[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

Dante barely had time to bring his right arm up.

The impact came like a cannon shot at point-blank range.

Cerberus twisted its massive body with terrifying fluidity, one of its barbed tails whipping around in a blur of black. The strike cleaved through the air, tearing a visible scar across the plains as it landed. Dante's guard absorbed only a fraction of it. The rest drove straight through him, launching his body backward as the ground beneath him detonated into pulverized stone.

He felt ribs scream. Felt something tear. He ignored all of it.

His body spun end over end through the air, the horizon flipping violently, debris streaking past his vision. Dante forced his core to tighten, twisted his shoulders mid-flight, and planted a boot into the earth the instant he touched down. The ground buckled under the force of the landing, a crater spiderwebbing outward—but he stayed upright, sliding back several meters before stopping cleanly.

Cerberus didn't give him a second.

The hound charged, each step cracking the plains like a hammer blow. As it moved, the glowing red runes etched into its black fur flared to life—symbols burning brighter and brighter until flames surged violently from its body. The fire split and tore away from the beast in three violent bursts that slammed into the ground around Dante.

Each impact cratered the earth.

The flames peeled away, reshaping. Massive silhouettes emerged from the inferno as the original Cerberus tore itself apart into three distinct forms. Each landed heavily, shaking the plains, each now a colossal one-headed hound—still Cerberus, but divided.

The first moved immediately.

The fire-aligned hound charged with a low, feral snarl, black flames consuming its entire frame, warping the air around it. The heat hit Dante like a wall. He didn't hesitate. With a sharp exhale, he launched himself upward in a powerful leap, clearing the beast by meters as it tore beneath him, claws gouging trenches through the plains.

But before Dante could land, a thunderous snarl ripped through the air from his right.

"—Already?"

Lightning cracked violently across the hide of the second hound, black lightning snapping and bursting along its limbs as it lunged upward with impossible speed. Dante twisted midair, muscles screaming as he forced his body sideways. The jaws closed where his head had been a heartbeat earlier, the shockwave of the near miss blasting him off balance.

He hit the ground hard.

Pain flared hot and sharp through his side, but he rolled with it, digging fingers into the earth to stop himself from skidding too far. Before he could push up, the third hound howled.

The sound froze the air.

A massive wave of ice surged forward, outlined in black, the temperature plummeting instantly. Frost raced across the ground faster than thought, swallowing everything in its path. Dante reacted on instinct, throwing himself sideways as the wave screamed past where he'd been lying, the plains behind him encased in twisted ice formations that continued spreading outward for dozens of meters.

He slid to a stop on one knee, breath heavier.

The three hounds began to circle.

Each step was slow as fire crackled and hissed from one, lightning snapped and flared from another, while frost rolled off the third in waves. Together, they moved like predators who knew they had already wounded their prey—and intended to finish the job properly.

Dante straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders once. Something in his ribs shifted wrong, then snapped back into place with a dull crunch.

"Tch… splitting up," he muttered, eyes tracking each one carefully. "Annoying."

The fire hound growled low, saliva dripping from its jaws and sizzling as it hit the ground. The lightning hound scraped a claw through the earth, lightning detonating outward violently. The ice hound's breath fogged thick, its eyes locked on Dante coldly.

They attacked together.

The fire hound surged first, belching a massive torrent of blackened flame that rolled across the plains. Dante sprinted sideways, the heat licking at his back, skin blistering even through his coat. The lightning hound flashed in from the opposite side, its body blurring as it closed the distance almost instantly.

Dante ducked under snapping jaws, pivoted, and drove an elbow into the creature's neck. The impact detonated with a thunderous crack, lightning exploding outward and ripping the ground apart in a violent ring. The hound was knocked sideways, skidding through stone and dirt—but it stayed upright, snarling, lightning flaring brighter.

No time.

The ice hound slammed its forepaws into the ground, and sharp spires of frozen earth erupted upward beneath Dante. He leapt back just as one exploded where his chest had been, shards slicing across his coat and skin. Blood spattered the ice, steaming.

Dante landed.

The fire hound roared and charged again, faster this time. Dante met it head-on.

He sprinted forward as the monster reared back to strike, Dante leapt, driving both feet into its skull with a brutal kick. The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, fire exploding in all directions as the hound was driven into the ground hard enough to leave a massive crater.

Before Dante could follow up, lightning slammed into his side.

The second hound crashed into him midair, lightning tearing through his body violently. Dante grunted, muscles locking as the current surged—but he forced his arm to move, grabbing the creature by the jaw and slamming his forehead into its skull.

Once.

Twice.

The third strike cracked stone beneath them.

The hound recoiled, snarling in pain, but the ice hound was already there. Its howl shattered the air as it lunged, jaws snapping shut around Dante's shoulder. Frost exploded outward, freezing his arm solid in an instant.

Dante felt it, pain finally tearing free as he slammed a knee into the beast's chest. The blow sent it skidding back, ice fracturing and shattering off his arm as he tore free, steam rising violently from the contact between fire-hot blood and freezing air.

He staggered back a step.

Echidna watched the battle silently.

She had not spoken since it began—not a word, not even a breath given voice. Her presence was still, her emerald eyes tracked every movement without blinking, without softening, as though committing each second to memory.

The plains roared and screamed around Dante, but from where she stood, there was a strange, unsettling quiet. Not an absence of sound—no, the clash was deafening—but an absence of intention. That, more than anything, gnawed at her.

("He's reacting and attacking, but…")

Her thoughts trailed off as her gaze followed him. She watched as he dodged a hail of ice shards rained down by one of the Cerberus's heads, the frozen projectiles screaming through the air. Dante moved through them with precision and no wasted movements. His long coat snapped violently behind him as he shifted his weight.

She watched as he leapt away just as the ground beneath him was encased in ice, frost racing outward in a violent bloom that swallowed stone and earth alike. His boots hit the ground cleanly at the edge of the freezing wave. Not a stumble. Perfect balance, even as the temperature around him plummeted.

She watched as he twisted midair to avoid a large orb of fire, his body rotating with control. The fireball passed close enough to scorch the air around him, close enough that the fur lining of his coat smoked as he cleared it.

Still—no commitment.

("It's almost as if he's not committing to any attacks.")

The thought settled heavier than she expected.

Echidna narrowed her eyes slightly, her attention sharpening. Something here was very wrong. She compared his performance now to how he had been against Orthrus… and the Nemean Lion.

Back then, he had been sluggish. Slow. Almost lazy in his movements.

But brutal.

Every strike had carried intent. Every blow had been delivered as though the outcome was already decided, as though resistance was nothing more than formality. He had allowed himself to be hit then—not because he couldn't avoid it, but because it served his purpose. There had been a terrible certainty to him in those battles, a sense that he was advancing inexorably toward something inevitable.

Now, facing Cerberus—yes, a much stronger foe—it felt different.

This wasn't arrogance.

It was restraint.

"Yes… Cerberus is much stronger," Echidna admitted silently, her gaze following Dante as he narrowly avoided a sweeping claw that carved a trench through the plains. "But even so…"

It felt as though Dante was focused on defense and evasion rather than domination. His movements were sharp and efficient, but reactive. He countered only when necessary, striking to create space rather than to end the fight. Even when he landed blows, they lacked the finality she had seen before.

It unsettled her.

("Could he be wanting to launch another attack like he did with the Hydra?")

The question surfaced unbidden, and Echidna's brow furrowed slightly as she considered it. Her pale arms folded beneath her bare breasts, a familiar gesture to her, a contemplative one. She replayed the memory of that battle in her mind, the calculus Dante had employed, the horrifying resolve with which he had sacrificed part of himself to secure overwhelming destruction.

Her lips pressed together.

("He would no doubt need to sacrifice a limb for that…")

Her eyes flicked briefly to Dante's arms, to the gauntlets that encased them, one twisted and the other still pristine. No hesitation in his movements suggested preparation for that kind of loss.

("…not to mention Cerberus is mightier than the Hydra.")

That, more than anything, dismantled the theory. Cerberus was not merely resilient—it was adaptive, relentless and capable of enduring punishment that would obliterate lesser beasts. Even the Hydra, monstrous as it was, had been susceptible to excess. Cerberus was something else entirely.

("Powerful as it may be, it would not put him down.")

Echidna exhaled slowly through her nose.

("He must know this… so it can't be that.")

The realization left a sour taste in her mouth.

Echidna pursed her lips, irritation creeping into her expression despite her best efforts to remain composed. She did not like uncertainty—especially when it came from Dante. His strength was not simply in his power, but in his clarity. To watch him move without revealing his endgame felt like staring into a mirror that refused to reflect.

She did not know what Dante was plotting.

But it was quite obvious he was stalling for something.

Time. Position. A condition yet unmet.

Her gaze sharpened, scanning the plains again—not just Dante, but Cerberus, the terrain, the flow of the fight. She searched for tells, for patterns, for any sign of what he was waiting for.

Yet she could not discern what it was.

The realization irritated her more than she cared to admit.

Her fingers curled slightly against her arms.

"…Enough," she murmured under her breath.

Whether Dante heard her or not didn't matter.

Her eyes hardened, resolve settling in place of speculation. Whatever game he was playing, whatever calculation he was running, she was no longer content to observe from the periphery.

"It matters not," Echidna said aloud at last, her voice calm. "I'll step in."

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