The battlefield burned. The air trembled with heat, smoke twisted like spectral veils, and at the center of it all, Dante rose once more—a mutilated god, a body forcibly reconstructed. His tentacles pulsed in grotesque convulsions, and the wet sound of flesh reconstituting itself was as horrendous as the roar that tore from his throat. His still-shattered skull exposed fragments of a throbbing brain, covered by black flames and scarlet energy that pulsed like an exposed heart.
Amara advanced.
Even wounded, even with her muscles screaming, she did not retreat.
Each of her punches echoed like the rumble of thunder.
Precise, accurate, brutal blows.
The ground cracked under her feet, and Dante's blood spattered her skin, hot, sticky, almost burning.
She fought not just with her body—but with everything left inside her.
For Tekio. For Yara. For Stella. For Dan. For herself. For the promise she made to her sister to protect her new companions and strive for them.
And, above all, for rage.
The rage born from years of pain, from seeing her sister slain, from being used, from losing everything to that same monster.
Dante counterattacked with blind violence.
Tentacles exploded from the ground, whipping the air and opening craters around them.
One struck the earth near her, launching stone fragments like shrapnel—a piece sliced her cheek, tearing the skin.
She didn't even feel it.
The pain was noise.
The hatred was music.
Dan emerged from the flames.
His body was covered in soot, his eyes incandescent.
He extended his hands and a white explosion swallowed Dante's flank.
The impact sent the monstrous body spinning, and Amara used the opening to dive back into the fray.
Fist and fire, flesh and fury.
It was a chaotic choreography—but alive.
Each moving by instinct, protecting the other without thought, as if their bodies knew what their hearts commanded.
A tentacle tried to pierce Dan, but Amara intercepted it with a spinning kick.
Another sought her neck, and Dan answered by detonating the air around it, burning everything in its vicinity.
The sound of explosions drowned out the shouts, but not Dante's low laughter.
Even disfigured, even staggering, he laughed.
—Tekio…— he whispered with a fragmented voice, his jaw still reconstructing —…the little lightning bolt… he's been extinguished, hasn't he?
The two stopped for an instant.
Just one.
But it was enough.
Dante attacked.
One tentacle shot through the ground and struck Amara in the back, hurling her against a wall of rubble. The blow opened a bloody gash.
Another pierced Dan's defenses and sent him flying through the air, the sound of breaking bones echoing dryly.
Dust rose.
Silence followed.
Then, a breath of wind.
And a golden explosion swept the scene. A beam of light aimed for Dante's skull and struck; his body instinctively slithered away and repositioned.
Stella emerged.
Her clothes were torn, her face stained with ashes and dried tears.
Her eyes shone—not just with power, but with something deeper: the pain of grief and the fury of vengeance.
Dante looked at her and smiled, a crooked, cracked, demonic smile.
—Another fool to die. You can all come.
But Stella did not answer.
Her energy expanded with a cry, a flash so intense the very fire seemed to flee from her.
The tentacles that came for her evaporated on impact.
Amara staggered to her feet, gasping.
Dan coughed blood, but smiled upon seeing Stella there.
For a moment, the three aligned.
Three human figures before a broken king—hell against hell.
And together, they advanced.
Amara in front, with punches that shook the earth.
Dan at her side, detonating the air with explosions that distorted the light.
And Stella behind, channeling pure energy, firing cutting beams of golden light that tore across the field.
Dante roared.
He blocked, he struck, he regenerated.
But no matter how he fought, their coordination was a living force—wild, imperfect, but indomitable.
A combined blow struck him: Amara's fist, Dan's explosion, and Stella's blast.
The impact was so brutal the ground split, and Dante's body was hurled against a pile of wreckage.
The world seemed to stop for a second.
But from within the ashes, a voice echoed—cold, hoarse, laden with something ancient:
—Do you think you can wound a god?
His skull was sealing.
The fissures were merging.
Consciousness was returning.
And with it, something worse—clarity.
Dante looked at each of them, and for the first time since the inferno began, he smiled calmly.
The war was only just beginning.
Dante's laughter echoed among the rubble—a sound mixing moving flesh and pulsars.
The ground trembled under the three youths' feet, and the flames that once consumed him now obeyed him, as if fearing the return of their true master.
—So this is it…— Dan murmured, spitting blood —…he's coming back.
Dante's eyes, once clouded, now shone with a terrible awareness.
His black pupils narrowed, and, little by little, the tentacles sustaining him began to recede, melting into liquid shadows that seeped into the soil.
His body righted itself, his muscles realigned, and the energy pulsing around him was no longer chaos—it was control.
Amara gritted her teeth, fist clenched.
She felt it.
This was no longer the instinctual monster she had been beating down.
This was the true Dante awakening.
—Dan,— she said without taking her eyes off the enemy, —if he fully recovers his consciousness… it's over.
Dan breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling with effort.
—Then we won't let him.
Amara charged.
The ground cracked with her impulse, and she spun her body in a roundhouse kick that Dante blocked with his forearm. The impact made the air vibrate, shockwaves sweeping the field.
She followed with attack after attack, a storm of punches and kicks that echoed like hammer blows on steel.
Dante merely observed.
His eyes followed her with calm, dodging by millimeters, anticipating every move.
And when she prepared her final strike, he simply raised his hand.
The shadow expanded like a living serpent and caught Amara's fist in mid-air.
—You fight well— he said, his voice hoarse, cold —, but you are merely flesh trying to imitate power.
Before she could react, the shadow exploded, and Amara was thrown far, skidding across the ground and opening a smoking trench.
Stella screamed her name and fired a golden beam straight at Dante's chest.
But he dodged.
Not with movement, but with space itself.
The shadows contorted, distorting the light. The ray cut through the air and curved, missing its target by inches.
—I learned from Akira…— Dante murmured, extending his hands. —Shadows can bend the world, if you know how to listen to them.
A black wave spread across the field, dissolving everything around it—fire, stone, even Stella's light began to flicker.
But Dan did not wait.
With a roar, he concentrated everything he had into his hands, and the subsequent explosion seemed to tear the sky.
The white energy cut through the gloom and struck Dante head-on, opening a colossal crater where he stood.
The sound ceased for an instant.
But silence never meant victory.
The smoke rose in slow spirals.
And Dante emerged from it, walking, intact.
His skin now regenerated, his face taking human form, his hair darkening beneath the flames.
The king had returned.
He cracked his neck and the black flames began to dance in his hands.
—Fire…— he murmured, watching his own power rekindle. —I had forgotten how much this belongs to me.
The air grew so hot the metal around them began to melt.
Dan and Stella instinctively shielded themselves, and Amara rose, bleeding, but alive.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and snarled:
—We can't stop now!
And she charged.
Her fist cut through the flames, her entire body enveloped in pure vital energy—every muscle, every bone in perfect synchrony.
She struck Dante's face with force enough to make him take a step back.
Just one step, but enough for Dan and Stella to act.
Dan focused power into his hands and launched two explosive spheres from the sides, forcing Dante to defend.
In the same instant, Stella ran through the flames, her body glowing gold—her eyes wet, firm.
She channeled everything into a single strike, and when she got close, she screamed and slashed. An attack of light and white flames.
The blast tore through Dante's chest, opening a fissure of light amidst the black flames.
The impact made him stagger, and for a moment, he seemed to truly falter.
But Dante only laughed.
The black fire began to consume the wound itself, sealing it.
And then, he looked at them with contempt and pleasure.
The sound of hell mingled with the beating of hearts.
The fire roared, the air burned, and in the midst of the chaos, Dante rose like a specter crowned in black flames—a deity deformed by his own fury.
—Tekio…— he repeated, dragging out the name, his twisted smile cutting across his face. —His death was the best gift you could have given me.
His gaze fixed on Dan.
—Without him, you are nothing but sparks trying to illuminate the abyss.
The silence that followed was almost more deafening than the roar of the flames.
Dan stared at him, motionless. Sweat streamed down his temples, blood dripped from his chin.
His breathing was ragged.
He had heard this before, but didn't know if it was true—but now, there, before that smiling demon—something inside him shattered.
He turned his head slowly, looking at Stella.
—…Is it true?— His voice was weak, almost pleading. —Stella… is it true?
She did not answer immediately.
She just stood there, motionless, her face dirty, her lips slightly parted.
Her eyes—golden, torn by pain—said what words could not.
There was no more light there, only loss.
Dan took a step back, as if the ground had vanished.
His chest felt heavy.
For a moment, the noise of the flames seemed distant—a dull buzz, swallowed by the void.
Behind them, Amara watched in silence.
She didn't ask. She didn't need to.
The look in Stella's eyes, the tremor in Dan's hands, the absence of the lightning that had always guided them…
Everything said the same thing.
Tekio was gone.
And yet, no one cried.
None of them collapsed.
Not in any overt way.
What came was something else.
Dan clenched his fists, and the veins in his arms glowed with incandescent white.
The fire around him reacted, rising like a living storm, roaring along with his scream.
The flames became blades, spinning, exploding in circles that distorted the air.
Amara took a step forward, her blue-tinged eyes trembling with energy.
Her body pulsed with a new force—the pain, the fear, the fury—all converging into a single point.
The ground cracked under her feet, and the air around her rippled.
Her muscles tensed like cords about to snap.
Stella raised her head, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth.
Her body trembled, not from fear, but from repressed strength.
The golden light began to grow around her, like a sun being born in the midst of hell.
And there, at the center of the destruction, Dante smiled a satisfied smile.
The smile of a god who saw purpose even in hatred.
—Then show me.— his voice echoed, deep, monstrous. —Show me how much you cared for that boy. Show me how much his death is worth.
The ground exploded.
Amara charged first, a wild roar tearing across the field.
Each of her blows was a promise—her fists cutting the air with brutal speed, the dry sound of impacts echoing like thunder.
Dante blocked, but her movements were different—more precise, faster, more violent.
She moved like a freed beast, and for a moment, he retreated under the girl's pure fury.
Dan appeared on his flank, his body covered in a white aura, the explosions propelling him like cannon shots.
He hit Dante with a direct punch, and the impact made the entire ground shudder.
The black flames reacted, trying to swallow the light—but Dan screamed and forced more energy, and for a moment, the flames recoiled.
His arm burned to the bone. He exploded Dante, sending him flying a few meters and setting him ablaze.
Dante guffawed, even as he was thrown back.
—Yes!— he said, his voice reverberating through the fire. —Show me the desperation of the living!
But Stella was right behind.
Her light cut through the air, slicing through the shadows.
She raised her hand and a golden circle opened on the ground, shining beneath Dante's feet.
Beams rose around him, crossing in a sacred pattern, then collapsed upon him like celestial blades.
The explosion was deafening.
Dante's body contorted, flesh and energy merging in a chaotic flash.
The ground melted.
The air screamed.
And still—still—Dante remained standing.
Half-kneeling, his face burned, his skin regenerating.
His eyes, now completely lucid, stared at the three youths with something between pride and hatred.
—Ahh…— he whispered, his voice deformed. —Now… now you begin to look like true warriors. But it's not enough, not nearly enough…
The flames around him ignited again, taller, more alive.
And the inferno began anew.
Amara attacked first, a punch cutting the air, spinning into a kick that tore the ground, raising rubble like spears against the enemy's chest. Dante dodged with near-supernatural precision, the muscles of his face contorted in a crooked smile. He didn't strain, yet he anticipated every blow, every impulse, every shadow of intention.
—Good…— he said, his voice reverberating like twisted iron. —I'll show you how pathetic each of you is.
Dan advanced beside her, an explosion of white energy enveloping his fists. With each punch, the air seemed to crack. His strength was impressive, but Dante merely leaned, letting the black flames dance around his blows, absorbing the impact as if it were nothing.
—You…— Dante began, looking at Dan with eyes burning in scarlet and black. —you have my DNA, boy. But that is all you are. Just an empty vessel. A useless bastard son trying to set the world on fire with matches. You were meant to be a god, a king, but you managed to be nothing.
Dan gritted his teeth but did not respond. He knew trying to argue with Dante now was futile. Every attack he launched was met with a cold, calculated block, or a slight shift in position that rendered the impact useless.
Stella entered the fray, golden light shining around her like a threatening halo. She slashed and pierced, attacked and retreated, but Dante watched every movement with the eyes of a predator.
—And you…— he said, his voice cold as shattered obsidian —Jade's successor in the appearance of power, but without real strength. Nothing but a reflection. Pretty light that can't burn. You don't have what it takes. Jade's face alone won't be enough to save you.
She took a deep breath, her jaw rigid. Every burst of energy she fired was met with a nearly effortless counter, as if Dante were testing her, analyzing every weakness, every hint of hesitation.
Amara roared and charged, launching furious punches, each blow imbued with accumulated rage and pain. The ground cracked, stones and debris flew. But Dante dodged, blocked, absorbed, and laughed.
—Ah, and you…— he said, the shadow tentacles writhing like living snakes —the cursed child who thinks she can change anything now that she's regained her consciousness… your grave was dug from the moment you were born, girl. Every step you took was planned for nothing. A weapon… nothing more than a weapon.
Amara shuddered at the accusation but did not retreat. She launched into a spinning kick that Dante blocked with a minimal movement, and yet the impact sent dust and blood flying through the air. Each of her blows now seemed stronger, more refined, but he kept smiling, as if every attack only confirmed his own superiority.
—And Tekio…— Dante looked around, his cold eyes piercing the void he had left —the only one who truly fought, with nothing but his own body and courage. Just like Yara, who faced the impossible and perished. He is gone, and you three remain here…
Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic…
Silence fell for a moment, heavy, laden with hatred and disbelief. But then, Dan's roar, Stella's cry, and Amara's bellow united, exploding against Dante in a combined attack that made the ground tremble and the sky bend.
Dante laughed loudly, the sound cutting through flames and shadows, mingling with the cracking earth. —Fight, then! Show me… that the loss of one boy has made you into something more than nothing!
The combat returned to absolute brutality.
Amara struck with force and precision, each punch creating small craters. Dan advanced in a constant flow of explosions, and Stella cut through space with beams of light that split the air. But Dante was everywhere at once: dodging, blocking, anticipating. Their every move was studied, every hesitation punished.
—Faster… stronger… more desperate…— Dante murmured between attacks, mocking them with every step. —Is this what remains? A useless son, a false successor, a walking weapon? Ridiculous!
They continued, evolving in movement and power. Amara now seemed fused with energy, each punch and kick charged with an almost inhuman force. Dan began to find his own rhythms, not just brute explosions, but calculated, swift, and precise attacks. Stella, still trembling, found the flow between light and body, turning each beam into both blade and shield at once.
Dante watched them, analyzed them, and his every move was a cruel test. He blocked with ease, dodged with terrifying grace, but their every action was absorbed, registered, and returned in the form of potential damage, always one step ahead, always laughing.
—Keep going…— he said, his voice spreading like black lava —show me you feel! Show me you cared for the one who fell! Fight with all your might… because none of it will save you from what is to come!
And there, in the midst of fire, light, and flesh, the battle continued, every blow, every explosion, every burst of energy bringing them to a confrontation beyond survival—a test of will, courage, and hatred.
Dante was the king of chaos, and the youths, even wounded and exhausted, did not retreat.
They were all that stood between them and certain death.
And he knew it.
Dante stomped the ground with a force that made the earth scream.
The impact tore open the soil, and the dry sound echoed across the devastated arena. The air trembled, the heat burned their lungs, and the flames danced between craters opened by the abyss's meteors.
The smell was an unbearable mixture of iron, smoke, and burnt flesh.
The king of hell raised his gaze, his body covered in flames and fury—and smiled.
A smile that was an invitation. A challenge. A sentence.
Amara, Dan, and Stella aligned themselves before him.
The three side by side, static for a second that felt eternal.
The wind ceased. The fire bowed.
And even Dante felt it—that fury, that energy that was not just power… it was pain transformed into strength.
Amara's light exploded in silver and white, pure and violent. Blood streamed down her face, tingeing the blue glare in her eyes with crimson.
Stella shimmered like a star about to collapse, radiating enough power to tear the abyss apart.
Dan, his body trembling and eyes ignited, seemed ready to unravel along with the very flames.
They were not fighting just for victory—they were fighting for memory.
Dante felt it. Something within him shuddered.
For an instant, the king saw something he did not comprehend—as if something greater than him had been born before his eyes.
But before he could react… the three vanished.
The sound that followed was chaos itself.
Space distorted, and Dante barely had time to turn his body before Amara appeared from the right, her foot sweeping the air. He intercepted the blow with his hand—but the kick changed trajectory at the last instant, and her heel collided with his knee in a dry crack. The impact cracked the ground and forced Dante back.
Before he could right himself, Stella spun like a living blade, the scythe of golden energy crossing the air. Dante spread his wings of fire, releasing an explosion that swept everything away—an incandescent wall that would make anyone retreat.
Stella and Amara instinctively recoiled.
But Dan did not retreat.
He walked into the flames.
The fire enveloped him like a second skin, but instead of burning him, it roared in harmony with him. Dante's flames met resistance—Dan's fire grew, consuming the king's.
In a blind advance, Dan emerged from the blaze and delivered a punch sheathed in condensed energy, the same style as Tekio—but mixed with pure hell.
The blow struck Dante's face, and the impact made the air explode, launching sparks and debris for dozens of meters.
The ground split.
Dante's body flew like a fallen star and crashed through a carbonized wall.
He emerged from the rubble with an insane glare, roaring—the fire reconstructing him, his flesh mending under the heat.
But Dan was already there.
Their flames collided, forming a white and black storm that devoured everything around them. Neither Amara nor Stella could get close.
It was one hell against another. One world within another.
Dan advanced like a freed animal, dodging, blocking, returning blows with brutal precision.
A kick to the jaw, a punch to the abdomen, a headbutt that sent the king's blood flying.
For a moment, Dante staggered.
And Dan grabbed him by the face, slamming him into the ground, energy crackling around his fingers.
The impact cracked the entire arena.
Dante tried to rise, but Dan's gaze paralyzed him.
A gaze so human—and so full of hatred—that even hell fell silent.
—I was you once— Dan said, his voice hoarse, laden with fire. —I know how you think. I know how you fight.
He raised his fist, wreathed in flames as white as the sun.
—Your tricks, your feints… they won't work on me.
The blow descended, and the ground exploded.
—I'm going to kill you— he roared, amidst the flames. —For everything you took from each of us.
The fire consumed the world.
And, for the first time, Dante screamed.
To be continued…