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Dante staggered.
For the first time in ages, the King of Hell was on the defensive.
Dan pressed him like a frenzied beast—punches and kicks merging with white flames that exploded with every impact. The sound of the blows echoed like thunder within a volcano.
Dante tried to react, too proud to retreat, but Dan intercepted everything.
Every lunge from the king was blocked, dodged, punished with brutality.
It was a deadly dance, and Dan led the rhythm with the burning promise in his eyes: to kill Dante.
—I admit…— Dante snarled, blood spraying between his teeth —…you are different.
But Dan did not answer.
He advanced.
In an instant, dozens of versions of him appeared all around—clones of fire and energy.
Each moved with the same fury, the same desire.
They surrounded Dante from all sides, attacking in sync, exploding on contact.
The detonations swept through hell in waves.
The king tried to move, weaving through the flames, his body cutting through the air—but Dan appeared above him, his foot charged with pure energy.
The kick struck Dante squarely.
The impact was so violent the sound ruptured space—and the king was hurled out of hell like a meteor.
Dante crashed through the burning barrier, his body spinning in flames, fighting to right himself.
He landed on his feet, the ground trembling under his weight.
But before he could breathe, two flashes tore across the horizon—one golden, one blue.
Amara and Stella.
In perfect synchrony.
The two attacked simultaneously.
Dante dodged backward, fast—but Amara's fist caught him in the face, distorting the air, and in the same instant Stella's blade crossed his torso, tearing through his collarbone, shattering ribs and organs.
The scream that followed did not sound human.
The king felt pain—real pain.
Even without Tekio there, it felt as if Tekio were the one striking him.
Every blow carried his essence—his spirit, his strength, the echo of a soul that would never accept dying in vain.
It was as if Tekio's death had become their blessing.
And as Dante flew amidst the wreckage, he perceived the irony:
He was being pushed back by those he had mocked minutes before.
The weapon.
The false successor.
The walking biological error.
—Ridiculous…— he hissed, spitting blood.
But before he could think, Dan launched more clones—dozens—all converging where Dante had fallen.
And together, they exploded.
The light devoured the field. The blast tore the heavens.
Dust rose in walls.
When it settled, the three were reunited once more, side by side, their auras burning like suns.
They were winning.
They were pushing the king back.
And Dante… Dante remembered.
That feeling—the rhythm, the synchrony, the power flowing between three warriors as a single soul.
It was familiar.
Jade. Konan. Yara.
The memory of the great war burned within him.
And then he understood.
They were not mere children.
They were the living inheritance of those who had wounded him once before.
Dante's smile returned, slow, like a wound reopening.
—I see…— he murmured. —You wish to be like them.
And the world shuddered.
As the three charged together, the light seemed to bend space—but in the next instant, a near-invisible ripple formed behind them.
The pressure shifted.
The air died.
Dante appeared.
He did not teleport—he manifested, as if he had always been there.
His presence crushed the air, the ground, even their very lungs.
Amara barely had time to react—she felt her body lock, the weight of a mountain upon her shoulders.
Dante smiled. His body regenerated in a grotesque manner, flames licking flesh and bone.
A transparent, unnatural glow appeared in his hand—fire that did not burn, but consumed the void.
Stella and Dan tried to turn, but all they saw was that smile.
The vacuum flame expanded.
Amara, by instinct, spun her body and tried to kick him—but Dante moved first.
A single blow.
A flash.
And Amara was gone.
The air exploded where she had been.
Suspended blood coated the silhouette of her former position, golden particles disintegrating in space.
The impact was so absurd the sound arrived after the fact.
She had been thrown for miles, or… disintegrated.
No one knew.
Silence fell for an instant.
Dante raised his gaze, the vacuum fire flickering on his fingers.
—Now…— he murmured, his voice low, distorted. —…let us fight in earnest.
The sound of the explosion still echoed when silence took hold of the field.
Where Amara had been… there was only blood hanging in the air.
Nothing more.
Stella took a step forward, her breath caught, her eyes wide.
Dan froze, his fist still aflame, unable to comprehend what he had seen.
His entire body trembled—but not from fear. It was pure, raw, inhuman fury.
—Amara...?— Stella's voice came out tremulous, almost a prayer.
But there was no answer.
Only the sound of fire crackling in the ruins.
Dante remained motionless for a moment, observing them with the empty gaze of one contemplating a piece of art he had just finished.
The white fire in his hand dissipated, slowly, as if the king had simply decided he no longer needed it.
—You still don't understand…— he said, his tone calm, almost sad. —I was only… warming up.
Before Dan could react, Dante moved.
It was like watching a shadow tear through the world.
His body dissolved into liquid darkness, and from the black mist emerged the silvery gleam of a kusarigama—the chain-scythe that belonged to Akira.
He spun it with perfection, every movement flowing like a dance, the blades whirring through the air in impossible trajectories.
Dan blocked the first strike, but the chain wrapped around his arm and pulled with force enough to nearly wrench him from the ground.
Dante spun his body, the motion fluid as water, and launched the second blade at Stella.
She leaped, the impact grazing her leg—blood spattered the air, and Dante, smiling, reeled the chain back as if pulling fate itself into his hands.
The arena darkened.
The ground began to writhe, as if alive.
—I understand now…— murmured Dante, closing his eyes. —The essence of Hazau… is this.
The fire around him vanished.
In its place, shadows began to rise from his body, snaking like living smoke.
The soil transformed—parts turned to ice, others became covered in corrupted vegetation, others became pure vacuum.
The nature of the abyss answered to him.
Every step Dante took changed the world around him.
Dan charged first, his fists ignited, striking with everything he had.
Every impact created shockwaves, every step cracked the ground.
But Dante dodged—not with speed, but with grace.
He danced.
The chains spun, the shadows extended like blades, and ice surged under Dan's feet, trapping him for crucial instants.
Stella tried to seize an opening, her sword cutting the air with blue energy, but Dante intercepted the blow with the shadows themselves—the blade passed through the darkness, and he appeared behind her, whispering in her ear:
—You shine so dimly compared to my inferno...
Stella spun, her energy fist cutting through the air, hitting what seemed to be Dante—but he dissolved into mist, reappearing behind Dan.
The shadows encircled him, but Dan exploded in flames, melting them, roaring with fury.
The two collided again.
Fist against scythe.
Flame against darkness.
The impact opened craters and unleashed blasts that snuffed out the very fire around them.
Dante stared at him, his face covered in a mixture of blood and pleasure.
—Now, boy. — He laughed, hoarsely. —Now you are dancing with me.
Stella appeared from the side, her sword crossing the air in a diagonal slash.
Dante spun, the chain following the motion, and the blades clashed, sparking.
She pressed him, her body moving with precision, her golden aura gleaming like a beacon amidst the gloom.
But, for all their fighting, something was wrong.
Something terribly wrong.
They realized, between blows and heavy breaths, that Dante was still not using everything.
That this monstrous strength—the manipulation of the abyss, the shifting of essence, the ability to assume the nature and form of everything around him—was still only the beginning.
Dan, panting, took a step back.
Sweat and blood streamed down his face.
Dante spun the kusarigama and pointed it at the two.
—Don't be shy now… Because the true inferno… — he smiled, his gaze burning purple. —…has not yet begun.
The ground split open beneath them, and from the abyss, voices began to echo—screams, whispers, echoes of ancient wars.
The air twisted.
Time seemed to falter.
Dan and Stella prepared themselves, fire and light intertwining.
There was no time to think.
No time to feel the loss.
There was only one certainty:
if Dante was fighting seriously now, the entire world was in danger.
In an instant, he appeared beside Dan—the kusarigama spinning with lethal precision.
The first strike pierced Dan's shoulder, the second hurled him in an arc against the ground.
The chain dragged him, cutting through rock and craters as sparks of blood spread with the shock of Dan's body against the structures.
Stella reacted with a cry, descending from above with a blade of pure golden light.
The impact split the ground, opening a colossal crater.
Dante blocked with the kusarigama's shaft, the clash generating a wave of energy that illuminated the field like a sun.
She advanced without hesitation—quick slashes, short sequences, spinning with divine speed.
Every blow left trails of gold in the air.
But Dante dodged with inhuman fluidity, his body bending, twisting, dancing between the attacks.
He spun the chain and caught Stella's wrist, pulling her violently toward him.
In a single motion, he slammed her into the ground—and an ice spike emerged beneath her.
The impact was brutal. Blood splattered the air and Stella was impaled. But Dante saw the particles of light in the air, and then Stella appeared behind him and struck with all her might. Dante blocked, but the impact threw him several meters back. Stella still moved, obscured in light.
Dan returned, wreathed in white fire and pulsing energy.
He leaped, spinning his body in the air, and collided his fist with Dante's—the sound of the impact echoed like divine thunder.
The clash of forces opened a momentary void, sucking in dust and debris.
—You won't kill anyone else!— Dan roared, pushing with all his strength.
Dante smiled. And laughed.
—Don't be naive, I've already taken two of you. What's to stop me from finishing the job?
Then the ground rose—corrupted roots emerged and writhed.
Parts froze, others caught fire, others became pure shadow.
It was the abyss responding to his will.
Dante took a step back and extended his hands.
The world changed.
Shadows merged into blades, trees grew from the ground, transforming into spears, and blocks of ice fell from the sky like meteors.
Every attack had a different nature, an essence swapped in fractions of a second—it was impossible to predict.
Dan leaped between explosions, dodging by instinct.
Stella carved a path with light, the cuts of her sword creating golden vortices that dissolved the shadows.
But Dante was everywhere—his body multiplied by distortions.
Each image of him attacked from a different angle.
Every movement was perfect.
A blade pierced through Stella's light and struck her abdomen.
She screamed, the sound lost in the roar of the fire.
Dan turned, but Dante was already behind him—the chain wrapped around his neck and yanked him violently to the ground, smashing him against the rock.
The sound of the impact echoed like thunder—
Dante stomped on Dan's chest, sinking his body into the cracked ground. Blood sprayed from the edges of the king's black boot.
Dan tried to breathe, but the weight seemed to crush his lung.
Dante leaned in, his face a distorted shadow of pleasure.
—Look at me, boy…— he murmured, pressing down harder —Did you really think you could predict me? Or that you could kill me? Did you truly believe you could be any different from Tekio?
The ground cracked.
Dan groaned, teeth gritted.
—I'll show you what it's like to watch someone you love die…— Dante slowly turned his gaze, his ruby eyes finding Stella.
She, wounded, leaned on her sword, golden light pulsing in her veins as if her body fought to continue.
—First, her. — Dante raised the kusarigama, the chain's edge glinting —And you last. Just like Tekio… weak, deluded, and alone.
—Shut up…— Dan whispered, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
—Ah, Amara is already gone, no time for goodbyes or feelings… But with Stella, I'll be slow. You'll feel it…— Dante smiled, turning the blade. —So angry. So much like that worm from your team. Want to bet how long she screams before she burns?
The air trembled.
Dante felt something.
A different heat—not common fire, but something vibrating, growing beneath the sole of his boot.
—I said… shut up.
Dan's flames erupted from the ground like a roar, hurling Dante backward.
The crater expanded in concentric circles, the fire distorting the air, tearing dust and debris upward.
Dante landed on his feet, his eyes narrowing.
The flames enveloping Dan were no longer just blue or white—they had shades of deep gold with black veins traced through intense white, the heat pulsing like a living heart.
Stella lifted her face, panting, and felt it too—the world seemed to stop for an instant.
Dan's body trembled, fire rising in columns around him, and his gaze… was no longer the same.
—So this is it…— murmured Dante, wiping blood from his mouth, a satisfied smile appearing. —The collapse.
He remembered.
Rare occasions, moments when the soul shatters in the midst of war.
Fury, despair, and fear merge—and the spirit answers.
Emotions are part of the core of a warrior's strength, and for controllers of spiritual energy, an emotional collapse can lead to a peak of transcendence, momentary or lasting.
Tekio had come close, but pulled back.
Dan, however, was plunging in completely.
The loss of his friend, Amara being crushed before his eyes without even time to react, and the constant threat of death not only to himself but to those he loved, those who remained… it had brought him to this point.
Dante spun the kusarigama and advanced.
Dan moved with him—the two vanished in a flash.
The first shock split the ground anew.
Dan's fire mingled with Dante's black vapor.
Every blow sounded like thunder: punches, blades, elbows, claws. The space around them burned and writhed.
Dante tried a lateral thrust, the chain's spinning hook, but Dan parried with his incandescent, gleaming forearm, and it exploded.
He counterattacked with a kick that Dante barely dodged—and the fire sheared off half the skin on the king's arm.
Dan's fire didn't just burn; it consumed, it destroyed.
Dan was in the mode: Total Annihilation.
—You… are beginning to irritate me. — Dante snarled, spreading his arms and releasing a wave of dark energy.
Dan plowed through the impact, the flames enveloping his entire body.
The two collided again.
Dante delivered a diagonal slash; Dan spun, dodged, and punched the king's abdomen with force enough to deform the black energy armor protecting him. The roar that came from Dante was a mix of pain and rage.
Black blood dripped from his chin.
And for a second, the king retreated.
Stella watched from afar, stunned.
Dan moved differently—it wasn't just strength. It was pure instinct, precision, channeled rage.
She raised her sword and ran to his flank, opening a golden fissure in the ground and slashing diagonally.
Dante leaped back, but the attack grazed him—part of his shoulder disintegrated, regenerating immediately, but with a delay.
—So much persistence. Why won't you just die?— Dante mocked, spitting blood.
And in a second, flames swallowed everything, throwing Stella back and hitting Dan, sending him reeling.
He laughed.
But the laughter ceased as Dan appeared before him again, silent, his fist wreathed in fire and rage.
The next impact sent Dante flying for meters, crashing through destroyed columns.
The king rose slowly, his skull recomposing, his eyes still burning red.
But for the first time… he was breathing heavily.
To be continued…
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