"Strike."
The single word left Dante's lips with the softness of a sigh, yet the shadows moved as if thunder had been unleashed.
They surged forward in a violent wave, swallowing Riccardo's entire body in one merciless sweep. His scream was cut off instantly, devoured by the darkness as if it had never existed.
Dante did not blink. His face remained calm, almost serene, as the shadows curled back into the void, dragging Riccardo into depths where no light or mercy existed.
They would tear at him, break him, shatter him piece by fragile piece, again and again, for as long as their anger needed to be fed. Twenty-four hours a day, no pause, no breath, no escape. Dante's shadows were loyal, and when enraged, they were thorough.
