Dante was crying. For the first time, without a mask, without glory or power—just him, shattered inside.
Tekio hesitated. For a moment, the fury in the boy's eyes wavered. He felt the soul before him. But it wasn't the soul he knew from the king, nor the monster that devastated cities. It was different. A soul in conflict, torn apart exactly as Amara had been. As if Dante, too, were cursed, living a destiny he had never chosen.
And in that pause, Tekio showed something he had never demonstrated until now. He did not attack. He did not run. He did not throw punches. He simply remained, feeling.
Dante spoke, between sobs, his voice laden with rage and confusion, screaming at Tekio, at Jade, at himself:
— Why? Why you… don't… Why me. Why did I do this? Why did I do all of this?
He looked at his hands and saw not only the blood of Tekio, of Dan, of Stella. He saw the blood of all who had fallen to his fury. And he saw Jade. Her innocent smile, extinguished, dissolving before the image of him cutting her down, destroying her. The pain was unbearable. Each flash tortured his mind, showing the distance between what he truly was and what he had become.
But within him, a spark fought to survive. The puzzle was beginning to assemble itself. He understood. For the first time, the weight of all he had destroyed.
Looking around, Dante saw Tekio standing still, the field devastated, absolute chaos. He was at the center of his own flames, surrounded by the black fire that had consumed everything. The memories took him back: the guillotine, those women he loved, killed before his eyes. The chaos, the training with Jade, the first deaths, the awakening of his power. Everything mixed into a confused pain, a cycle that seemed to repeat.
And he only remembered his own scream.
The real world returned to him. Destruction, blood, screams. Every step of his journey to this point, every life reaped, every city reduced to rubble, he understood it all now. And now, reincarnated, Dante realized what he had been doing: treading the same path, repeating the mistakes, living a life that wasn't his, but which seemed impossible to escape. Something forced him to continue, something that compelled his hand to kill.
Something was reaping his will, giving birth to the monster the world knew as Dante. But that had never been him.
Tekio watched. He felt the fury, but also the truth. Dante was no longer the avatar of the abyss or an invincible demon. He was a man. A human. A shattered king. The hatred Tekio felt was now filtered through understanding: if Dante were just a monster, he would feel nothing. But here was the truth: the man before him was real, and vulnerable. If Dante were like Amara, a similar case… then Tekio couldn't hate him forever.
Dante sighed, exhausted, and raised his tear-filled eyes to Tekio. His gaze, laden with pain, regret, and humanity, met the boy's crimson ones. It was enough. Tekio understood, in that moment, that he was not facing the king. He was before Dante. Just the man.
The rain now fell unceremoniously, mixing with the blood flowing from Dante and Tekio. Each drop was a cruel reminder of everything he had done, of every life he had destroyed, every tear he had never shed in life. But now, in the chaos of the abyss and destruction, the king was no longer just the enemy. He was a broken man, confused, haunted by his own actions.
Covered by the black flames that not even the rain could quench, Dante screamed against himself, cursing himself, questioning himself, fighting his own memory.
He began to laugh—a hoarse, broken laugh—and the sound was more like a sob than any joy.
— What have I done...? — he murmured, looking at his own hands. — What... have I become...?
The wind blew and the flames responded, growing, writhing with him. His trembling fingers clenched tightly, and then the laughter died.
— I killed... everyone. — he whispered, his voice broken. — I killed... I... — he staggered a step back, his eyes lost in a non-existent void. — I felt proud of it.
The flames rose again, reflecting the chaos boiling inside him.
— PROUD! — he screamed, the sound echoing like thunder. — I smiled when everything burned! I called it destiny what was just... cowardice! I mistreated without reason or purpose, just for the act itself. Just for the love of despair.
WHY?
He fell to his knees, his hands clawing the ground, and blood ran between his fingers. The rain fell harder now, but still it could not quench the fire consuming him from within.
— Why don't I feel peace?! — he roared, beating his chest with force. — Why this pain now?! Why only now?! — his voice failed, between screams and sobs. — After killing so many... after destroying everything... why now do I feel that... I... shouldn't have done any of this? So this is what they call regret?
For the first time, the king felt what it was to regret.
The flames began to distort, taking on fleeting forms—shadows of faces, fragments of memories. Jade. Her laughter. The touch of small, gentle hands. The voices of the two women he loved, calling his name through the smoke. Only he saw it.
— Stop... — Dante murmured, covering his ears like a frightened child. — Stop... STOP!
But the voices intensified, echoing between thunder and the whispers of the rain.
— You... — he raised his gaze, his face bathed in tears and water. — I have no right... But...
He beat his chest again, desperate.
— I didn't ask to be born for this! — he cried, spitting the words between sobs. — I didn't ask to carry the abyss! I didn't ask to be king! I DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO BE BORN!
The thunder responded as if the sky itself wept with him.
— I just... — his voice almost vanished, choked. — I just wanted to understand why everything I touch... dies.
The flames curved over him, enveloping him like a cocoon. It was as if the fire wanted to devour him—or protect him.
Dante lifted his face one last time, looking upward. The abyss glimmered, reflected in his eyes, and he whispered with bitterness and truth:
— I am the mistake... I am the end... I am the one I despise the most.
The rain fell harder, quenching part of the flames, but not the pain in his words. He closed his eyes, and the fire exploded around him, roaring with him—a cry mixing rage, grief, and belated redemption.
His words were not just for Tekio. They were not for Jade, nor for anyone else. They were for himself. Every cry echoed in the abyss, mingling with the sound of the rain, the sparks of the black flames, reflecting an internal torment no power could erase.
Tekio watched him, feeling the intensity of the despair of the man before him. The boy's blood mixed with the rain, dripping into his eyes, running down his face, reminding him of everything he had already faced. But Tekio hesitated. For the first time in the entire combat, the beast within him felt something different—something human. A confused soul, in conflict, trying to save itself from itself.
Dante turned to Tekio. Despite his body covered in flames, the blood running from his lips and his wet eyes, there was still determination. But now, there was also regret, a vulnerability no one had ever seen in the king. He channeled his remaining power into a single arrow of black flames, concentrated, loaded with everything he was—and with everything he regretted.
— I… — he murmured, but his voice was almost a whisper of supplication. — I… I'm… sorry…
Tekio predicted the attack, it was slower than usual, as if Dante didn't even want to hurt him. Then Tekio vanished and struck Dante with a sure punch, the air was torn from him, throwing him against a broken pillar. The impact broke the silence of the rain, and the black flames around him were extinguished, dissipated in an instant.
Dante fell on his back, bleeding, the rain mixing with his tears. He looked at Tekio, the confusion in his eyes now mixed with something new: acceptance.
— As I thought… — he murmured, his voice trembling — you are… the key…
Tekio's blow had reminded him again: he felt his own small body, the lost innocence, the warmth of Jade, also small, a friend. The touch of his mother, of his sister. Each memory was a dagger in his soul. He knew, finally, who those women he loved were, and whom he himself had destroyed in his arrogance.
Dante stood up and Tekio felt no hostility; he stopped and looked at him.
They stared at each other, deeply.
The weeping king looked at him profoundly without any hostility, and for the first time called the boy by his name directly and respectfully.
— Hey, Tekio… thank you… — said Dante, thanking him, and for the first time, a genuine smile broke on his face. Without malice, without weight, just human. A smile that didn't seem like his, but which was true.
And everything stopped, grew quiet, only the sound of the rain which seemed to reflect Dante's state at that moment.
But then.
The sky shone—and everything came undone.
A flash tore the world as if the abyss itself had decided to fall upon the earth. The light from the tree ascended like a black sun, swallowing everything in silence. For an instant, there was no sound, no wind, no pain—only the white void burning the eyes.
Tekio instinctively raised his arms over his eyes, seeking to block the light, but he was blinded, thrown onto his back, feeling the ground disappear. His ears rang, and the air seemed too heavy to breathe. He tried to open his eyes, but only saw shadows flickering within the brightness.
The light blinded him, and then, immediately after.
The world's roar came—a blast that tore the battlefield and made the ground tremble as if the planet were screaming.
When the glare began to subside, Tekio lowered his arms and blinked, slowly, and Dante's form emerged from the mist and rain.
He was standing. But he was staggering.
Blood flowed from his mouth like dark wine, dripping in silence.
The smile was replaced by an expression of sadness and pain.
Dante's eyes... were no longer the same.
There was no hatred, no madness, no divine gleam of the king—only weariness.
A sad serenity, a cold acceptance.
The rain fell heavily, but in that radius where they stood, every drop seemed suspended in the air, as if time hesitated before that scene.
And then Tekio saw.
He saw the impossible.
A hand was thrust through Dante's chest—right where his heart pulsed.
The blood gushed out slow, warm, and the steam mixed with the rain.
Dante gasped.
His body shuddered once, twice, and he tried to breathe, but the air came in choked sobs.
He looked at Tekio—his eyes trembling, tearful, confused, almost asking for forgiveness.
Tekio could not move.
He felt the cold climbing his legs, his soul tightening.
Every heartbeat echoed like thunder within his own chest.
And behind Dante, emerging from the shadows of the rain, a silhouette.
Tall. Cold.
Black hair plastered to her face, gray eyes cutting through the mist like blades.
The energy surrounding her was familiar, almost recognizable—a bad feeling came with the familiarity.
Even covered in blood, Tekio knew.
It was Fenra.
For an instant, the world seemed to collapse inside Tekio.
His breath caught, his stomach turned.
But what truly broke him... were Dante's eyes.
They looked at him with desperation.
Not as a king, not as an enemy—but as a man about to lose the last thread of consciousness.
He tried to say something, the blood rising in his throat, choking the words.
But even so, he tried.
— Fin... ish... it...
Dante's voice came out scratched, broken, more lament than sound.
And then, the hand was withdrawn.
Tekio didn't know what to do with that, but he knew it was an honest request, even coming from someone who had tried to kill him minutes before.
The sound that followed was grotesque—the tearing of flesh, the dull thud of falling blood.
Dante's body leaned forward, trembling, the steam of his blood mixing with the cold rain.
Tekio couldn't believe it.
Time seemed frozen, the lightning frozen in the sky.
The dripping water reflected the red flowing from Dante, and for a moment, it seemed the world itself was weeping.
The king, the enemy, the monster—now he was just a man kneeling before his own redemption.
Dante turned his face with effort, his gaze almost gentle.
And before he toppled over, one last sigh escaped his parted lips, carrying away the weight of ages.
The rain fell again—heavy, deafening.
And Tekio could only watch Dante's body fall, in silence, as if the universe had stopped to lament a king who, in the end, only wanted to be human.
And when Tekio took his eyes off Dante.
Everything slowed, the rain ceased completely, the air grew heavy as if he stood before a deity.
And he saw something surreal.
To be continued…