete with exposed roots. Stella created a bridge of light that held them for precious seconds. Amara ran in the middle with everyone.
— Speed up, Tekio. Speed up — murmured Dan, and his voice had the fever of one who doesn't admit defeat. Tekio obeyed. A burst of speed, a leap that was half pain, half fierce desire not to fail those who trusted him.
They didn't stop. Dan turned back to destroy a beam threatening to collapse and was almost swallowed; Stella pulled him in an impulse that was more than reflex—it was family now.
Their breathing came heavy, rhythmic, like a drum marking their flight. The sound of distant explosions still vibrated in the air—The tree, the portal—a chaotic symphony of torment. At every turn, they assessed the terrain and ran where instinct commanded.
When they reached a semi-destroyed square, sheltered by an old auditorium, Dan signaled for them to hide among the broken columns. The group pressed against the cold stones, chest to chest, breathing—wounds throbbing, clothes torn. The world outside was fire and shadow; inside, a breath of silence.
Stella cradled Tekio in her lap, wiping the blood from his forehead with presses of light. He smiled, a crooked smile from one who had carried the weight and survived: — We're alive. — a whisper that was a promise.
Amara dropped her head into her palm and cried—not just from fear, but from the emotional avalanche of knowing she had been too powerless. Dan looked at the horizon, eyes full of hardened determination. — The fight isn't over — he said.
Above, Elise's figure vanished among shadows and beams—she and her aides disappeared as silently as they had appeared. The bullet had created the crack; the crack had given them life. Now it was up to the youths to turn it into a run to where Mei waited or where they had a chance to fight back.
They remained there, pressed against the cold of the broken marble, listening to the world unravel and reknit itself. The collective breath was short, but enough to gather strength. The escape wasn't just physical distance—it was a silent pact: to move forward, together, no matter how difficult.
The sound was of wind cutting through ashes. A strange silence, made of smoke and ruin.
Then—a dry, grotesque crack—and Dante opened his eyes.
The flesh of his head was still rearranging itself, the skull closing like an inverted flower. The blood flowed black and dense, evaporating before it even touched the ground. He brought a hand to his forehead, the gesture almost lazy, and laughed low—a hoarse laugh, devoid of emotion.
— Hah... really... didn't expect that one. — His voice came out scratchy, reverberating off the broken walls. — Regenerating a brain completely... is much more tiring than any other part.
His golden, crimson eyes shone in the gloom, dilated like beasts. He remained crouched for a moment, analyzing. The world was unstable—the ground vibrated, the air tasted metallic with the Abyss. He inhaled slowly, and the smoke around him reacted, contorting as if obeying him.
One step, two, and Dante was no longer in sight. He had moved among the broken columns, blending into the hot mist the shot had raised.
— These Sifs... always so insistent. — he whispered, his tone laden with boredom and scorn. — There's always someone to interfere.
He looked in the direction the shot had come from—the precision, the coldness, the calculation. There was intelligence there. They must be some kind of support. They're like ants that refuse to die. — he murmured, clenching his fists. — But ants... are still ants.
The energy of the Abyss began to vibrate within him, an irregular, living, grotesque pulse. The ground writhed with the pressure emanating from his body. The veins in his neck glowed in violet hues, and a fissure opened behind him—a crack in reality, exuding distorted echoes of ancient voices.
He slowly raised his arm. The gesture was almost ceremonial.
— Abyssal Fissures. —
His voice sounded like a verdict.
The first crack expanded like a web, crossing the horizon. Then another, and another. The distant portal's pulsation responded, merging with his energy, and the world bent. The fissures opened—black mouths in the sky—and from them began to fall fragments: debris from the Abyss, stones and deformed structures, like meteors tearing through the air.
Each piece carried a remnant of the Abyssal Regent's ancestral energy, pulsing in crimson and purple tones, distorting the air around them.
The sky bled.
Literally.
Tekio, Dan, Amara, and Stella felt it before they saw it. The ground trembled—not like an earthquake, but like a heart about to burst. The air grew heavy, dense. And when they looked up, the firmament was collapsing.
— He's alive... — murmured Tekio, his voice almost breathless.
Stella and Dan's healing still enveloped them, stitching flesh and soul. Tekio's blood had stopped, but the energy inside him boiled in alert.
Amara looked at the sky and felt the familiar despair—the same she had seen ages ago, the same terror from the past when the name "Dante" echoed among screams.
— Dan! — Stella shouted, instinctively.
— Run! — he roared, before the first impact hit the ground.
He didn't need to repeat. The group shot off in the opposite direction, dodging by instinct, every step guided by pure fear and the will to survive. The abyssal stones fell like divine hammers, crushing the ground, tearing streets, pulverizing what remained of the square.
Dante watched the destruction from within the smoke, eyes half-closed, expression serene—almost bored. He savored the scene.
— Go on, run. — he said low, a tone of cruel amusement in his voice. — I want to see how far you can run this time.
From above, Elise still kept her eyes on the scope, though she was already moving.
Her heart leapt—seeing Dante rise after a perfect shot, seeing the sky open like a wound... it was enough to make her understand how close they were to the impossible.
— ...so that's it — she murmured, breath ragged, running among the shadows with her agents. — A fraction of his true power.
She was no longer in the building; she was running through the streets with the researchers and soldiers. No plan could have predicted that. But retreating now wasn't cowardice—it was survival.
The sound of falling debris was deafening, the ground trembled under their boots, and with every explosion, the sky grew redder.
Elise held her rifle as if it were a promise that the next shot would still come.
Dante raised his face, feeling the heat of the destruction reflect on his skin.
— The Abyss called me. — he whispered with a distorted smile. — And I answered.
On the horizon, the portal pulsed like a colossal heart—and with each beat, the world bowed a little more before him.
The silence that came after was worse than the sound of destruction.
The flames devoured what remained of the trees, the wind carried the sweet, suffocating smell of carbonization, and the air trembled—too heavy, too hot, too dead.
The ground was an expanse of ruins, cracked, partially melted.
Everything that still insisted on existing now crumbled, slowly, as if the world itself had given up resisting.
And, in the middle of it all… he walked.
Dante moved through the rubble with slow, firm steps.
There was no haste in his movement, only purpose.
His eyes half-closed, his skin covered in soot, his smile discreet, savoring his own work.
Each step made the ground crackle, and the embers reacted to him, flickering, as if recognizing their master.
— Merging with Hazau… — he said, his voice deep, low, almost intimate. — Lets me sense essences now.
He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and his eyes shone.
Crimson and black lines spread across his irises, and the air seemed to distort around his vision.
— I can track all of you. —
The sound came as a whisper, but echoed through the ruins like muffled thunder.
He crouched, touched the ground, feeling the spiritual echo vibrating in layers—fragments of Tekio's, Dan's, Stella's, and Amara's energies, mixed with dust and blood.
A slight smile touched the corner of his mouth.
— One by one… no rush. —
He rose again, looking at the smoke-covered horizon. — The longer you stall, the more the portal develops. —
He gave a short, hoarse laugh, almost amused. — The more powerful I become. —
He looked at the flaming sky. — And the more terrified you become.
His voice seemed to blend with the landscape—as if the ruins responded, as if the world repeated his words in murmurs.
He spoke alone, but needed no answer.
— This is how it should be. —
His tone was now serene, cold. — Hope is born… only to be crushed.
Dust fell on his shoulders like rain.
Dante wiped his face, removing some of the dried blood still trickling from the side of his head. The wound was already gone, but the gesture was almost theatrical.
He looked northwest, feeling a faint pulse—Tekio.
Further ahead, Dan's weak heat.
The spark of Stella's healing… and Amara's throbbing hatred.
— They're still together. — he murmured. — How touching.
The ground under his feet began to crackle, and a fissure opened, releasing dark smoke. Dante simply kept walking, the fissures forming behind him like trails of rot.
He was hunting.
Not with the haste of slaughter, but with the pleasure of making them feel the despair of every second.
The flames illuminated his face.
And in Dante's eyes—the darkness reflected like a broken mirror.
The air trembled with the distant sound of flames, and the cracked ground crunched under the weight of Dante's slow steps.
Each step was calculated, silent—the muffled sound of ashes being crushed by blood-stained boots.
He moved like a conscious shadow, his gaze cold and fixed, instinct guiding him to the exact point where the human essences pulsed the most.
Their trail.
And then he saw them—or rather, felt them—just behind a semi-destroyed low wall, one of the few structures still standing in that devastated landscape.
Four essences. Weak, disordered… but still there.
Tekio. Dan. Stella. Amara.
Feeble essences struggling to resist.
Dante took a deep breath, and the sound that escaped his throat was a bored sigh.
— You always do this… — he murmured, walking towards the wall. — Run, hide, cry, heal, pray. An endless cycle of cowardice disguised as hope.
An endless Sif cycle, where for millennia you've interfered, and bled the same way.
His fingers rose, and the air around him seemed to contort.
A circle of fire sprang up around the ruins, expanding like an infernal halo.
The flames danced, uniting and solidifying into flaming walls rising from the cracked ground—a blazing prison.
The fire wasn't common: it was black, deep, a fire that didn't illuminate, but devoured light.
The circle was complete.
Dante observed the interior with the gaze of a predator before the prey's den.
— Come on… give me at least one last scream, one last look of hatred. It's the least I can accept from you. —
Dante walked like a god expecting a final spectacle, an amusement to inaugurate Hazau's essence and discover how to use it.
But when he leaned over the wall… what he saw deeply disappointed him.
— Ah… how pathetic. —
Dan, leaning against the wall, had a leg completely twisted, broken, and was trying to breathe between moans.
Tekio was unconscious, his body covered in burns and dried blood, his arm trembling in involuntary spasms.
Stella, exhausted, used her energy to close wounds that insisted on reopening, her face bathed in sweat and soot.
And Amara, on her knees, cried silently with her face buried in Tekio's motionless chest—he no longer seemed to be breathing.
For a moment, Dante stood motionless.
His gaze, empty and unmotivated, scanned the scene with something that seemed like… pity.
But it wasn't compassion.
It was contempt.
— I really expected more. — he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. — Your defeat… is so tasteless.
For Dante, pleasure and ecstasy lay in the sensation of hopelessness, the complete destruction of his opponent. There was nothing worse for him than hunting prey that simply accepts its place as prey and lets itself be devoured. It made him feel as if his existence were denied.
He hated that feeling. He wanted to see. He wanted to destroy each one's soul. He enjoyed it, was good at it.
He sighed, looking around. — A simple area attack was enough for this? You didn't even scream. Didn't even try.
He raised his gaze again, his face bathed in the faint light of the sky and the black flames.
— You're worse than I imagined. — he said coldly. — And to think I placed some faith in you… I thought, at least, the boy would survive.
He stared at Tekio's motionless body, and a short, tired smile escaped him. — But he's finished. Just like my old vessel.
To think he shares the same DNA as me.
That's depressing.
Dante scratched his chin, tilting his head slightly, as if genuinely wondering if it was worth continuing.
— This disheartens me. —
His eyes moved to Stella and Amara. — It seems only you two are left.
Acting like war widows who lost their husbands in battle. Without any hope, just despair.
Dante paused, his tone gaining a touch of mocking scorn. — The woman of light… and the weapon that thinks it thinks for itself. —
Stella was still kneeling, her hands glowing in soft beams as she tried to close Dan's wounds.
But when she raised her eyes and met Dante's gaze… something in her trembled.
It wasn't fear.
It was familiarity.
That gaze.
The same coldness he had seen in Mei Nuhay, when all seemed lost and yet she smiled.
Surrounded by the Veil, escaping with that surprising, crazy technique.
He would never forget that golden gaze.
A shiver ran down Dante's spine.
Quick, involuntary, irritating.
— …Tsk. —
He averted his eyes and approached Amara, who still hadn't noticed him.
Her head buried in Tekio's chest, her shoulders trembling, her crying muffled.
Dante crouched a little, his gaze curious and cruel.
— What do you think you're doing? — he asked, his tone too calm. — Do you think you can change anything, now that you've finally remembered who you are? —
A crooked smile formed on his face. — The curse they placed on you was just a detail, Amara. The problem was always you. —
He leaned in further, his voice now bordering on mockery.
— You getting attached to a human… to a weakling like this boy… — he looked at Tekio with disdain. — …that's the height of ridiculousness. Someone like you doesn't deserve such feelings. You are a mistake convinced it's a person. —
But Amara didn't react.
She didn't move, didn't answer, didn't raise her face.
Her crying continued—low, hoarse, stifled.
It was as if the world around her had already disappeared.
And that… enraged Dante.
He clenched his fist and the black aura pulsed, shaking the flaming walls.
— Enough. — he murmured. — If you won't react, I'll make you react. —
He turned slowly to Stella, his gaze cold and predatory.
— I'll start with her. — he pointed with his finger, and the flame around them trembled. — I'll incinerate the woman of light before you. And maybe… just maybe, that will awaken something. —
Stella stood up, even exhausted, her gaze fixed on him, her breathing heavy.
Dante took a step forward, smiling.
— I expected much more from Jade's successor. — he said, as if stating something banal. — She was a memorable warrior… and you, not even half of that. —
The smile became a thin, sickly arc. — And now, you never will be. —
The fire around them roared.
The air distorted.
And hell seemed to lean over them.
But.
Before Dante could strike, Stella broke the silence with her own voice. Incessant, firm, a voice that seemed to cut through the surrounding destruction, forcing him to stop. He raised his head, curious, almost impatient—he wanted to hear what that girl had to say amidst the catastrophe.
Stella stared at him, eyes burning with the same determination Dante had learned to hate, that kind of gaze that wounded without touching, that defied even when the body seemed exhausted.
— Almost a month ago — Stella began, and her voice trembled, but did not yield — we were chasing our goals, growing together as a team: me, Dan, and Tekio. Forgotten children, abandoned, where the enemies weren't just others… but ourselves. Our own fears, our weaknesses. Every step was a struggle with the interior.
She swallowed dryly, feeling the memory burning inside, but continued:
— Everything seemed strange at first… but when I moved in with them, I understood so many things. I learned the value of trusting, of fighting for someone. I'll always be grateful. Until you came. That fateful day when a group of terrorists staged a coordinated attack—explosions, houses in ruins, innocents dead, chaos spread through the air—all just to bring a king back. A king… in the body of someone who was too important to me.
The air around seemed to vibrate with every word, and Stella clenched her fists, her voice growing more tremulous:
— And you came. You destroyed everything. Spread terror and... Killed my brother.
Dante laughed, a sound that cut through the dust and silence, dry and cruel:
— Your brother? You two are quite alike. He was a perfect spectacle for the opening of my return — The mockery was embedded in every syllable. — Thanks to him, the barrier Jade created fell sooner than expected. I think I'll thank him by absorbing you very quickly.
— Your expression now is perfect, girl — Dante said with a crooked smile. He continued — Your look is identical to his, when I threatened to kill Aisha and Akira he hated me with the same fire burning in you now.
Stella felt the anger boil, the hatred almost physical. But she didn't retreat, she continued:
— We lost to you. All of us. That day, each of us paid the price for not being strong or smart enough. Some were left without sight, unconscious for days, tormented by the growing fear of not knowing if they could turn the tide. Children thrown into an adult war zone, witnessing falls and blood, learning too early what it meant to lose.
She took a deep breath, each word a dagger plunged into Dante's memory. The recollection of the chaos, the destruction, every scream—it all returned with intensity, burning in every syllable.
— But — she said, firmly, as if the "but" alone was a command — this time it won't be like that.
The tone held not just decision; it held the density of experience, the weight of lived pain and hope cultivated in the shadows. Dan took a deep breath, Amara buried her face in Tekio's chest, Stella raised her body and spirit even exhausted, and something in the atmosphere changed: a silent tension, a promise unspoken but felt by all.
Dante narrowed his eyes. Again, pure indifference met palpable resistance. Frustration arose, subtle, and he moved, each step calculated, trying to recompose the pleasure he used to extract from the hunt.
— What a pretty speech — he murmured, mockery impregnating his voice. — Tragedies told well always sound better when they serve as an excuse for cheap heroism.
But Stella didn't yield. Every word, every memory, every emotion wasn't just narrative; it was affirmation. It was a line drawn in the earth that Dante could not erase.
— You stumble, bleed, and still hope to get up — he continued, exasperated and curious. — It's as tedious as it is… moving.
She remained firm, Dan breathed deeply, Amara held Tekio as if she could stitch him back to life, and Stella raised her gaze, driving it into the enemy.
Dante raised an eyebrow, a crooked, arrogant smile appearing on his face. — Is that all? A speech about your little lives? — he said, his voice laden with disdain. — How fearful the youth of today are… Centuries ago, I destroyed children like you. None of them whimpered. They grew up among demons on the loose, among cults and monsters. Back then, there was no unity, no shelter. You feel strong for having each other… laughable.
He took a step forward, the black aura rippling around him, suffocating any hope that dared arise. — If you think your little life was sad, then I'm sorry. — Dante paused, his eyes piercing Stella. — You don't know what suffering is. You wouldn't survive living in that bloody era.
Stella remained in absolute silence. Her eyes were lowered, fixed on the ground between the dust and rubble. Dante expected a reaction, any sign of weakness, fear, or despair. But there was nothing. Only the silence, heavy and almost palpable, as if the world around had frozen.
And then, something caught his attention. A detail that, at first glance, seemed insignificant: small golden particles fell slowly through the air, almost invisible. A faint glow that only stood out when the sun pierced the black smoke above, piercing the horizon for seconds.
Dante frowned. He perceived the change, the harbinger of something he hadn't expected. And then, Stella raised her head. A simple movement, but laden with determination. Her eyes shone with intensity, and Dante felt a chill run down his spine.
The smile that appeared on Stella's lips was bold, audacious. A smile that carried confidence, advantage—something Dante never imagined that "child" could possess. Her golden eyes, intense and firm, reminded him of an Empress. A familiar flame, like the one he'd seen in Mei Nuhay. The gaze of a warrior forged by the fire of life, struggle, and sacrifice, now incarnated in Stella.
Dante's eyes widened, his expression shifting to confusion and anger. He hated that. He didn't understand how someone so young, so humiliated seconds ago, could exude such presence. The control he always had over his prey seemed to slip through his fingers.
Stella took a deep breath, raising her voice, firm, almost echoing through the suffocating silence Dante was trying to impose. — This time, unlike before, I had things to say... — She paused, the smile holding, her eyes fixed on his. — And to do...
To be continued…