[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

When the odds were stacked against you, it was always easy to give up.

That truth followed people from the moment they learned what fear was. When an insurmountable wall rose in front of you, no one would fault you for stopping. Fewer still would judge you for trying, failing, and then stepping aside. This world was filled with challenges that had no clean answers, no elegant solutions. Problems that did not yield to effort or hope. When confronted with those moments, it was only natural to curse the world for daring to test you at all.

Perhaps you would still try. Many did. But success was never guaranteed, because most were human—and humans had limits. Fragile bodies. Fragile resolve. And yet, humans possessed a luxury few cared to acknowledge: the right to give up. The right to step back and let someone else continue in their place.

Humans were, in that sense, simple creatures.

Dante understood that better than most. He was human, after all. He knew the weight of fear, the pull of exhaustion, the voice that whispered it would be easier to stop. But he had never been afforded that luxury. Not once.

Because unlike those who surrendered when the path became unbearable, Dante carried something that would not allow him to turn away. Drive—raw and unyielding. A compulsion to move forward, to endure, to fight even when the cost was obscene. It was not learned. It was not chosen. It was simply there, mixed into his blood, his bones, his very sense of self.

And now, as Orthrus's twin heads bore down on him—massive maws snapping, lightning crawling along their hide—Dante acted on instinct alone.

His body was already compromised. Venom burned through his veins, thick and searing, dragging at his senses like chains. Even so, when the beast lunged, he moved just in time. Barely.

He threw himself sideways just as Orthrus's bulk thundered past, the air splitting from the force of its charge. Red lightning arced wildly, carving scorched lines into stone where Dante had stood a heartbeat earlier.

Too slow, he realized immediately.

("My senses have been more affected than I realized.")

The thought barely finished forming before the ground behind him roared.

The Nemean Lion.

("The Hydra's venom is far too potent…")

Dante bent his knees, forcing power through limbs that resisted him, and launched himself upward. The lion's jaws snapped shut where his torso had been, tearing stone apart instead. Dante twisted midair, flipping as his coat flared around him, fur lining rippling violently.

He landed hard several paces away, his boots skidding, only for a shadow to engulf him entirely.

He didn't hesitate.

Dante leapt again as something colossal slammed into the ground with a deafening crash. The impact shook the plains, dust and debris erupting outward in a choking cloud. One of the Hydra's massive heads lay embedded in the earth where he had just stood, its serpentine neck writhing violently.

Gravity took hold.

Dante came down atop the Hydra's skull, boots biting into scaled flesh. As the head reared back, he ran—up the curve of its neck, every step driven by his drive—before launching himself skyward in another explosive burst.

His arm drew back, gauntlet tightening as he prepared to strike.

Then something blurred at the edge of his vision.

He was much too late.

Another Hydra head slammed into him midair. Not teeth—pure mass.

The impact crushed the air from his lungs. This time, pain cut through him cleanly, sharp enough to steal thought even if he refused to voice it. His body was hurled away like debris, smashing into the ground with bone-rattling force, the stone beneath him cratering outward.

For a moment, Dante lay still.

Above him, the sky swam—blurred and distant.

The venom wasn't just slowing him. It was dismantling him.

Pain, he could endure. Pain was familiar. But this—this creeping resistance, the way his limbs lagged behind his will, the sensation that his own body was arguing with his mind—this was dangerous.

He pushed himself up regardless.

Every movement felt contested, as though his muscles had to be convinced to obey. Not heavy. Not weak. Resistant. As if the venom was rejecting his commands. This was the venom of Myth. Something so ancient and refined that even Gods struggled to purge it.

And yet Dante stood.

But something dripped inside the helm. He raised a gauntleted hand and wiped at the chin of his helmet. When he looked down, his fingers were smeared with dark crimson blood—tainted, no doubt, by venom.

Pain screamed through him again from the simple motion.

He ignored it.

Pain meant he was still alive.

("I'll have to eliminate the Hydra permanently,") he calculated, thoughts grinding forward despite the haze. ("In this state, I can't eviscerate its entire body in one blow anymore…") A pause. ("…I'd have to sacrifice an arm for that.") The idea didn't unsettle him. It was merely another option on the table.("Echidna likely can't provide them with any more healing.")

His gaze shifted, violet lenses narrowing.

Orthrus. The Nemean Lion. Both still threats. Both manageable—after the Hydra was dealt with.

("I'll tear them apart afterward.")

Then there was the real problem.

Echidna stood in the distance, arms folded, watching with scrutiny. Beside her sat Cerberus, massive and coiled, ready for violence, every inch of him radiating danger.

Dante clenched his gauntleted hand, blood flecking the alloy.

("Even at my peak, Cerberus could damage me.") That was not fear. It was merely acknowledgment. ("I'll have to work around him.")

He straightened fully, posture steady despite the venom gnawing at him from the inside. His coat settled. His helm tilted forward slightly.

The plains seemed loom. The monsters roared as the world pressed down on him.

Dante did not step back.

("I will curtail this threat,") he thought.

And for him, that was not bravado. It was merely the destination of this fight.

Echidna merely watched as Dante forced himself upright once more.

For a brief moment, it almost seemed unreal—like watching a broken marionette rise despite its strings having been severed. Orthrus and the Nemean Lion did not hesitate. The instant Dante steadied his footing, both monsters surged forward again, massive bodies tearing across the ruined ground with murderous intent.

Echidna did not move. Cerberus sat beside her, vast and ready, his presence a constant pressure at her side—but for the first time since the battle began, she barely registered him.

Her thoughts churned, uninvited.

("He still rises?")

The realization struck her with a small, unfamiliar tension. Not shock—she had seen countless warriors cling to life longer than expected—but something else. Something that refused to settle.

She watched as Orthrus opened one of its maws and expelled a bolt of crackling lightning. Dante reacted a fraction slower than before, but he still moved—leaping aside as the bolt tore through the space where his chest had been, blasting stone apart in a violent explosion. His coat flared as he landed, boots scraping against ground.

Before he could fully regain his stance, the Nemean Lion slammed into him.

Dante barely had time to react. He crossed his arms, gauntlets bracing just as the beast's mass collided with him head-on. The impact sent him flying again, his body hurled backward with brutal force.

Echidna watched closely.

He twisted in midair—not clumsily but with precision. His silvery-white hair fanned out behind his helm as he rotated, adjusting his angle even as the venom weighed on his movements. He hit the ground hard, boots skidding, one knee nearly buckling before he caught himself and slid to a stop.

("Why try so hard?")

The question surfaced unbidden, echoing through her thoughts.

She already knew she would not receive an answer. Dante had not spoken a word since the venom took hold. And yet, the question lingered anyway, refusing to be dismissed.

This was a human.

That fact alone should have explained everything. Humans were fragile. Brief. Defined by limits they could not escape. She had seen them beg, rage, bargain, and break when faced with forces beyond them.

And yet she could not reconcile what she was witnessing.

Dante should not still be standing.

Once he would have torn through these monsters with ease. Orthrus, the Nemean Lion—creatures that now pressed him relentlessly—had been obstacles he could have erased without pause. Now they battered him again and again, injuries layering atop one another, venom screaming through his veins with every heartbeat.

And still—

He fought.

Most would have given up by now. And no one would have blamed them. To retreat, to fall, to simply stop—those were not moral failings. They were inevitabilities. The natural conclusion when the cost outweighed the outcome.

Yet this human did not stop.

He did not even slow with intent.

("What is he fighting for that requires this level of drive?")

Echidna's gaze narrowed slightly, not with hostility, but with something closer to unease.

She watched as Dante lunged forward instead of retreating, his boot snapping up into a sharp kick that struck the Nemean Lion squarely on the snout. The force was precise enough to send the massive beast skidding backward in a spray of broken stone.

Before she could even finish registering that, Orthrus lashed out. Its tail whipped around, a blur of crackling red lightning, slamming into Dante's abdomen.

The impact was brutal.

Dante was driven backward again, boots carving two lines into the ground as he skidded, coat whipping violently behind him. His body bent with the blow—any normal human spine would have shattered outright.

But he stayed upright.

Breathing heavier now.

Still standing.

("It's pure madness.")

The thought came unbidden and almost dismissive, as though she could reason the sight away by naming it.

There was no logic here. No clearly defined principle that justified this level of persistence. No tangible reward that made the suffering worthwhile. This was not strategy. Not pride. Not even defiance in its purest form.

And yet, he endured.

Echidna could not reconcile it. Not truly.

She had shaped monsters. Commanded beasts. Watched Gods fall and mortals crumble. She understood fear, ambition and desperation.

But this—

This was something else.

A human who continued not because he believed he would win, but because stopping was simply not an option.

Her eyes followed Dante as he straightened once more, gauntleted hands clenching despite the tremor running through his frame. His horned helmet tilted forward slightly, violet lenses fixed on the monsters before him.

("Humans… what odd creatures…")

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.