Dante's skin, toughened by the Pool of the Firmament, was burning and cracking under the endless heat of the Magma Drake's attack.

Soul-Drinker in his hand was not a sword. It was a channel. A screaming funnel through which a river of molten energy was being forced into his soul.

He was a dam holding back a volcano. And he was breaking.

His two titans, Ouroboros and Hephaestus, were locked in battle with the Magma Drake. A fight of monsters that shook the floating island.

But it was only one dragon. One of ten.

The other nine circled high above. Patient hunters. Watching as the horde of Sun-Eater Wyverns descended to pick bones clean.

The battle on the ground was desperate. Failing.

His team, his powerful warriors, were being overwhelmed by a wave of leathery wings and snapping jaws.

Masha's ice barriers shattered under sheer weight of numbers.

Kael was broken on the ground no creature came to eat him for now, maybe it was there way of treating its prey.

Eric and Jin were an island in a sea of snarling beasts. But the tide was rising.

Talia and Lana were ghosts of death in the chaos. But for every Wyvern they killed, more took its place.

He could feel their desperation. Their strength fading.

He could feel his own mana draining. Even with Soul-Drinker's feasting and the Manacore Pendant's reserves. Keeping two S-rank summons active while his body burned was pushing him past his limits.

Death felt certain. A cold, logical fact.

And in the heart of the fire, as pain threatened to overwhelm him, that logic felt... tempting.

'It would be easy to let go. To let the fire consume me. To let the darkness take me.'

'An end to the pain. An end to the struggle.'

And in that moment of weakness, the gates of his mind opened.

---

The world was grey and cold.

He was small. Huddled behind dumpsters in the back alley of the orphanage.

The smell of rotting garbage and wet concrete was all he knew.

Three older boys had him cornered. Their faces twisted into cruel smiles.

He'd stolen a piece of bread from the kitchen. A stale, hard thing clutched in his dirty hand.

"Give it back, mistake," the leader sneered. His shadow falling over him.

"I'm hungry," he whispered. His voice small. Weak.

THUD.

The first kick caught him in the ribs. Knocking the air from his lungs.

He curled into a ball. Arms wrapped around his head.

They kicked and punched. Their laughter sharp and ugly. Echoing in the narrow alley.

The pain was familiar. A dull, throbbing ache that was always part of his life.

He could have fought back. Even then, a cold part of his mind was calculating angles. Weaknesses.

But he was tired. So deeply tired.

'It would be easier to just let them hit me. To let the pain wash over me until it's over.'

'To give up.'

---

The memory was poison. A whisper of surrender from a past he thought he'd murdered.

The fire of the Magma Drake felt like their kicks. The shrieking of Wyverns their laughter.

The same cornered feeling. The same tempting pull of nothingness.

'I could just... stop. Let it end. No more fighting. No more pain.'

But something resisted.

In the memory, a new feeling bloomed in the middle of the pain.

Not anger. Not fear. But something cold and hard.

A will.

A will to not just survive. But to have more.

'I wanted to rule. I wanted to live a life that I fantasised. I just want everything the new world has to offer .'

'I wanted a happy end.'

The thought had been so bold, so impossible, it was almost funny.

But it was there.

And that small, defiant spark refused to die.

That spark, long buried, now roared into a fire.

His eyes, which had been squeezed shut against the pain, snapped open.

No longer the eyes of a tired commander. The eyes of something else.

A cornered animal. A wounded king. A man who would burn the world rather than surrender.

"NO!"

The word was not a shout. It was a raw roar of pure will that tore from his throat.

He poured more of himself into Soul-Drinker. Not just absorbing the magma. Devouring it. His will a show of defiance.

The pain grew. But he welcomed it. It was fuel.

"You want to kill me?" he screamed at the Magma Drake. His voice mad and gleeful. "You'll have to do better than that!"

"I've survived worse than that!"

He opened the floodgates of his soul.

"GUARDIAN! JUGGERNAUT! EDGAR! TO ME!"

FWOOSH! FWOOSH! FWOOSH!

Three more shadows erupted from the ground.

The Guardian appeared beside Rina. Its Phantom Ward a dome of absolute defense around their healer.

The Crimson Juggernaut materialized in the thickest part of the Wyvern horde. Its shadow greatsword a whirlwind of vengeful destruction. Causing chaos. Breaking their charge.

And Edgar stood beside him. His ghostly form feeding him constant tactical data. Flight patterns. Weak spots. The exact moment the Storm Drake would strike.

He was no longer just defending. He was commanding a war on five fronts.

But it wasn't enough. His mana was pouring out. His body screaming.

"I'm not done!" he roared.

He lifted his left hand. The Ring of the Maelstrom flaring with bright blue light.

He pointed it at the sky.

WHOOSH!

The air itself began to churn. A massive, horizontal whirlpool appeared. A swirling vortex of wind and debris.

It caught a dozen Wyverns in its grip.

They were tossed like leaves in a storm. Their formations shattered. Their coordinated attacks collapsing into chaos.

'If I'm going to die, I'm taking all of you with me.'

The sight of his desperate, suicidal, utterly magnificent counterattack sent a shockwave through his team.

Their exhaustion, their despair, burned away.

They saw their leader-a blackened, smoking figure standing in a river of fire. Commanding an army of ghosts. Bending the air to his will.

And refusing, absolutely refusing, to die.

It inspired them.

---

A raw roar erupted from Eric.

He threw aside the shattered remnants of his shield. Charged into the horde. His gauntleted fists smashing Wyverns from the sky.

His greaves anchoring him like an immovable mountain.

Masha's eyes blazed with fierce light. Her S-rank core pulsed.

The blizzard she'd been maintaining became a storm of jagged glaciers. Each the size of a man. Stabbing Wyverns in mid-flight.

Her gaze was fixed on Dante. Her expression a mixture of terror and deep admiration.

Erica became a devastating weapon. Her plasma lances a constant, searing barrage punching through the horde.

Lana and Talia were a blur of motion. Their crossbow and daggers silent and deadly. Kill count rising every second.

They were no longer just surviving. They were fighting back.

A unified team. Individual strengths woven together by his mad, desperate will.

---

The Magma Drake, seeing the tide turning, finally stopped its attack on him.

It reared back. Attention now on his two S-rank titans tearing it apart.

Freed from the river of fire, Dante collapsed to one knee.

His body a ruin. Soul-Drinker the only thing holding him up.

But he was not done.

He looked up at the nine remaining dragons. Now beginning to descend. Their patience worn thin by the team's defiance.

"You want a war?" he rasped. A bloody, terrifying grin spreading across his face.

"Then you'll have one."

They had carved out space for themselves. Turned a losing fight into a stalemate.

The ground was littered with over fifty Wyvern corpses.

But the true gods of this realm were finally entering the fight.

'This is it. The real battle. Nine S-rank dragons. All at once.'

He coughed. blood splattering the stone.

His vision was blurring. His mana reserves nearly empty. His body pushed beyond its limits.

But he was still standing.

'I wanted a happy end. That's what that boy in the alley wanted. That's what I still want.'

'And I'll kill a thousand dragons to get it.'

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