Before Dante's massive swordspear could crash fully through her defense and shatter the shield guarding her chest, Valeria braced herself and took the brunt of the strike head-on. The force behind the blow was monstrous—far greater than anything she had prepared for. The ground cracked beneath her as she was hurled backward, feet scraping against the dirt and leaving behind two deep trenches in her wake. She landed hard, skidding across the battlefield like a meteor forced from orbit.
Inside her helmet, Valeria clenched her jaw and looked up through her visor. Dante was approaching slowly, casually, with that infuriatingly calm smile tugging at his lips.
"You didn't plant your feet," he said simply, as though offering advice at a training camp rather than in the middle of a match.
She grumbled internally. Damn it—he was right. Rookie mistake. She'd underestimated not only the weight of his blows but also the sheer momentum he could channel. She had even seen him knock out an opponent with a single, reinforced kick. And still, she hadn't accounted for it. Her shield had saved her life.
"And that shield... Old Praetorian repulsion tech, right?" Dante mused aloud.
Valeria felt a pit open in her chest. He was reading her. Her ace in the hole—discovered. So much for surprising him with the kinetic feedback burst. She should have capitalized early, used the upper hand every low-born devil gets when a high-class opponent assumes superiority.
"I'm guessing that armor is also Praetorian... mother a part of the creed?"
Still she said nothing. The man learned too damn fast.
She spun her sword into a ready position, grip tightening on her shield. "I thought you said you weren't going to hold back, Lord Dante... or have I failed your test already?" Her tone mocked, but she couldn't keep the edge of irritation out of her voice.
Dante blinked once at the barb, then sighed. "Actually no... I'm doing the best I can under the restrictions."
He raised his hand, red lightning crawling and crackling across his fingers like something alive. "I was told this stuff could level a mountain. So, y'know... holding back a bit so I don't accidentally vaporize you. Hate to kill a recruit, right?"
"I don't want your mercy," she snapped, furious. "Don't insult my pride so casually. Fight me like you intend to kill me!"
Dante's expression dulled into a cold, unimpressed stare. Half-lidded, raised brow—the kind of look that spoke volumes and questioned her sanity in a single blink.
"Fine," he said at last, his voice losing all warmth. "If you hold your personal pride higher than your duty, then I'll oblige you."
The air changed.
Dante straightened, his aura shifting violently. His coat tails whipped in a rising wind as invisible pressure began pressing down across the arena. His gloves clenched, his grip tightening dangerously around the haft of his blade. Crimson arc lightning sparked violently around his frame, turning the clouds overhead a swirling, moody gray. Thunder rumbled.
"I was going to save this for the high-class opponents," he said, voice now hollow, void of empathy. "But you've asked to be treated like one. So I implore you: stay focused. Do not let your guard down. Not even for a second."
He crouched low, left hand steadying himself. Arc lightning pulsed around him like a living heartbeat.
"...This is gonna hurt."
And then he vanished.
The ground beneath where he stood cracked and fractured from the sheer force of his departure. A sonic shockwave rang out.
Valeria's instincts screamed. She spun on her heel, shield raised.
BOOM!
The first impact rocked her to the core. Two simultaneous explosions burst forth—one from Dante's weapon, the other from her repulsion shield activating. The raw arc energy blasted the ground and cracked the arena surface. Her repulsion absorbed the worst of the kinetic force, but even that sent her sliding back, boots carving fresh trenches.
She huffed, bracing again. Lightning arced around her. Dante's silhouette blurred in and out of the battlefield like a flickering red ghost.
Left!
She moved on instinct, catching another strike just in time. Her shield flared again, neutralizing the momentum while her armor absorbed the elemental energy and fed it into her demonic core.
And then he came again.
She dropped low, shield raised over her head, sword poised to counter with a thrust—a maneuver timed just as his blade struck.
But something unexpected happened.
Her sword shattered.
"Wha—?!"
The sound barely escaped her lips before the pain came.
"Pay attention!" Dante barked.
His boot slammed into her shield with explosive force. She hadn't fully recovered from the sword breaking, her guard just a fraction too slow. It was all the opening he needed.
KA-THOOM!
The explosion of arc energy following the strike sent her flying. She ricocheted off the outer walls of the arena, armor clanging and sparking as she rolled through debris and cracked stone, until she came to a smoking halt beneath a fractured column.
Dante stood still, chest rising slowly. He glanced down to the cut across his abdomen—the only thing Valeria's shattered sword had managed before failing her completely. The divine fabric of his coat, interwoven with Gremory-cursed thread and Infernum Fulgur's influence, stitched itself shut a moment later, as if the wound had never existed.
He exhaled.
His thoughts turned, oddly, not toward his victory... but her. Valeria.
Her armor had absorbed far more punishment than he expected. If it was Praetorian-grade, then it must have some form of divine-tier adaptive defense. Self-repair? Kinetic nullification? Absorption matrices?
She had held her own longer than either of the other challengers. She had studied him. She had countered. She had even grazed him.
Not bad.
He muttered to himself, eyeing her unmoving figure. "The Juggernaut of the South, huh?"
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You earned that title. No doubt about it."
Dante studied Valeria's unmoving form from across the cracked arena, his breath steady but his heart... not so much. He let out a slow sigh, watching her chest rise with faint but persistent rhythm. For all the intensity of their brief clash, it had left him with more than just the weight of victory. He hadn't expected to respect her—let alone feel the sting of putting her down so directly.
Valeria had been one of the few who stood firm. She had grit. And from the style of her armor, Dante knew she was aspiring to become a Praetorian, likely to honor her mother. Maybe the woman was retired, or worse, fallen. Either way, her presence had not been for fame or spectacle. She stood for something. And now, Dante had to trample over that for his own goals.
It didn't sit right.
He approached, the red arcs of Infernum Fulgur still dancing across his blade, humming low like a warning growl. His match was technically over. Three rounds. Three wins. And now his name would be etched into the qualifying rosters. Yet the cheers that once echoed loud were now a hushed murmur. Maybe it was awe. Maybe discomfort.
That was fine. He hadn't done this for applause.
Dante's boots crunched the gravel as he neared her. He was preparing to offer her an honorable carry-out, a gesture of respect the way only devils knew how—through acts, not words.
But then, her body twitched.
A subtle stir of life broke the tension like a glass chime in a cathedral. Her armored form began to rise, slowly and with the painful defiance of someone who refused to let the ground claim them. Her helmet clattered off her head, revealing a flush-skinned woman with tousled green hair, her hazel eyes glassy with pain, yet locked onto his.
Whether it was a glare or a stare, he couldn't tell. But it was enough to make him pause.
Dante said nothing. He simply waited.
Valeria wheezed through shallow breaths, her gauntlet scraping across the ground as she reclaimed her shield and leaned on it like a lifeline. Her legs trembled. Her chest heaved. But there was fire still in her.
"Are you done?" he asked calmly, voice steady but not unkind.
There was no mockery in the question. Only a final outstretched hand to retreat with dignity.
Valeria shook her head slowly. "I'm not... done..."
Dante's left brow twitched. Seriously?
She pounded her shield into the ground like a war drum and forced herself to stand straighter. "Not until... you hit me... with your strongest attack. Only then... will I be done."
She reached down, picked up her helmet, and slid it back over her head with a click. "NOW HIT ME!"
Dante blinked slowly. "And I thought I was the crazy one."
He looked down at his own hands. Crimson lightning still wreathed his arms, whispering to be let loose. He could stop. He should. But to do so would insult her more than any blade could.
"You asked for this, Valeria..." he murmured, slowly lifting his weapon.
The skies responded.
Black clouds darkened above them, as if bowing in anticipation. Then, like a wrathful god answering a warrior's call, a jagged bolt of crimson arc energy descended from the heavens and struck Dante's raised weapon. The shockwave rippled through the arena, forcing the crowd to shield their eyes.
Infernum Fulgur changed. Its blackened steel brightened to an unholy red, the weapon screeching with electric fury. Crimson arcs danced erratically from blade to earth, threatening to burn through dimensions.
Dante gripped it with both hands now. One tight on the pommel, the other halfway up the shaft. Every muscle in his body tensed as he focused the violent storm through a single conduit.
Thunder cracked across the sky, a war cry heralding judgment.
He slammed the blade down.
BTTTTTZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!