Three shadow puppets stood ready. Perfect dark copies of the mages they had been.
Their violet eyes glowed with cold light, fixed on the remaining members of Derek's team.
The four fighters left, who had been the muscle of Derek's group, now looked like trapped animals.
They kept slipping on the ice Masha had created. Their courage evaporated when they saw their dead friends serving as Dante's soldiers.
"It's not over yet," Dante said. His voice cut through the air. "Finish them."
His team, driven by rage for their fallen friends, didn't need more encouragement.
What followed wasn't a battle. It was an execution.
Masha extended her hands. The ice shifted, forming sharp spikes that erupted beneath the fighters' feet. They stumbled and lost balance.
Erica, her mana slowly returning, sent precise firebolts. Not meant to kill, but to distract. To force mistakes.
Jin, his injuries partially healed by Rina's constant work, moved like a shadow of vengeance.
He fought with cold, calculated precision. His sword found weak points in their clumsy guards.
No wild swings like before. Every strike was deliberate. A measured way to end a life.
But the real terror was the puppets.
The three shadows surged forward like a wave of silent, unstoppable death.
The fighters screamed as they were surrounded. Their maces and axes passed through the puppets' shadowy bodies without effect.
One fighter swung desperately at a shadow. His weapon created a hole in its chest.
But Dante knew the puppet can be healed totally back to its previous self and resummoned again with just some time limit, Reset. Like it never happened.
'They're not alive. They can't be killed twice.'
One by one, the fighters fell.
Thud.
The last one, his eyes wild with terror, dropped his weapon. He tried to surrender, begging for mercy that no longer existed here.
Jin's sword ended his pleas.
As the final fighter collapsed, Dante felt the familiar pull. Their life energy, ready to be absorbed.
He reached out with his power on instinct. Ready to expand his army. To raise these four as his new front line.
But when he tried to pull their souls, he hit a wall.
The black energy threads emerged from his palm, then faded after two inches.
A limit. One he hadn't known existed.
He could sense the four new bodies, ready to be raised. But his connection wouldn't form.
He checked his current summons. The Toximancy user from earlier. The three mages he had just raised. Four puppets total.
The limit was four. At least for now.
Not dozens of weak goblins. Four powerful humans.
His power, despite seeming limitless, had rules. Boundaries.
'Good to know. I can work within limits. I just need to choose quality over quantity.'
It was a lesson that kept him grounded.
On the other side of the clearing, only one enemy remained.
Derek.
He was still locked in combat. His greatsword, wrapped in crimson light, crashed against Eric's shield and Talia's rapier.
He was a cornered animal burning through his last reserves of strength.
"Eric. Talia," Dante called. His voice steady. "Step back."
They disengaged immediately, leaving Derek gasping in the center of blood-soaked ground. Bodies of his entire team surrounded him.
He stared at Dante, chest heaving. His eyes showed hatred and disbelief.
Dante walked toward him. His four shadow puppets fell into formation around him like an honor guard.
The Graviton user's shadow on his left. The Phantasmist on his right. The Wardcrafter and Toximancer close behind.
They moved in unison. A coordinated unit closing on their final target.
"You see, Derek," Dante began. His voice casual, like discussing a failed group project. "You talked about survival of the fittest. But you weren't trying to evolve. You were just a bully with a powerful artifact."
"Shut up!" Derek roared, raising his greatsword. "I'll kill you myself!"
He charged.
Dante didn't flinch.
"Edgar," he said without looking back. "Analysis."
"His stamina is nearly gone!" Edgar's voice rang clear from behind. "The artifact is draining his life force! His swings are powerful but his footwork is getting sloppy! He's favoring his right side!"
As Derek's massive blade came down, Dante simply stepped left.
The sword hit earth where he'd stood, carving a deep furrow. He didn't need to block.
"You gathered nine people, Derek," Dante continued, circling him as he struggled to pull his heavy sword free.
"You told them you were strong. That you'd lead them to victory. But you didn't lead them. You consumed them."
"You wasted their lives for a brief moment of power."
Derek finally freed his sword and swung again. A wide horizontal cut.
This time, Dante stood still.
The Wardcrafter's shadow moved forward, raising a ghostly barrier. Derek's blade struck it with a dull sound. No damage.
"You thought killing made you strong," Dante said. His voice carrying a hint of pity. "And it can."
"But you never considered what kind of strength you were building. You were just a murderer."
"Me though..." His lips curved. "I'm a builder."
Enraged, Derek abandoned him and charged the puppets. He swung wildly. "I'll destroy your toys!"
The puppets were faster. His blade passed through the Toximancer's shadow. Instead of collapsing, it simply dematerialized back into Dante.
Stored, not destroyed. Ready to be resummoned.
Like fighting smoke.
"Every person you killed," Dante kept talking. His voice a steady, cutting instrument. "Every life you ended, you were just gathering materials for me."
"You were working for me without knowing it, Derek."
"You built a team with perfect synergy for player killing. And by doing that, you gave me the ideal undead squad I could want."
He paused. Let the words sink in.
"Not only that. You helped my team understand this brutal new world. You showed them what survival really means."
Dante smiled. Cold and genuine.
"So, from the bottom of my heart... thanks for the gift."
That was the final blow. Not physical, but psychological.
Derek's mind, already exhausted, shattered completely.
With a roar of pure, mindless fury, he poured every last bit of his strength into his artifact.
The crimson glow around him exploded. He threw himself at Dante, his greatsword moving with killing intent. Reckless. Desperate.
His final, all-or-nothing gambit.
And Dante was ready.
"Now," he said quietly.
His puppets, which had been spread out, converged in one coordinated strike.
The same deadly teamwork Derek had once commanded, now turned against him.
The Graviton user's shadow gestured. The ground beneath Derek's feet became heavy as iron. His charge slowed to a crawl.
The Phantasmist's shadow waved its hands. Twelve illusory copies of Dante appeared, surrounding Derek. Each one wearing the same calm, cold expression.
Derek stumbled and stopped, trapped and alone. He swung at the illusions, his movements sluggish. His roars turning to choked, frightened sounds.
Dante walked through the ghostly copies of himself until he stood directly in front of Derek.
He didn't need a weapon.
He just clenched his fist.
Derek looked up. His eyes showed something Dante hadn't seen before.
Fear. Real, absolute fear.
Dante drove his fist into Derek's stomach.
THUD.
The punch wasn't meant to kill. It was meant to break.
Air exploded from Derek's lungs in a pained rush. The crimson glow of his artifact sputtered and died.
The greatsword, his symbol of power, fell from nerveless fingers and hit the ground.
Clang.
Derek, the terrifying leader, fell to his knees. Defeated, humiliated, and gasping at Dante's feet.
Surrounded by the ghosts of the men who died because of him. Their silent, violet eyes the only witnesses.
The team stood back and watched as they couldn't hear things said by Dante mostly. Their faces showed shock, relief, and a new, profound fear of Dante's power.
Masha's hand trembled slightly. Eric's grip on his shield tightened.
Even Talia took an unconscious step backward.
'Good,' Dante thought. 'Let them fear me a little. Fear breeds respect. Respect breeds obedience.'
He looked down at Derek, kneeling and broken.
"The strong survive, Derek. You were right about that much."
He leaned closer.
"You just weren't strong enough."