[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

Echidna did not intervene.

She stood where she was and watched as Dante finished what he had begun—watched as Orthrus was torn apart piece by piece, watched as the Nemean Lion was reduced to a ruined corpse at his feet. She did not look away. She did not shield her gaze. If there was grief, it did not show itself openly on her face.

These were her creations.

Her children.

Beasts born of her flesh, her will, her defiance of the Gods themselves. Monsters whose names had been etched into myth and terror for ages beyond count. She had raised them, guided them, watched them grow into calamities that nations feared and heroes died trying to overcome.

And now they lay dead.

Mangled and broken. Slaughtered not through trickery or ambush, but through direct confrontation.

She could have acted.

The thought lingered at the edge of her mind, persistent and sharp. At any moment she could have commanded Cerberus forward. In Dante's condition—venom coursing through his veins, his body battered and his left arm ruined beyond use—facing all three at once would have meant certain death. There was no question about it. No calculation in which he survived such an engagement.

His end would have been swift and certain.

Yet every time that thought pressed closer to decision, it collided with something else—something that refused to be ignored.

The Hydra.

The memory of that absence gnawed at her. The way the creature had simply ceased to exist. No corpse. No blood. No lingering distortion. Just an impossible void where a mountain-sized monster had been moments prior.

A single strike.

So fast that even she, ancient beyond reckoning, had not perceived it properly. So absolute that even the world itself had failed to respond in any meaningful way.

No shockwave. No shattered horizon. Just parted clouds and nothing beneath them.

("He could have been baiting me,") Echidna reasoned silently, her emerald eyes narrowing as she watched Dante step away from Orthrus's mutilated remains. ("Trying to provoke me into committing Cerberus… so he could deliver another blow like that.")

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Cerberus's massive heads growled softly beside her, lowly, sensing her unease even if she would not acknowledge it. The hound shifted its weight, claws scraping against the ground, but she did not reach out to calm it. Her attention remained fixed on Dante.

The rationalization did little to settle the churn in her stomach.

Her serpentine lower body coiled and uncoiled slowly, betraying a tension she would never have tolerated in herself under normal circumstances. It was not merely the loss of her children—though that alone should have warranted fury beyond measure.

It was that he still stood.

Bloodied, broken and poisoned.

Standing.

She forced herself to look at him critically, to catalogue the damage as she would any other threat. His black attire was torn in places, the gold trimming dulled beneath grime and gore. His long, fur-lined coat hung heavier now, soaked through at the hem. His left arm was ruined entirely, gauntlet crushed and split, the sleeve shredded and dark with blood that still dripped steadily to the ground.

The venom burned within him. She could feel it. One of the most potent concoctions to ever exist, tailored to kill even beings far greater than humans.

And yet, before her stood Cerberus, uninjured and brimming with strength. Before him stood herself, ancient and whole, her mana reserves still vast enough.

Everything was in her favor.

It had to be.

And yet, as Dante's figure turned and began to stride toward her, she felt it again—that subtle, unwelcome twist of discomfort tightening somewhere deep within her.

("Me… being wary of a human with one foot already in the grave.")

The thought irritated her. She scoffed internally, a sharp, humorless thing, and her scowl deepened. The very notion was absurd. Insulting. She had challenged Olympian Gods. She had survived divine retribution and eternal hatred.

This was a mortal.

Nearly dead.

She reminded herself of that as Dante closed the distance, boots crunching against the broken ground. He stopped a few paces away and lifted his head, violet lenses staring forward. His fingers flexed on his remaining functional hand, a small, telling movement—testing strength and gauging pain.

Echidna inhaled slowly, then spoke.

"Again," she said, her voice measured, carrying easily across the ruined plains, "I commend you for your vigor, human. Truly."

There was no mockery in her tone. No hidden edge. If anything, it sounded sincere.

"You defeated the Hydra. The Chimera. Orthrus. The Nemean Lion. Even the Colchian Dragon." Her gaze did not waver as she listed the names, each one heavy. "Feats that most mortals could never hope to accomplish alone. My children were brought low by schemes and betrayals more often than by force."

She paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him.

"But you slaughtered them with strength and finesse."

For a brief moment, the plains was quiet.

Then her expression hardened.

"But your journey ends here," Echidna declared, her voice sharpening. "You stand before me with the most potent venom burning through your veins. An arm rendered useless. Injuries layered upon injuries." Her gaze turned briefly to Cerberus, whose massive body lowered just slightly, muscles coiling in preparation. "And yet I remain uninjured. My greatest child still stands at my side, unspent and eager."

She looked back down at Dante.

"You must know," she continued calmly, "that victory is no longer within your reach."

Dante did not respond immediately.

He stood there, silent, head tilted just enough to suggest he was listening—but only barely. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat.

"Keep quiet," he said. "And send your dog." The words were not shouted. They were not laced with bravado or rage. Just dismissal. "So I can slaughter it like the rest."

For a heartbeat, Echidna said nothing.

Her eyes narrowed, irritation flickering beneath the surface. Not at the threat—but at the casualness of it. The way he spoke as if her words had been little more than background noise.

Then she exhaled, long and controlled.

"Very well," Echidna said quietly.

And she lifted her hand.

Cerberus did not wait for permission to understand the command.

The moment Echidna's hand lifted—even before it finished the motion—the three-headed hound reacted as if a chain had been cut. All three heads threw themselves back and howled in unison, a sound that rolled across the plains like a physical force. It didn't just seem loud; it was the roar of a creature that had guarded the most ancient of thresholds.

Then it launched forward.

The ground broke beneath Cerberus's initial stride. Massive paws struck stone and earth with such force that the plains buckled, cracks racing outward in thick lines. Its speed was immediate and terrifying—not a gradual build, but a sudden erasure of distance. One moment it stood beside Echidna, the next it was already closing in on Dante, its bulk cutting through the air.

Dante moved.

He did not hesitate, but he did not rush either. His body reacted on instinct as he leapt back just as Cerberus raised its right paw, the limb arcing upward before crashing down with catastrophic force.

The impact obliterated the ground.

Stone exploded outward, the plains collapsing into a shallow crater as debris and dust blasted into the air. The shockwave rippled outward, flattening what little remained standing nearby. Dante landed cleanly at the edge of the destruction, boots skidding only slightly as he absorbed the force through his legs.

He barely had time to straighten.

Cerberus was already there.

The left head lunged, jaws opening wide, teeth like blades snapping shut where Dante's head had been a heartbeat earlier. He ducked low, the massive skull passing just overhead, heat and breath washing over him. As he rose, his right arm drove upward in a brutal motion.

The uppercut landed squarely beneath the jaw.

The impact snapped the head back with a heavy crack, the force rippling through Cerberus's massive frame. The hound snarled, staggered half a step—and then immediately corrected itself, all three heads snarling in fury as it re-centered its weight.

There was no pause or a moment of hesitation.

A claw swept in from the side, cutting through the air with enough force to cleave stone. Dante twisted away from it, the claws passing inches from his chest. He leapt back again, coat flaring behind him as the claw slammed into the ground where he had stood, carving deep gouges into the earth.

The right head reared back.

Dante saw it coming—not because it was slow, but because Cerberus telegraphed it with intent. The throat expanded, heat shimmering in the air as the maw opened wide.

Fire erupted.

A torrent of flame poured forth, white-hot at its core, expanding outward into a roaring inferno that swallowed everything in its path. The plains vanished beneath the blaze, stone liquefying, debris disintegrating midair. The heat was immediate and overwhelming.

Dante pushed off the ground in a powerful leap, his body surging upward as the firestorm tore through the space he'd occupied. The flames clawed at his boots and coat, scorching fabric and trim alike, but he cleared the worst of it, rising above the destruction in a clean leap.

For a fraction of a second, there was silence.

Then Cerberus leapt.

The massive hound launched itself into the air with startling fluidity, its bulk moving with a grace that belied its size. All three heads snarled as it rose to meet Dante midair, jaws snapping and claws reaching.

Dante twisted his body sharply, forcing himself to rotate despite the pain screaming through his muscles and the dead weight of his ruined arm. He angled his legs and struck.

His kick landed in Cerberus's abdomen.

The impact was solid, reverberating through both of them. Cerberus let out a sharp snarl as its trajectory was disrupted, its massive body knocked off balance. It fell away from Dante, crashing back toward the ground.

But even as it fell, Cerberus adjusted.

Its limbs spread, claws digging into the air as it twisted mid-descent. It hit the ground hard—but on its feet—stone cracking beneath its weight as it absorbed the impact with brute strength.

Dante landed moments later, a few paces away.

Both of them faced each other in the settling dust.

The plains between them were much more unrecognizable now—craters layered over craters, scorched earth still smoking, fragments of stone raining down slowly. Dante's chest rose and fell steadily, each breath slow with the venom burning through his veins and the pain that gnawed at his body.

Cerberus growled low, all three heads moving independently as they tracked him. The central head stared straight ahead, eyes locked onto Dante with malice. The left head snarled, saliva dripping between its teeth. The right head exhaled wisps of smoke, embers glowing deep in its throat.

Echidna watched from behind, her expression unreadable.

"You endure," she said calmly, her voice carrying easily across the ruined plains. "Even now."

Dante did not look at her.

He kept his gaze on Cerberus, shoulders rolling slightly as if loosening tension. His right hand flexed once, then steadied.

"I don't need long," he replied, voice low.

Cerberus surged forward again.

This time, it didn't commit all three heads at once. The central head lunged, snapping toward Dante's torso while the left head angled lower, aiming to tear at his legs. The right head hung back, watching, waiting.

Dante shifted sideways, narrowly avoiding the central bite. He brought his knee up hard, driving it into the lower jaw of the left head as it lunged. The impact forced the head downward, teeth snapping shut on empty air.

Cerberus twisted, its body rotating with surprising speed as its claws lashed out in a wide arc. Dante ducked beneath the swing, feeling the wind of it pass overhead. He stepped inside the creature's reach, dangerously close to its chest.

The right head roared.

Another wave of fire burst forth, this one more focused. Dante reacted instantly, springing upward and twisting his body sideways as the flames scorched past beneath him, close enough to singe the underside of his coat.

Cerberus tried to follow, rearing up, but Dante was already moving.

He landed on one foot atop a broken slab of stone, used it as leverage, and launched himself forward again. His kick connected with Cerberus's shoulder this time, forcing the hound to stagger sideways.

The central head snapped at him again, grazing his coat but failing to catch flesh. Dante rolled with the motion, hitting the ground and coming up in a crouch, his breathing heavier now but still controlled.

Pain flared—sharp and insistent—but he ignored it.

Cerberus growled, circling slightly now, all three heads moving in dissonant rhythm. It had stopped charging blindly. It was thinking.

"So," Echidna murmured softly, more to herself than to either of them. "Do you merely intend to wear him down?"

Dante ignored her as exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

Cerberus lowered its body, muscles coiling again

And Dante leaned forward, ready.

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