[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

The world lurched.

Five streaks of red lightning tore down from the skies in rapid succession, each one angling to cut off escape, to herd rather than kill. Orthrus had learned. The bolts carved incandescent scars through the skies as they descended, detonating upon impact with the plains in roaring columns of heat and force.

Dante was already moving.

He slipped through the attack, feet finding purchase where none should exist, one bolt passed so close it illuminated the black of his helmet in blinding red-white light. Another cratered the earth inches from his heel, the shockwave ripping at his coat, fur lining snapping violently behind him.

His breathing stayed even.

Pain flared in his left arm as he twisted but he locked it down, folded it away. He had long since learned the difference between pain that mattered and pain that lied.

A shadow surged behind him.

The Nemean Lion struck without warning, a massive claw tearing through the space where Dante's spine had been a heartbeat before. The swipe howled through the air, claws screeching as they met stone instead of flesh.

Dante pivoted on the ball of his foot.

His leg lashed out in a tight strike, boot slamming into the Lion's wrist with a crack that echoed. The force deflected the claw as it unseated it. The Lion staggered, weight shifting improperly, its balance disrupted for the briefest instant.

That was enough.

Dante shifted again, stepping inside the Lion's reach. His right arm shot forward, the gauntlet's fingers punched through fur, through flesh, and into the Lion's right eye.

There was resistance, then there wasn't.

The sensation was wet and visceral. The eye ruptured under pressure, a grotesque sound cutting through the din as Dante's hand drove deep, crushing the socket, rupturing nerves and tissue alike. The Lion's roar tore free—raw and agonized, a sound stripped of dominance and reduced to pure pain.

Dante withdrew his hand as he leapt back, landing lightly as the Lion thrashed wildly, claws gouging trenches into the earth, its massive head shaking violently as blood poured down its face. He flicked his hand once, sharply, sending red droplets scattering across the ground.

Before the Lion could orient, before it could even see him properly again, something else moved.

Orthrus.

The hound surged forward low and fast, its tail whipping out in a brutal strike meant to scythe Dante's legs from beneath him. Dante dropped instantly, the motion smooth despite the scream of protest from his body. The tail passed overhead, lightning crackling along its length as it carved through the air.

Dante rolled, came up—

—and Orthrus was already biting.

One head lunged forward, jaws snapping shut with a thunderous crack where Dante's torso had been a fraction of a second earlier. The second head followed immediately, angling to intercept.

Dante stepped into it.

His right fist drove upward in a savage uppercut, striking beneath the jaw with catastrophic force. The impact lifted Orthrus clean off the ground, its massive frame launching upward as if gravity had briefly forgotten it existed. Both heads howled as the hound was sent skyward, lightning discharging erratically as its limbs flailed.

Dante didn't watch it fall.

He was already moving.

The Nemean Lion, half-blind and enraged, had locked onto him with its remaining eye. It roared—a broken, furious sound—and charged, every ounce of its immense mass thrown forward in a desperate attempt to crush him.

Dante met it head-on.

At the last possible moment, his right hand shot out and clamped onto the upper ridge of the Lion's mouth. Fingers dug in, alloy biting into bone as he caught the charge. The impact drove Dante's boots several inches into the earth, the ground cracking outward in a spiderweb beneath him, but he held.

The Lion thrashed, jaws snapping reflexively, its remaining eye wild with panic and pain.

Dante tightened his grip.

With a sharp twist of his hips and a brutal pull, he heaved.

The Lion's massive body left the ground again, dragged up and over Dante's shoulder in a movement that was as controlled as it was monstrous. It slammed into the earth on the far side with a deafening crash, the impact shaking the plains, dust erupting in a thick cloud around them.

The Lion writhed, roaring, claws scraping uselessly at the ground as it tried to rise.

Dante didn't let go.

His grip remained locked on the upper jaw, gauntleted fingers digging deeper, leverage perfect. Slowly he began to pull.

The resistance was immense.

Bone creaked as muscle tore.

The Lion's roar shifted, fracturing into something higher and desperate. Its body convulsed violently, hind legs kicking, claws raking furrows into the stone as Dante continued, inexorable and unmoved by the horror of the act.

There was no haste in him now.

The upper jaw came free with a wet, tearing sound that cut through the plains. Blood sprayed outward in a gruesome scene, steaming as it hit the ground. The Lion's roar collapsed into a choking gurgle, its massive body shuddering uncontrollably.

Dante released the jaw.

It fell aside with a heavy thud.

The Lion still moved—reflexes firing, nerves screaming—but the fight had left it. It writhed weakly, its remaining eye unfocused, body failing.

Dante raised his leg.

For a moment—just a moment—there was something like weariness in the set of his shoulders. Then he brought his foot down. The impact was decisive. The Lion's skull caved beneath the force, the sound dull as the body jerked once, twice—and then stilled.

Silence rushed in around the corpse.

Dante stepped back as a bolt of red lightning screamed past him, detonating where he'd stood a second earlier. He turned smoothly, coat settling around him as dust drifted down.

Orthrus landed heavily across the field, claws tearing into stone as it skidded to a halt. Both heads snapped toward Dante, snarls vicious, lightning crawling along its spine in erratic pulses.

Dante faced it alone now.

His chest rose and fell steadily. Blood dripped from his ruined left arm, pooling at his feet. The pain was constant, a grinding presence, but he stood unbowed.

His violet lenses locked onto Orthrus.

"Alright," he said quietly, voice calm. "Just you now."

Orthrus snarled in answer, lightning flaring brighter.

Whatever restraint Echidna had drilled into the hound was gone, burned away by pain and the sight of its fallen kin. Lightning detonated along its spine in thick bursts, the red glow crawling across blackened fur as both heads threw back and roared—not in unison, but in overlapping, discordant fury. The sound wasn't meant to intimidate anymore.

It charged.

The ground broke beneath its paws as it surged forward, speed collapsing distance almost instantly. Lightning burst outward with each step, detonating stone and sending splinters of earth spinning into the air. Dante didn't retreat. He didn't advance either. He waited, body loose, shoulders relaxed in a way that betrayed nothing of the damage he carried.

Orthrus's right head struck first.

The claw came down in a savage diagonal, lightning riding the arc of the strike, a red-white explosion snapping outward the moment it cut the air. Dante dropped low, the attack passing so close it ripped the fur lining from his coat and scorched his attire along his shoulder. Heat washed over him, searing, but he didn't flinch.

His right hand lashed out.

It caught the claw mid-swing.

Alloy met bone with a sound like a gunshot. Dante's fingers closed—not around fur, but around the joint. He tightened his grip. There was a sharp, wet crack as the bone gave way beneath the pressure, splintering inward. Orthrus screamed, both heads howling at once now as lightning surged wildly, discharging into the ground in uncontrolled bursts.

Dante pivoted.

Using the broken limb as leverage, he twisted his hips and hauled, redirecting the hound's forward momentum. Orthrus's massive body lifted off the ground, its weight dragged up and over Dante's shoulder before being driven down.

The impact was brutal.

The plains collapsed beneath Orthrus as it hit, the force pulverizing stone and throwing up a rolling wave of debris. The beast convulsed, lightning spasming erratically along its frame as it struggled to rise.

Dante didn't give it the chance.

He stepped forward and planted his boot against Orthrus's chest, pinning it down. The pressure drove the air from the beast in a choked roar. Dante bent, seized the shattered arm at the shoulder, and pulled.

Muscle tore first, stretching before ripping apart with a wet, stringy sound. Tendons snapped one by one, each release punctuated by Orthrus's screams. Blood poured freely now, dark and thick, spilling across the ground. Dante adjusted his stance, braced himself, and wrenched harder.

The arm came free.

Dante tossed it aside without ceremony. It landed several meters away with a heavy thud.

Orthrus thrashed violently, its remaining limbs tearing gouges into the earth as it tried to escape, lightning flaring uncontrollably now—wild and panicked. One head snapped toward Dante, jaws wide, saliva and blood spraying as it lunged upward.

Dante moved into it.

His right hand shot down and clamped onto the lower jaw. Fingers dug deep, alloy biting into flesh as he locked his grip and began to pull. The head fought him, neck muscles bulging, teeth gnashing uselessly inches from his chest.

Dante pulled anyway.

The motion was slow. Disturbing in its inevitability.

The neck stretched grotesquely, vertebrae grinding audibly as they began to separate. Orthrus's scream fractured, the sound breaking into a strangled, gargling wail as blood fountained from the tearing flesh. Dante didn't rush it. He leaned back, boots digging into the ground, and continued to pull until there was a final, sickening snap.

The head came free.

It dangled for a moment in his grip before he released it. It hit the ground and rolled, jaws still twitching reflexively, lightning sputtering out as the life within it faded.

Orthrus howled with its remaining head, the sound broken now, no longer fury but agony and terror. It twisted violently and managed to hurl itself backward, tearing free from Dante's pin. Lightning exploded outward as it leapt away, crashing down several meters off, blood trailing behind it.

Dante followed.

Despite the pain. Despite the venom. Despite the state of his left arm.

He crossed the distance in a single bound, coat snapping behind him as he landed atop Orthrus's back. The beast bucked violently, trying to throw him off, but Dante's right hand plunged downward, fingers spearing through hide and muscle alike.

He pierced its stomach.

The resistance was momentary. Then his hand was inside, heat and slickness surrounding his arm as Orthrus screamed, the sound cracking under its own force. Dante clenched his fist and pulled.

Entrails spilled free in a cascade, steaming as they hit the ground. Blood followed in torrents, soaking the shattered plains beneath them. Orthrus collapsed, legs folding as its strength fled it, lightning guttering out in weak pulses.

Dante didn't let go.

He ripped free what remained and cast it aside before rising to his feet. The remaining head snapped weakly at him, jaws clattering uselessly, its eye wide and unfocused.

Dante stepped closer.

For the first time, his voice carried something more than calm.

"You should've stayed down," he said quietly.

His fingers pierced the neck.

The motion was clean and efficient. He grasped, pulled, and twisted. The head came free with a final wet tear, blood spraying outward as the body collapsed fully, lifeless at last.

Orthrus fell still.

The lightning died with it.

Dante stood amidst the carnage, chest rising and falling steadily. Blood soaked his boots. His coat was torn and heavy with gore. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, mangled and dripping, pain screaming through him in relentless waves.

Still, he remained standing.

He turned his gaze toward the distance—toward Echidna.

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