Dante's shadowy hand reached for Derek's corpse.
The black threads emerged, seeking the soul within.
But something was wrong.
The threads strained. Pulled. The soul was too heavy. Too strong.
Snap.
The threads shattered like brittle glass.
Dante wasn't angry. He smiled.
He looked around at his team. Some faces showed fear. Others confusion.
He turned his focus back to the fresh corpse.
This time, he didn't go for the soul. He went for the energy.
He drew Derek's mana into himself. Slowly. Forcefully. Like draining a battery.
It took an entire minute. Derek had a massive mana pool.
Dante felt exhausted doing it, but satisfied. His body felt different. Not stronger physically, but the energy flowing through him felt heavier. More powerful.
He didn't ask permission to keep the reward for himself. He showed them his authority.
'If I absorb enough power, maybe my limit will increase. Maybe I can hold more than four puppets.'
He tried again. This time, the shadowy hand reached Derek's body without breaking.
It gripped the soul.
The soul resisted. Pushed back hard.
But the hand forced it anyway.
It was like Dante was torturing Derek even after death. The thought made him smile.
"You thought you could be a king," Dante whispered to the corpse. "You were right. You will be the crown jewel of my collection."
The shadows around Derek's body twisted violently. Writhing like living things.
They weren't just rising. They were being forced. Constrained. Hammered into form.
A figure began to take shape. Taller and broader than his other puppets.
A perfect dark silhouette of Derek himself.
The form bled a faint crimson light. A corrupted echo of the artifact that had given him power.
The effort was immense. Like wrestling with a demon inside his own skull.
But Dante was stronger. He was sovereign here.
With a final, crushing exertion of will, he shattered what remained of Derek's resistance. He chained the spirit to his command.
His new puppet rose.
His fifth and final summon. For now.
The Juggernaut.
Dante scanned his new army. A collection of the damned. Instruments of his will.
First, the Shadow of Derek. The Juggernaut. His masterpiece.
Taller than the others, crackling with faint crimson energy. No longer wielding a real sword, but able to manifest a greatsword of pure shadow.
A cruel echo of what he used to be.
Next to him stood the Shadow of the Wardcrafter. The Guardian.
Silent. Stoic. His shield. It could conjure walls of dark energy to block attacks.
Then the Shadow of the Phantasmist. The Deceiver.
Slender and twitching. Always shifting at the edge of vision. It could weave illusions to turn the battlefield into a nightmare.
The Shadow of the Graviton User. The Anchor.
Floating soundlessly. It could crush enemies with spectral weight, pinning them for slaughter.
And finally, the Shadow of the Toximancy user. The Corruptor.
Which was sleeping inside But from what we knew he constantly leaked spectral poison. It could create clouds of decay to drain enemy strength.
Five puppets. A complete team bought with enemy lives.
He felt cold satisfaction.
'This is true power.'
But the price was heavier than he imagined.
The backlash from enslaving Derek's powerful spirit wasn't just mental.
A sudden, wrenching pain erupted in his chest. Like a hot iron pressed against his lungs from the inside.
The five puppets were chains on his soul. They distorted his own life to sustain them.
Especially the powerful new one.
He tried to suppress it. Willed the pain away.
'Can't show weakness. Not now. Not in front of them. I am their leader. Their god.'
But he had forgotten something crucial.
First, the goblin fight. He'd used too much mana summoning dozens of weak puppets.
Then this battle where he fought the battle with four summons while maintaining them for more than some mere minutes.
Now this. Absorbing Derek's massive energy. Forcing a powerful soul into submission.
He had pushed too far.
His body knew it even if his mind refused to accept it.
The pain intensified. His vision swam. The clearing's edges blurred.
His teammates' faces became indistinct smudges of color.
The strength drained from his legs.
He opened his mouth to give an order. To command them to set up camp.
Instead, a hot, wet cough erupted.
He tasted copper.
He looked at his hand. Bright crimson droplets stained his palm.
His blood.
'No. Not now. I need to—'
The world tilted.
Erica's horrified face was the last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him.
He pitched forward and crashed onto the cold ground.
Terror flooded the team.
For a moment, they were just terrified students again. Their invincible, monstrous leader was suddenly frail. Human.
Mortal.
Erica's scream shattered the silence. "Dante!"
She rushed to his side with frantic movements. Turned him over with shaking hands.
Blood had soaked his lips.
"Rina, get over here! Now!"
Masha knelt beside him, her usually calm face pale. "He has a pulse but it's too weak. What happened to him?"
Rina rushed forward, taking command. "Get him on his back. Gently!"
Her voice was shaken but steady. The voice of a healer.
She placed glowing hands on his chest, trying to weave life magic into him.
But she recoiled almost immediately.
"His mana... it's in chaos. It's tearing him apart from inside. My healing isn't working properly!"
"What do we do?" Eric asked. His deep voice carried uncharacteristic fear.
Erica's eyes snapped up. A fierce clarity cut through her panic.
She positioned Dante's head in her lap. Started cleaning blood from his mouth with her sleeve.
"We keep him warm. We keep him safe. Masha, get blankets."
"Eric, Jin, guard us. Talia, you have the best eyes. Get to high ground and watch the perimeter. No one comes near us."
Her commands were crisp. The team obeyed despite being leaderless and frightened.
They moved because she sounded certain. Because someone needed to.
Masha and Rina positioned him on a bedroll. Tucked blankets around him.
Erica's hand rested on his forehead. Unmoving. Strangely tender.
She stared down at his unconscious face. Her expression was a complex storm.
Terror. Devotion. And an intense, possessive protectiveness.
'He saved us. He led us. He's the only reason we're alive.'
'I won't let him die. I won't let anyone take him from me.'
In this moment where he lay absolutely vulnerable, her worship found its ultimate form.
She wasn't just a soldier in his army anymore.
She had become the guardian of her fallen king.
Around them, the five shadow puppets were slowly fading as their master had fallen.
Their violet eyes glowed in the darkness, watching over their unconscious master.
The forest was silent except for Dante's shallow, labored breathing.
And somewhere in the distance, a howl echoed through the trees.
Something had noticed their weakness.
And it was coming.