In the bathroom, looking at his own reflection in the mirror for the first time in a while, he saw a huge scar, larger than his index finger, on his left cheek.
He remembered when Dante had punched his face with full force.
He had no idea how he hadn't blacked out from it, but he also remembered Yara's face.
There was a nearly identical scar on her face too.
He was becoming more and more like her.
— A few more scars and I'll look just like you, you know? — he murmured under his breath.
We couldn't afford to waste time. Every wasted second carried immense weight—it could cost us dearly in the future, perhaps the future of us all. Destiny was uncertain, a dense fog ahead, but one thing was crystal clear: we were in a race against time, and the only certainty was that we needed to be prepared. Prepared for everything—for the worst, for the unexpected, for the inevitable.
While Stella and Dan immersed themselves in training, their energies blazing, muscles strengthening, I remained there, lying down in the quiet of the ancient dojo, feeling confidence grow within me. It wasn't an empty confidence; it was something born from calm and a deep connection to who I am. Silence was my ally. My meditations, my fortress.
Tekio walked through the dojo with firm, decided steps, his eyes fixed on the path he knew so well—a dojo that carried the history and legacy of the Nuhay clan. It was a vast space, almost as if time had stopped there. The place, though forgotten, kept its soul intact: the smell of old wood, the light filtered through high windows creating dancing shadows on the floor. Fenra, Stella, Dan—they were all there, their faces serious, eyes full of expectation, all waiting for me.
Fenra was the first to speak. Her voice was firm, assured, carrying the experience no one else had. She explained, with the patience of one who has seen many fall and few rise, the Sif ranking system. Where we stood, what we needed to achieve, and the time we had to reach the first category.
Climbing that ladder wasn't just about strength—it was a matter of survival, honor, and destiny. We all knew that returning weaker would be like accepting defeat before the fight even began. No one here would accept that with folded arms. We all carried our own wounds, our own reasons to keep fighting.
Fenra looked at us with a clinical gaze as she analyzed the spiritual currents vibrating around us. Her gift was unique, almost supernatural. Few knew who she really was—a Sif of the shadows, an invisible warrior, dressed in black from head to toe, with a heavy overcoat and form-fitting tactical clothes that seemed to embrace her body with the same intensity as her determination. The white band on her arm was her only symbol, an almost invisible detail, yet full of meaning.
Mei had told me about her before our mission in Russia—how Fenra and Mei had a complex history, a past of conflicts and respect. Fenra was cold, distant, but a soul who carried pains equal to ours. She was a hidden empress, a secret of the Council of Monarchs, with power and authority equivalent to the officials, though never officially recognized. Her right eye had an iris sliced diagonally in half—a sign of her abnormality since birth. The icy gray of that gaze contrasted with her dark, short hair, softly wavy at the ends, and carried a cold magnetism that commanded respect and fear.
Fenra had us practice basic energy control. I, who meditated constantly, felt my energy flow almost naturally, my senses sharpening with each breath, and I performed better than everyone. Stella, on the other hand, struggled against the inner chaos. Her power was immense, almost overwhelming, but the lack of control threatened to swallow everything.
— Stella — Fenra spoke with a voice mixing firmness and tenderness — your strength is surprising. You have an almost divine talent, comparable to Mei's. It was this energy that kept you alive when I found you. It protects you, guides you, but you haven't learned to tame it yet. It's like a wild river that needs to be guided, channeled. You need to train. Your aura is similar to Mei's, but even she had mastered the fundamentals perfectly at your age.
Fenra turned to Dan and Tekio with a gaze that assessed them with the intensity of one deciphering a code.
— You three were handpicked by Mei Nuhay, the world's most powerful Sif. You are under her protection. If you are here, it's because she saw immense potential in you. I know how complex and contradictory Mei can be—sometimes gentle, sometimes cold as ice. She wouldn't adopt three children without a reason.
I want to understand your potential.
The training focused on basic, but crucial, concepts: regeneration and recovery—abilities that, when mastered, can turn the tide in battle, saving lives and granting near-superhuman endurance.
Fenra watched us like a hawk watching its prey. She knew, from being with us years ago, that Tekio was the weakest of the three, the one with the least apparent talent. And yet, at that moment, Tekio stood out. He meditated, trained his energy, but Fenra knew he couldn't have progressed so quickly on his own.
— Time for combat training — Fenra said, her firm voice cutting the dojo's silence.
First, Dan and Tekio. Stella, feeling like the younger sister, watched, her eyes fixed on the "brothers."
Fenra gave the signal.
The dojo filled with the sound of feet on the tatami, the clash of hands and bodies, ragged breathing, and vibrant energy that seemed to fill the air.
Stella remembered the countless times Tekio and Dan had fought—in training or play, serious or not. They often tied, but Dan was bigger, stronger. A mysterious force that no one could explain, transcending his spiritual energy. When he took the fight seriously, even with all of Tekio's effort, Dan dominated—he controlled the distance, manipulated the fight's pace, turning close combat, which was Tekio's weapon, into a near-certain defeat for him.
But today was different.
They fought smiling, happy to be together, like in the early days, almost repeating movements from old trainings under Mei's watchful eye. Laughter mixed with the tension of the fight.
Fenra didn't like it.
— Take it seriously! — she ordered, her tone sharp. — Fight as if your lives depend on it.
The smiles vanished, their gazes turned sharp. The air grew heavy with determination.
The fight erupted.
Stella saw something she didn't expect: Tekio was different. His movements were more precise, fluid, superior to Dan's. In little over 40 seconds, Dan was pinned to the ground, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes surprised.
Fenra smiled.
— That's enough.
She turned to Tekio.
— Is Yara assisting you in combat?
Tekio shook his head, eyes fixed on the tatami.
— Not exactly. Yara isn't speaking to me now. I feel her presence—a gentle energy, a current guiding my body. I saw her memories, her style, and it all seems to have merged with me naturally.
But I'm still weak compared to her...
He smiled wryly.
— The only time she said something direct was to you, Stella. Yara said you need to stop overthinking, let your instincts flow. Your energy is a river, to be guided by the current and the wind—which is you. It sounds confusing, but it might help you.
Stella looked at him, confused but touched. She tried to absorb every word.
Fenra turned back to Tekio.
— Can you do more, in partnership with Yara?
Tekio hesitated.
— I might be able to summon some lightning, but I have no idea how. Yara will help me figure it out.
It seems I can only manifest her when our emotions merge.
Fenra nodded, calling Tekio for a match.
Dan stepped off the tatami, sitting beside Stella.
— A fight between relatives — he commented, a melancholic smile on his lips. — Fenra Senhir vs. Tekio Senhir. Distant relatives, separated by hierarchies that mean nothing here.
The dojo fell silent, electric tension filling every inch of the space.
The fight began.
(...)
In the heart of an ancient forest, isolated from the lights of the modern world, an ancestral structure rises like a imposing shadow: a fortress forgotten by time, a stage for meetings that shape the world's destiny. Under a night sky torn by distant lightning, warriors from the most remote lands gathered—masters of occult arts, legendary soldiers, and leaders of secret clans. Each brought not only their weapons but the weight of their nations and the fear of the name that united them that night: Dante.
It was a vast hall, walls adorned with ancient runes pulsing softly with their own energy. The air was dense, heavy with the smell of burnt incense, mixed with the bitter fragrance of rare herbs brought from distant lands. The fire of a great fireplace cast shadows dancing like restless spirits, while low voices echoed, full of determination and anxiety.
In the center of the room, a circular table of black stone where the leaders sat. Each represented an immense force in their territory:
Kael, the Dragon of Siberia—a colossal warrior, whose armor made of dragon scales carried the biting cold of northern winds. His eyes were like blue crystals, icy and penetrating, capable of freezing the soul.
Amina, the Shadow of the Desert—a silent, lethal assassin from the Sahara, master of poisons and shadow manipulation, with glowing amber eyes, dressed in dark clothes that almost made her disappear.
Haruto, the Energy Master of Japan—a slender man with long black hair, wearing a traditional blue kimono adorned with symbols.
Elara, the Guardian of the Scandinavian Woods—an archer with penetrating green eyes, wrapped in furs and leather, carrying a bow made from the wood of a sacred tree, capable of firing arrows that pierce not only flesh, but the soul.
Danteus, the Watcher of Ancient Rome—an old strategist, with a weary gaze, carrying the legacy of ancient emperors. His voice was calm, but every word weighed like a sentence.
The murmuring ceased when Kael slammed his fist on the table, making the stone tremble.
— We are here because an ancient evil grows again — he declared, his deep voice echoing in the hall. — Dante. His name is whispered with fear even in the most distant lands. He is not just a warrior—he is a force of nature, a storm dragging everything into chaos. If we don't stop him, the whole world will suffer the consequences.
Amina crossed her arms, her voice soft, yet cutting:
— We cannot face him directly. We've tried. His blows devastate even the most powerful. He absorbs energy like an infinite abyss. We must weaken him first—attack his essence.
Haruto nodded.
— I agree. Brute force is not enough. We must attack his life energy, his spiritual blood. There is an ancient ritual, known among my ancestors, capable of poisoning the enemy's energy source—draining it until he becomes vulnerable. But it's a ritual that requires the combined power of all of us.
Perhaps we should contact the spiritual forces of Brazil; they are strong.
All agreed to contact Brazil to join the plan.
Elara, with a grave and decided tone, added:
— I know of a rare herb, from the deepest woods, that can be used to prepare the spiritual poison. Its toxin doesn't kill the body, but corrupts the aura, undermining internal defenses. Combining this toxin with Haruto's ritual, we can create the weapon Dante fears.
Danteus, calm, stood and walked to the table, his hands resting on the cold stone.
— We have recent information from our spies — he said, lowering his voice — that Dante channels his energy through a black crystal he always carries near his heart. If we can contaminate that crystal, his power will be destabilized. But that will require one of us to get close, risking their life.
Silence.
Kael smiled, a fierce expression.
— That will be my task. The fury of the Siberian dragon does not fear death.
Amina approached and placed a small wooden box on the table.
— Here is the powder of the Corruption Herb, harvested on eclipse nights. The spiritual poison is ready, waiting to be combined with the ritual.
Haruto closed his eyes, concentrating.
— Then it is decided. We will prepare the ritual and send Kael on the mission. He must be protected by us. None of us can act alone.
A feeling of unity and urgency took hold of the group. They knew they were facing the most dangerous mission of their lives, confronting an enemy who had transcended time and history.
Kael raised his fist and spoke with determination:
— For our people. For the peace of the world. Dante will fall.
The runes on the wall glowed intensely, as if fate itself agreed with this pact. The ritual would begin at dawn, and the future depended on the success of that unlikely alliance.
(...)
The wind whispered with voices that did not belong to this world. Atop a mountain where the earth seemed burned by centuries of misery, the sky was a dull stain of gray and red. Grotesque creatures walked on the slopes below—wandering demons, deformed beasts, echoes of lost souls. It was a place without forgiveness, where only evil felt at home.
On the highest ledge of the mountain, four shadows formed under the pale light of a corrupted moon. Vernasha stood tall, clothed in shadows, with eyes that seemed to see through time. Kaze leaned against a rock, his perverse smile resting on his lips as he slowly sharpened a curved blade with his own fingers, letting trails of black blood drip down his skin—and evaporate. Dante, standing, was the very incarnation of the abyss. He stood motionless on the ledge, his back to the others, observing the world like one contemplating a chess piece about to crumble.
Down below, dotting the horizon, small flickering lights showed where the spiritual concentration camps were erected. Prisoners, bodies, experiments. Places that existed only to feed the war machine to come.
It was then that Hazau appeared. He walked with the calm of those who do not fear death. He wore a dark cloak, and his energy did not ripple—it hovered, controlled, suffocating. As he approached the group, he bowed slowly, without a word beyond what needed to be said.
— My lord...
Dante did not turn.
— Hazau.
— I found suspicious members within the central collection base.
His voice was firm, emotionless.
Kaze looked up, suddenly more interested. Vernasha remained still, a slight smile forming on her lips, as if she already knew what was coming.
— I did as ordered. I scoured their minds. And in one of them... there were hidden memories. He was transmitting information out. Memories of secret meetings, maps, camp locations, numbers. I discovered actions by external organizations, distant countries uniting in secret, trying to form an alliance against us.
A heavy silence fell over the place. Only the distant sound of inhuman screams from the demons echoed afar.
Hazau lifted his eyes.
— I did not kill him. I altered his memories. Manipulated his emotions. Made him continue transmitting the information. But now… they are the messages you wish to be passed on.
He took a step forward.
— He has become your echo, my lord. Without knowing it.
At that moment, Dante finally turned his face. A smile—the first in weeks—appeared. A wide, almost childish smile. He laughed. A dry, cruel sound, reverberating through the valley and making the demons below fall silent for a moment.
— Magnificent… Hazau. Magnificent.
He slowly opened his arms.
— They think they are preparing for war. Think they are forming alliances, that they will have time, that they will be able to resist.
Dante raised his head, his eyes burning like two eternal embers. His voice grew deeper, each word a crushing weight:
— But I… I will crush all spiritual and human powers. Of every nation.
He took a deep breath, inhaling his own madness.
— Everything. Everything will be mine.
Kaze laughed, but with respect. The energy around them became dense as concrete.
— What about the rest of the plan? — asked Vernasha, not taking her eyes off him.
Dante did not hesitate.
— There will be no interference. I want no help. I want no accomplices. I want no division of glory.
He pointed toward the horizon.
— When they come… one by one… I will destroy them with my own hands. No tricks. No manipulations. Just... destruction. Like in the old times.
Hazau merely nodded, his eyes now half-closed in calculation.
— Soon I will bring the locations, influential leaders, energy sources, and every artery of their movements. You will see them coming… exactly where and when you wish.
Dante turned back to the horizon, letting silence reign once more.
Vernasha crossed her arms, watching attentively.
Kaze whistled softly, humming a rhythm that resembled a distorted lullaby.
And the demons below… began to walk again.
The storm was not coming.
It was already there.
To be continued…