The sky wept embers.
The forest had been devoured by craters, cutting winds, and crimson sparks.
At its center, two titans clashed — every impact echoing for miles, tearing trees from their roots, shaking the ground as if the world itself were splitting apart.
Tenklyn moved like a comet, his muscles surging with dense blue energy. His spiritual armor blazed under the heat of battle, and his eyes carried the focus of a man who understood that losing was not an option.
Opposite him, Dante watched with the calm curiosity of a master studying a promising disciple. His black attire fluttered lightly, untouched by chaos. He smiled — as though the fight were nothing more than a nostalgic memory of a glorious past.
— Interesting... — Dante murmured, dodging a punch that split the ground. — You're not just copying... you're adapting. Using instinct as a catalyst. What kind of technique is that?
Tenklyn spun midair, his foot wrapped in ethereal energy that slammed against Dante's ribs, launching him into a rock formation that exploded into flames.
— I am the blade that evolves through battle. Every move you make feeds me.
Dante emerged from the smoke with an almost childlike grin.
— Hahaha... So the world has learned new tricks. The mastery of spiritual flow has improved... and yet, everything remains so predictable. Strength, adaptation, wrath... always the same pillars.
He raised his hand, absorbing the ambient energy, his crimson eyes glowing brighter.
— Tell me, Tenklyn... what do you think the Æther is?
Tenklyn hesitated, panting.
— A living spark. A link to the cosmic weave. Something you don't learn — you feel.
Dante smiled, satisfied.
— Hm... Exactly. A fragment of Creation itself. A spark of the hidden Truth. Few can touch the Æther without being torn apart... But you can. Fascinating. Dangerous.
The ground began to quake. The energy around Dante rose to impossible levels — as though something ancient was awakening.
— But even with that... you're still only human.
And then Dante struck.
The duel became a moving cataclysm. Shockwaves shredded the landscape, carving destruction down the slopes and beyond the forest. One of Dante's blows hit Tenklyn with such force that it launched him across rivers and plains, smashing through the temple wall and out into the city.
Tenklyn crashed amid the ruins of the already devastated streets.
Dante landed softly on the fractured asphalt, gazing around as if visiting another era. Towers of glass, artificial lights, aircraft cutting across the heavens.
— What... is this? — he whispered, touching a vibrating metal sign. — Soulless constructs. Hollow towers that no longer scream for glory... So this is what became of the world I once forged?
He caught his reflection in a shattered storefront — his hands, his crimson eyes, his newly rebuilt body. Flesh not entirely human, more synthetic, more adaptive.
— Eons have passed... and still, I look like a god. — He chuckled to himself before turning toward the heavy footsteps behind him.
Tenklyn stepped out of the wreckage, coughing blood but burning with determination.
— You speak as if you were eternal. But even gods fall.
— And you speak as someone who still doesn't understand... — Dante vanished and reappeared behind him — ...that I have no limits left. Every strike teaches me. Every wound reprograms me. I am rebuilding my supremacy through your mistakes.
Tenklyn spun, wrapped in a whirlwind of blue energy. He changed rhythm, bent sequences, mixed ancient and modern techniques, forged temporary weapons from pure spirit — becoming the battlefield itself.
— Then study well, Dante. Because I'll show you everything — everything this world has become.
They collided again — a single punch shattering windows two blocks away.
Tenklyn pushed every skill, every ounce of power he had ever mastered. But Dante... Dante seemed merely to remember. As if he were designed to win.
From the top of a skyscraper, a child watched the battle, frozen in awe.
Dante's eyes found her.
— Even now, the eyes of new generations seek heroes. How ironic... I was their nightmare long before they were born.
Tenklyn roared, gathering all his energy into one final blow — Spiritual Rupture! — a sphere of condensed blue light forming around his fist, striking Dante's chest with such power it bent the air itself.
For a heartbeat, time stopped.
Then Dante smiled.
He countered, driving his own fist into Tenklyn's abdomen, sending him crashing into the side of a building.
— Your body screams. Your soul resists. I can see it. And that's why I haven't killed you yet. — Dante walked slowly, as if savoring the sensations of existence. — Keep going. Show me the best humanity has to offer... so that I can surpass it too.
White lights streaked across the sky. Three Sifs landed nearby — cloaks fluttering, hands glowing.
Korin, Eliah, and Duno — veterans who had felt the spiritual distortion from afar.
— Tenklyn! — Korin shouted. — We caught your signal! We're here to back you up!
Dante turned lazily toward them, his gaze dissecting their spirits, their stances, their very souls.
— Ah... fresh meat. — he sighed, disappointed. — Weak. Fragile. All of you. In my age, you wouldn't have lasted a breath. You'd have been torn apart instantly.
Silence fell.
— In my era, there were no "alliances." No networks. No rescue squads. Only survival. Only domination. You think unity made you stronger... but in truth, it made you soft. Comfortable. Mediocre.
The Sifs exchanged glances but stood firm.
— Then prove me wrong. — Dante opened his arms as if embracing the world. — Show me that existence itself was worth continuing.
Tenklyn rose again, blood on his lips but fire in his eyes.
— We don't fight together out of fear. We fight together because we choose to protect. That choice is our strength. And if that makes us weak in your eyes... then you never understood true power.
The air froze. For a fleeting moment, even Dante hesitated.
Then he smiled — a wide, hungry smile.
— It seems you still don't understand. Allow me to demonstrate.
The silence that followed lasted less than a second.
It was enough.
Dante moved a finger.
The ground pulsed with a deep red — not light, but a warning, a growl of the spiritual world twisting in agony.
A circle of ancient sigils expanded outward, slicing through reality itself.
— Too late.
It exploded.
A black-and-scarlet wave — dense and sharp as liquid blades — spread in every direction. It wasn't merely an attack. It was a death sentence. Condensed spiritual energy fused with distorted Æther, an annihilation field given form.
The Sifs tried to react. Korin raised ethereal shields, Eliah summoned light, Duno attempted teleportation — all futile.
The blast consumed them.
Screams. Shards. Dust and blood.
Then silence.
When the smoke cleared, only one remained.
Tenklyn.
He knelt, arms crossed before his chest, spiritual armor shattered and bleeding from every wound. The ground around him was carved by a thousand invisible blades. Everything else was gone.
Dante walked through the carnage.
— Speeches. Words. Ideals. Nobility... — his voice echoed with calm madness. — All of it dies with a snap. All of it vanishes before the only truth this world has ever known:
He raised a finger — stained with blood and energy — and pointed at Tenklyn.
— Power. Only that matters.
Tenklyn gritted his teeth. The words cut deeper than the wounds. His eyes burned with fury — and guilt.
— You killed them... like insects.
— Because they were. — Dante replied without hesitation. — Maybe in another time, they'd have potential. But in this one? They grew under ideals of balance. Sheltered. Protected. They never learned to grow by necessity. You think unity makes you strong? It shackles you.
He crouched before Tenklyn, faces inches apart.
— That's why your generation must fall. So something true can rise.
Tenklyn trembled, but didn't look away.
— You talk like a god... but you're just a monster trying to justify your own ruin.
Dante smiled.
— Then destroy me, and prove that monsters aren't eternal.
The ground quaked again. The air crackled.
The next phase of their war was about to begin.
---
Meanwhile...
Aisha moved like a storm incarnate. Her hair whipped through the air amid strikes, leaps, and flashes of spiritual light. She fought alone against Jouki, Isha, and Kaze — dodging black blades, corrupted flames, and slicing winds.
Her breath came ragged, her muscles burning.
— I can't fall. Not now...
She saw Vernasha — wounded, vulnerable, distant.
— If I hit that witch... Mei might come back!
Aisha sprinted toward her, energy gathering in her arms. But a violet portal opened beneath her feet.
— Not so fast. — said Dr. Isha, his black scythe raised.
Before the blade could strike—
Akira appeared.
A black flash. He shot through the portal, grabbing Aisha at the last instant. They rolled across the ground, escaping by inches.
— You... — Aisha whispered, wide-eyed.
Akira was covered in cuts, breathing heavily, exhausted but alive.
— Leave the masked freak to me... — he said, glaring at Isha.
— You're a fool, — the doctor sneered. — There's no one left to save you now.
Akira smirked. — I didn't come back to be saved.
His left eye flared purple — his spiritual sight awakening, aura pulsing like a heartbeat.
— I can see the flow... the signature of every strike. Let's end this, Aisha.
To be continued...